Page 1 of Enthrall Climax

HE WAS DETERMINED TO LOSEme.

Driving recklessly along the strip of road that is Highway 17, his silver BMW turned sharply, skidding toward the sheer drop.

Righting his car, preventing it from striking the rock face on the other side, he pressed on relentlessly, his speed increasing ever more dangerously. Richard Booth Sheppard was outrunning his past.

Outrunning his pain.

I’d tailed him in my Benz helicopter all the way from his home in Malibu—and no doubt his gaze kept darting to his rearview mirror to see if I was still there. I’d land on the bastard’s car roof if that’s what it took.

He broke away, taking a sharp turn around the curve of the mountain.

My jaw clenched as I gripped the controls and banked around it, following directly above him, chasing my best friend into the darkness, filled with terror at his precarious situation. One slip of focus and his car was going over.

My prediction seemed realized when the BMW spun out of control.

It flew toward the cliff, dust flying around its wheels as he braked hard, causing it to skid toward the drop-off. My throat tightened, heart pounding against my ribs as I prepared for him to disappear.

I watched the car fishtail perilously close to the edge—stopping just short as though my will alone had saved him.

Full of fury, Richard shoved his door open and stomped towards the cliff’s edge. He stood there, his blond hair being tussled by the blast from the chopper’s blades, unperturbed by the close call due to his asshole daredevil ways.

I landed the Benz.

Climbing out, ignoring the dust in my eyes and the sting of fuel burning my throat, I left those spinning blades behind and stormed towards Richard—grabbing him by the shoulders and thrusting him against the BMW’s door, trying to snap him out of his death wish.

He slid down the side of the car with no fight left.

I knelt down and yelled into his ear over the noise of the engine, saying I needed him, we all did, promising that it would get easier and that he needed to trust me and let me deal with whatever was hurting him. I’d carry his pain.

His suicide would always be one moment away. Hard choices had to be made. Ethics would be flung by the wayside over an endeavor so audacious lives would be forever changed and innocence irreversibly shattered.

It was time.

She was out there. A young woman who could be trained as a submissive, a remarkable female who alone would soothe Richard’s pain and give him a reason to live, a reason to fight back.

A reason to love.

I had to find the one woman who could enthrall him beyond all measure.

Damn the consequences.

WHY WASCAMERON TELLING MEthis now?

Staring across the restaurant table at his vexed expression, I sensed a rare melancholy rising. Or perhaps it was regret. I’d been the woman Cameron Cole had searched out and then given to Richard.

Returning to this subject was like setting off a bomb in our midst. Though I understood his reasons for fulfilling what he’d believed to be his only choice. Five months ago, Cameron had thrown me into the path of his best friend and I’d become Richard’s lover, our relationship forged by Cole himself.

We’d all spiraled toward a perilous edge, very much like that highway Richard had been tearing down, because the worst possible outcome had happened—Cameron had fallen in love with me himself.

Maybe this was why he’d chosen the Auden Bistro and Bar at The Ritz Carlton near Central Park, so we’d not argue about the mistakes we’d made. Cole’s chestnut gaze held mine with a riveting precision.

Quite simply, Cameron was mesmerizing—not only for his devastating beauty but his dazzling charisma. He was in his early thirties, but he looked younger.

Damn himfor being such a catastrophic force, his ferocious will fulfilled with the ease of a master negotiator. With his tousled midnight-black hair a contrast to his clean-shaven jaw, tonight he looked even more extraordinary in his black tuxedo, seemingly molded over his well-toned form by a Savile Row tailor to perfectly fit his broad shoulders and towering height.

The same height he used to intimidate me into surrendering in every conceivable way, with his every word and action designed to lure me further under his spell.

I’d become his obsession—and he was mine.