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  WOLFE’S LAIR

  Club Twist Book One

  Alice Raine

  This edition published by Accent Press 2017

  The right of Alice Raine to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, electrostatic, magnetic tape, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the written permission of the publishers: Accent Press Ltd, Octavo House, West Bute Street, Cardiff CF10 5LJ

  These stories are works of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental

  ISBNS :

  Print: 9781786152572

  eBook 9781786152565

  Acknowledgements

  The first book in a new series is always an exciting and nerve-racking time, so I just want to take a moment to dedicate this book to my lovely readers, which seeing as you are reading this, presumably means you. Thank you! Your support and encouragement really do mean the world to me.

  A huge thanks must go to my fabulous editor, Liz – how you put up with my rambling and typos is beyond me, but thank you, you are my very own grammar goddess!

  I must also extend massive thanks to my publisher, Accent Press, for their continued support of my writing. In particular, Hazel and Nia for the time and effort you put into working with me.

  Huge shout out to the beta readers who contributed to this book – I love you all for the constructive feedback and encouragement you always give me. So now for the name drop: Leah Wetherall, Sam Berwitz, Grace Lowrie, Melinda Knight, Beth Jones, and Heather Roadknight – massive hugs to each and every one of you!

  My besties, Helen Lowrie and Karen Wilmot, for your never-ending support, book chats, and filthy gossiping sessions. (OK, so that last one is mostly Karen’s fault …) You are both such incredible women, and never fail to inspire me. Love ya!

  Technical help with this book came from Sarah-Jayne McIntosh – again – thank you! You are now officially my go-to criminologist and law adviser!

  Huge apologies if I have missed anyone out …

  Thanks again for reading,

  Alice xx

  If you would like to find out more about Oliver and Robyn’s continuing relationship, and see if Sasha and Marcus ever take the leap and test out the chemistry between them, then keep your eye out for Book Two in the Club Twist series – A Price to Pay, due out in 2018.

  Announcements about this series will also be made on my Facebook page:

  www.facebook.com/AliceRaineAuthor/

  Or you could sign up to my mailing list:

  www.aliceraineauthor.com/contact

  Thank you so much for reading – any reviews on Amazon or Goodreads are very much appreciated!

  Prologue

  I’d had dreams about him before.

  A stranger with dark eyes, and a penetrating stare so intense that I felt his gaze upon me, way before I actually turned and found him watching me. At least I think I had. I work as a writer, so my dreams often blur with things I’ve read, or written, and sometimes it can be difficult to distinguish between them. I’d certainly had dreams about what my ideal man might look like, so perhaps that was what kept niggling at me tonight.

  The feeling of being watched was definitely swirling around me, but as it fluttered across my skin again I dismissed the smoky images of the perfect man from my dreams, and put it down to nothing more than my overactive imagination playing tricks on me.

  There was a very good reason why my brain was in overdrive tonight, and that was because I was in a place called Club Twist for the first time. This was not just a bar, or nightclub, as the name might outwardly indicate; oh no, it was London’s most exclusive sex club, a place with an A-list clientele, and one where the members were encouraged to “explore their twisted side”.

  And I was now perched on a stool at the heart of it.

  I read a quote once that said, “Life is found in the dance between your deepest desire and your greatest fear.” I hadn’t placed much importance on it at the time, but now, finding myself in the warm confines of this club, the quote came floating back into my mind, feeling particularly appropriate. Just a brief glance around had given me a deep feeling of resonance that I couldn’t even begin to understand, but for some reason, I felt oddly at home here.

  Even as my pulse rose with curiosity, there was no denying that these four walls also represented my greatest fears. I was Robyn Amber Scott, a relatively reclusive writer, with no sex life to speak of; there was no way I could want what these people had. Was there? And even if I did, I couldn’t see myself managing to lower my inhibitions like the carefree souls who surrounded me.

  Taking a sip of my drink, I gazed around, trying to loosen off the tension in my body. The deep bass of the music was helping me relax, but also soaking right into my core, throbbing in a way that was undeniably heightening my arousal. There was already a potent sexual energy saturating the air of the club around me, but I had to shift on my stool to ease the sudden ache between my legs.

  My cheeks flushed with embarrassment at how easily my neglected sex drive had been ignited, and as I tried to suppress the jittery feeling in my stomach I became aware of something moving across my skin; not an actual touch, but a tingling awareness, like the gentle caress of fingers moving just millimetres above my skin and brushing the hairs there.

  No one was touching me, but as I felt the sensation again, I became convinced that someone was watching me. Instead of being scared by the thought, exciting visions flashed in my mind again of a stranger with a stare so intense that it could reach across the packed room and affect me to this extent.

  I let out a dry laugh at my vivid imagination. What was more likely was that I was allowing the heady experience of my surroundings to influence my thoughts. I’d reached the age of twenty-seven without ever experiencing an initial connection with anyone like that, so tonight was hardly likely to be my first.

  The strange electricity zinged across my skin again just seconds later, warming me throughout, increasing my already amped arousal. Then, as if on cue, the hairs on the back of my neck all stood up in unison. It was so unusual that I scanned my eyes over the club goers to see if my earlier suspicions had been right.

  Everyone seemed caught up in their own particular pleasures, be that drinking, dancing, or kissing. Even the girls I’d come with – my flatmates, Chloe and Sasha – were just dancing and enjoying themselves.

  Shaking off my earlier sensation of being watched, I turned my gaze back to the bar, and that’s when I saw him. Someone was watching me. And he was exactly as my dreams of the perfect man had conjured: dark hair, dark eyes, and with a dangerous air about him that made me shiver with anticipation. His eyes were intently focused on me from the far end of the bar; eyes so dark that they looked like smouldering coal across the space between us. The distance did nothing to reduce the impact of his gaze, because my skin went wild with chills, and my heart accelerated so rapidly that I could hear it thundering in my ears.

  Try as I might, I just couldn’t drag my eyes away. His gaze locked with mine, somehow freezing me on the spot. He appeared to be rather handsome, but he was partly in the shadows, which made it tricky to tell. Thinking about it, his place in the darkness almost seemed menacing, but I was also intrigued by the thread of electricity that seemed to be connecting us. Just as I was mulling this over, he shifted slightly, his whole body coming into view as he leaned sideways against the bar, his gaze still fixed with mine.

/>   It was now confirmed – he was definitely a very handsome man. In fact, it would be no exaggeration to say he was quite possibly the best-looking man I’d ever laid eyes on in all my years on this planet. With his chiselled cheekbones and unruly hair, he was the perfect mixture. Drop-dead gorgeous meets dark and dangerous – because this man was dangerous. Just one short glance at his come-to-bed eyes, sexy smirk, and overtly confident posture convinced me of that fact.

  There was something emanating from him that screamed “run”, but even sensing this, I couldn’t persuade my head to turn away. He was utterly compelling, and his eyes continued to hold mine captive. He didn’t seem to care that he was staring, either. In fact, as his gaze flitted briefly across my body and returned to my eyes, he looked rather smug about it. With his half smile, and the way his eyes were possessively burning into me, it felt like he assumed every right to watch me. Like he already considered me to be his, somehow.

  That last thought caused shivers to run up my spine, and finally kick-started my brain into dropping my gaze from his. Instead of turning away as I had planned, I found myself looking over his tall, broad body, which was wrapped up to perfection in a dark three-piece suit and crisp white shirt.

  Looks, dress sense, and a stare that sent my hormones crazy. Good lord. He was over ten metres away, but somehow this stranger had brought my dreams to life and, in the process, sent my mind and body wild. Giving a dry, nervous laugh, I ripped my gaze from his body and forced myself to turn away. I was here to research my novel, not find a man. Dreams were fine when they happened in the darkness of your bedroom, but stepping beyond that safety was a whole other level, and not one I could contemplate. I downed the last of my drink, turned back to my phone, and saved the notes that I’d made so far. Perhaps it was time I left.

  Chapter One

  Robyn

  Four hours earlier

  Grinding my teeth in annoyance, I listened as Sasha huffed out a breathy moan for what must have been the fifth time in two minutes. I rotated my neck, trying to loosen the stiff muscles, and leaned back from my laptop, too distracted by Sasha’s agitation to keep typing.

  ‘What the heck is wrong with you?’ I finally demanded, glaring over at the sofa where I knew she was reclining with a book and a cup of tea. I couldn’t see the book, or the tea for that matter, because my view was blocked by the back of the sofa, but she was there all right, in all her huffy-puffy glory. In fact, the only part of Sasha I could see were her stripy-sock-clad feet which were dangling over the arm rest and swinging perilously close to a vase of week-old flowers.

  ‘This book is totally hot! I can’t believe I waited so long to read it!’ she exclaimed, her mass of wild blonde curls appearing as she sat up to look at me over the sofa cushions. ‘I think I might need fifteen minutes in my room with the contents of my vibrator drawer,’ she added with a cackle and a cheeky wiggle of her well-plucked eyebrows.

  Since she was momentarily distracted from whatever she was reading, I swung to face her. ‘You have an entire drawer for vibrators?’ I’d known Sasha since we were teenagers. How did I not know this about her? ‘No … no … actually, don’t answer that, I don’t want to know!’ I held up my hand to stop her with a wince and an amused grimace. Blimey, I only owned one vibrator, which barely ever got used. How many did she have to justify allocating a specific space in her living quarters for such things?

  Wow, sex toy storage, what a thought. Maybe that could be a new range for Ikea to consider.

  Rolling my eyes, I looked at Sasha and saw her unashamed look. Her cheeks were flushed and there was a smile as wide as the River Thames on her face as she raised up the book she was reading. ‘Have you read it? It’s called Fifty Shades of …’

  I cut her off by raising my hand again.

  ‘Stop,’ I said firmly, ‘Sasha, you may not know the code of etiquette when it comes to authors, but to spout the name of an international best seller to me when I am struggling to get one or two damn copies of my latest book sold is not what I need right now.’

  Writing romance was what I wanted to do full time, but my books weren’t exactly flying off the shelves at the moment, so I also worked part time as an editor for a local newspaper. It was perfect – I got to work from home, but it paid enough to cover my bills and rent.

  ‘Oh. Sorry.’ She flushed further and hid the book below my line of sight but not before I’d glimpsed its now infamous black and grey cover. ‘I bought a copy of your book, too,’ she added supportively with a perky smile.

  ‘Yeah?’ I gave her a weak nod. ‘Have you read it?’

  If possible, Sasha’s flush got even deeper. ‘Well … I was sort of halfway through it when I found this in my bedside drawer still unread …’ She wiggled the goddamn best seller at me again. ‘Yours was really good and everything but I kinda got distracted and started reading this instead …’

  A huge sigh escaped my lips, ‘Exactly!’ I exclaimed, jumping up from my seat at the dining room table – also known as my work desk – before hoisting Sasha’s legs off the sofa and plonking myself next to her dejectedly to snatch the book from her hand.

  ‘How the hell can my crappy chintzy romances compare to this stuff?’ I flicked miserably through the pages and could instantly tell where the naughty bits were because Sasha had turned the corners of the pages over.

  There were a lot of turned corners.

  My lips tightened as I examined the pages. I might not like to admit it, but I’d read a couple of the most recent “erotic” novels on the market, including this one, which had started the whole craze a few years ago, and they even got me pretty hot under the collar, which seeing as I’m not really into sex is saying something.

  ‘Don’t shoot me for saying this but you have a point, babe,’ Sasha said, retrieving her book protectively and sticking a bookmark in to keep her all-important page, ‘These types of books are still selling like hot cakes,’ she admitted with a nod. ‘People thought it was going to be a fad, but it’s continued. Apparently, a nice bit of hanky-spanky soft porn is exactly what ladies want these days.’ Her smirk caused me to let out a deflated sigh.

  Hanky-spanky soft porn? I really was doomed. There was no way I could write that type of stuff; I had no clue about any of it.

  ‘You’re a really good writer, Robyn, and you already write loads of different genres … why don’t you just expand your horizons a bit and write one of these?’ she suggested helpfully.

  I practically choked on my own near-hysterical laughter. ‘Yeah right, because I know sooo much about erotic kinky sex!’ I said, rolling my eyes at her. ‘You’ve known me my entire adult life, Sash. Exactly which of my ex-boyfriends do you think could act as fodder for a kinky book?’

  I was currently single, and my five exes were all that way for very good reasons: Xbox fanatic, immature student, Star Trek geek, pot head, and workaholic, in that order. They might have been funny and considerate enough to attract my initial attention, but none of them could ever be labelled as “exciting in the sack”, hence my general lack of interest in sex. All my friends said it was great, but I’d never found that when I’d been between the sheets.

  ‘Okay, point taken …’ Sasha conceded, ‘Didn’t the Star Trek guy have a toe fetish?’ Her lip curled up in amusement as she spoke, but I grimaced, remembering only too well Brian’s excessive lust towards my feet. Freak. ‘Ugh, yes, not discussing that again – ever.’ I shuddered. ‘Besides, I’m not writing a kinky novel about a guy with a toe fetish. It’s hardly going to appeal to the reading masses, is it?’

  Giggling loudly, Sasha shook her head, causing her blonde curls to swirl around her face. ‘No … probably not,’ she agreed when she could finally suppress her grin. ‘Well, I could help with ideas for some of the sex scenes … Although I’ve not done much kinky stuff either,’ she admitted with a grimace which looked more disappointed than disgusted.

  ‘You’ve just done most of the men in London with a pulse,’ I joked, not altogether
untruthfully.

  ‘Yeah, yeah.’ Sasha dismissed my friendly insult with a casual flick of her wrist. ‘Least I’m not celibate like you.’ She gave a teasing bump to my shoulder.

  Yes, that’s right. Not the most exciting status to have. But after five failed attempts at relationships I decided late last year to have a man-free period in my life and concentrate on my writing.

  Celibate, however, is not a real word for Sasha. She would probably consider it more of a blasphemous term and has gone out of her way to do the exact opposite of me, by shagging anything as long as it’s male and breathing. I know this because we have adjoining walls in our bedrooms. Yeah, lucky me. But it’s fine because Sasha is my best friend, so I put up with it – plus I have a really good pair of earplugs.

  It makes me cringe to think of the number of men that Sasha must have totted up since we’ve shared our flat together for the last three years, but sex is her coping mechanism. Her story is a really sad one, and the reason for her casual “bang ’em and leave” lifestyle. Her father died unexpectedly when she was just seven, and she lost her mother to cancer at seventeen. They both died way before their time, and after she moved in with her aunt she developed a motto of “live each day as if it is your last”, and boy, has she stuck to it.

  She’s worked her arse off to get her dream job with an interior design magazine, and now lives a pretty decadent lifestyle: nights out, luxurious holidays, fancy food, and, of course, a long string of different men to warm her bed. The only reason I can afford to live in Central London is because Sasha pays the lion’s share of the rent on the apartment we share.

  The five guys I’ve dated are also the only men that I’ve slept with – no one-night stands for me, Little Miss Goody Two-Shoes – and all of them I dated for a few weeks before allowing things to progress to the bedroom.

  Breaking me from my reverie, Sasha adjusted herself on the sofa. ‘I suppose we could probably find some stuff on the internet to help you out,’ she suggested, which I had to grant her was actually quite a good idea if I really was going to attempt to write an erotic book of some sort. Me, an erotic novelist? I nearly snorted at how ridiculous it sounded.