Catch me Wilde Read online

  Catch me Wilde

  An Erotic Novella

  Beth Mikell

  Smashwords Edition

  ISBN: 9781311800640

  Copyright 2014 Beth Mikell

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. No reproduction, copy, or transmission of this publication may be made without permission of the author. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  All names, characters, places, and incidents are either a product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, events or locations is entirely coincidental.

  ***Note from Author: This is an erotic novella, approx. 15,000 words. The following is not intended for anyone under the age of 18. Catch me Wilde is not a series; it is a complete story.

  Photo credit: Copyright Can Stock Photo Inc. by Kardo Designs

  Published by Beth Mikell

  Chapter 1

  The elevator dinged, opening within the high-rise office building of Wilde Industries, a holding company for the twelfth richest man in the world… Carson Wilde. Ivy Tremaine would know, he was her estranged husband, though she hadn’t seen him since the morning after their mistaken nuptials. They’d married on the fly, a sensual coming together after too many drinks in Vegas. And with Carson, everything came down to possession and control. He saw something he wanted and took it, hence their marriage. From the moment they saw each other, a magnetic pull drowned them in a powerful erotic heat… unfathomable and strong.

  He frightened her. The darkness he’d wielded over her, shamed her.

  Plus, he had more money than sense, she thought, owning thousands of high-end businesses, product lines, and priceless artifacts, a man begging for every criminal in the world to steal from him. Again, she would know, she lifted a Renoir painting off his hands a year ago—a simple plan to irritate him and give herself a monetary boost, which raised her nest egg up over fifty million. She knew she was taking a chance by entering her husband’s lair, but his official representative assured her countless times Mr. Wilde wasn’t looking for retribution, but rather… a job. Seriously? The man could loan God a few billion and have more to spare.

  He was up to something, but she was too intrigued to let it go. In some mind-altering way, she missed him. She missed his dark and dangerous presence, haunting blue eyes and lush body. The ghosting way he’d moved over her… how he’d shattered her inside one night. The only man in the universe who made himself unforgettable to her.

  For two months, Ivy listened to the same droll invitation via email, unsure how legit the offer was. What could a man of Carson’s means and worth possibly want stolen? Finally, she called and here she stood a quivering mass of nerves. She couldn’t conceive of what Carson wanted, yet excitement brewed within her veins and the ache between her legs tripled. No matter how much they weren’t right for each other—they’d both incinerated with only a look.

  Ivy exited the elevator, smoothing a hand down over the front of her trendy cream-colored skirt suit and appeared on the upside of sexy down to her flamboyant hot pink stilettos. She knew she looked good with her black hair drawn up in sophistication, oozing just the right amount of sex appeal from her elegant face to her bare legs. Heads turned as she worked her way down the corporate hallway.

  The deal breaker? She kept everyone at a distance, hiding behind the beautiful mask called her empty life. Suited her just fine. She was no longer a poor orphan anyone could piss on. The art world deemed her the ‘Midnight Thief’ and she’d earned her name carefully with cunning and wisdom, surpassing her twenty-six years. For her, Carson Wilde was her midnight screw up and her one goal for today’s meeting would be demanding a quiet divorce. They would end their connection for the last time.

  Ivy bypassed all questioning looks and raised eyebrows as she made her way down the elegant hallway to the reception desk, swallowing back her nervous feeling. This meeting could range from retribution whining to caveman-type revenge tactics, no matter what Carson’s representative assured. She had no way of knowing for sure. In addition, this encounter went against her better judgment. She shouldn’t be here! However, here she stood, fixating a tight smile upon her softly painted lips as the sexy brunette looked up.

  “Ivy Tremaine to see Mr. Wilde, please.”

  The receptionist smiled. “Go right in, Ms. Tremaine. He’s expecting you.”

  She was so sure as she made her way to Carson’s door, tapping once before entering. His office blazed ultra-modern with black and chrome accents and full floor to ceiling windows overlooking San Diego. Ivy smiled thoughtfully; this was the office of a billionaire tycoon married to an art thief! Modern art of geometric designs stood sentinel over various points in red, chrome, and onyx black—nothing extraordinary in their placement or lines. The only color out of balance was the chartreuse green statue of a semi naked woman dead center of the room. She’d be almost an eyesore if not for the graceful lines of her body, as if begging for her lover’s next touch within the fluid traces of her arched form. It was stunning and breathtaking.

  Ivy stepped further into the room, and the door automatically shut behind her. The sound of a lock bolted her inside. Her stomach clenched at the metallic slide… she knew she was trapped.

  “Hello, Midnight.”

  Her chest tightened painfully at the sound of his deep voice, sexy and raw with the use of his special nickname. She turned toward him, an excruciating lurch bled out every nerve ending. There he stood within his three-piece, dark blue suit, handsome as ever with one hand tucked in his pants pocket. He seemed the epitome of rich and ruthless. His unruly dark hair was close cropped in an attempt to tame it into submission, his striking blue eyes feral and intense.

  The irritating smirk on his face tripped her heart up into her throat and she swallowed hard. “Carson,” she breathed. “Why lock the door?” Panic filled her at the thought of being trapped… with him… alone.

  His divine lips curved up into a sexy smile. “Considering your knack for Houdini-type disappearing, my sweet, I’m sure you’ll see my hesitancy to let you go until we’ve finished our business.”

  She cocked an elegant brow. “Still as controlling as ever, I see.”

  He straightened, walking closer, his graceful glide predatory. “There is one thing I can’t control,” he murmured, stopping close.

  God, he smelled wonderful, she tried a shallow inhale, yet his powerful scent seeped deep into her—cocooning her. “What is that?” She croaked the barely audible question.

  He reached up, caressing his index finger down her cheek. “You, Midnight. You’re the only thing that eludes me.”

  She hiccupped a strangled laugh, stepping backward as if scalded. “I’m not your property, Carson.”

  He seemed thoroughly entertained, his eyes shining with amusement. “Yes, you’re correct. You’re my wife, which makes things doubly complicated.” Carson offered his hand toward the seating area. “Please, have a seat.”

  Ivy glanced at the pristine white sofas, and then back at him with wariness. “Before we begin, I’d like some reassurance you’re not out to burn me—like—”

  “Like calling the police?” His smile never wavered. “If I’d wanted to turn you in, I could have done so on numerous occasions. Your home in the South of France isn’t hard to find.”

  She scoffed at that. “If you’ve known of my whereabouts, why the cloak and dagger routine? Why not show up on my doorstep?”

  “You enjoy ‘cloak and dagger,’ don’t you? I mean, it is one of your many talents, isn’t it? Also, it would defeat the purpose o
f coming in of your own accord if I’d chased you down. You were intrigued enough to come, Ivy, that alone makes this meeting a significant step forward. Now sit.”

  The hard gleam in his eyes warned her he was serious and she turned away, gliding toward the sofa, sitting primly and crossed her legs with elegance. He followed, claiming the opposite sofa as a man confident and sure, unbuttoning his suit jacket.

  Carson’s gaze held a strange fire burning within their depths. “Tell me, what is the one thing you want more than anything?”

  Ivy looked away, her green eyes caressing over the crystal green statue. The beauty of the creation mesmerized her—something about it transfixed her attention with spellbinding force. An unspecified intimacy sifted through her, something familiar. “Is this a trick question?” She peered back at him, waiting for his answer with haughty reserve.

  Humor twisted his lips. “No, not at all. I want something from you, but I must know your desires before terms are discussed and agreed upon.”

  She merely shrugged. “My freedom… from you.”

  “Is that all?”

  “Yes, that’s all,” she hissed. “Our Vegas marriage was a mistake.” Surely, he couldn’t be that dense.

  Carson frowned thoughtfully. “How so?”

  Her mouth gaped open in disbelief. “Really? We were both drunk. How is that good judgment?”

  “You were drunk, Midnight. I was completely lucid. I knew what I was doing.”

  She gasped, so sure he was lying. If not, that meant he… wanted to marry her. No way! “You’re lying. A man of your worth and stature doesn’t marry a—a—”

  “A what?”

  Her stormy green eyes flashed wild. “A thief! Happy?”

  His hands linked together loosely, continuing to eye her. “Not particularly. I wasn’t pleased when you felt the need to run away or the need to steal from me. I would have gifted the Renoir to you as a wedding gift.”

  Ivy blushed and her whole body stiffened. He didn’t pull any punches, did he? Her blood heated with something close to… shame. “Now who’s lying, hmm?”

  Carson’s face turned cool, glacial actually. “When it comes to you, Midnight, I’ll never lie.” A muscle leaped in his cheek. “Now, for business.”

  “What do you want?”

  “It’s quite simple. I want three months public marriage. We’ll say we married in a private ceremony and you’ve been living in Europe taking care of a sick aunt. Not far-fetched if you consider your landlady’s illness and you’re attentive assistance. You’ll attend every public function I require and see to all my needs.”

  She couldn’t believe what she was hearing or his audacity. Besides him knowing far more than he should of her life abroad, for a bright, successful man, he couldn’t be serious! “Are you delusional? Why would I do that?” How ridiculous! And how could he sit there so calm discussing marriage and—and sex?

  He continued on as if she hadn't spoken. “After three months, if you still want a divorce, I’ll present it to you along with ten million dollars compensation. Consider it… my terms.”

  Ivy came to her feet in a rush, her face livid. “This can’t be all you want, Carson. What game are you playing at? What the hell do you really want? A man like you doesn’t make such an offer without something in it for you!” Yet, his offer wasn’t the reason for her pissed level. The thought of him moving over her body again sent a wild thrill zinging through her blood stream.

  In less than a second, he stood to his feet, grasping her arms and pulled her close, his touch biting. “What I want is my wife at my side, Ivy. You will do this, or I will personally escort you down to the police station. I’ve more than enough evidence to convict you for a long, long time.”

  She huffed a small laugh, but not amused. “So now, the real truth. Blackmail. Trying to get back your own, Mr. Wilde?”

  He had no verbal answer.

  She moaned on impact.

  His expert tongue tangled with hers. God, he tasted damn good—spice and lust—the ultimate aphrodisiac. A dark shiver ran over Ivy, a shaken quiver down through her belly and out her blood stream. He knew how to kiss and held her prisoner. He offered desire, passion, and the threat of stunning fulfillment as he licked within her mouth with teasing intent.

  Carson groaned, nipping at her bottom lip. “Midnight…” he breathed.

  Ivy stiffened, sanity hitting her hard. “Stop this,” she pleaded.

  His hot tongue licked over her mouth with a sensual sizzle. “Why? Afraid you might enjoy something?” Carson’s hands slid down her back, cupping her ass, pulling her up against his hard length. “Afraid of pleasure, Midnight? I could cure you of that right now.”

  She knew he could, damn him! She was afraid of him—of what he could do to her—in or out of bed. “Let me go, Carson,” she demanded, pushing against his chest. “I’m not your toy.”

  He released her, stepping back, his eyes darkly intense. “Follow me.” He sidestepped her, leading the way.

  Ivy sagged a moment, sucking in a deep breath. Her equilibrium was out of balance by one kiss of his sensual mouth. How would she survive three months of this?

  She moved around, flicking the crystal green statue with a hard glare, and then it smacked her awareness. The statue was… her. She inspected the face of the trapped goddess—angled as if waiting for her lover—her hands raised over her head. Tears burned her eyes as her gaze traveled down the statue’s barely covered breasts. The sheet tipped her body in disguised seduction, and the crystal green color matched her eyes.

  “Beautiful, isn’t she?”

  Ivy met his intense gaze, his expression unreadable. “What is this? More mind games?”

  “I had it commissioned and I must say the artist did a fantastic job. It’s more like you than I ever realized.”

  A punch hit her stomach with anger. “What the hell does that mean?”

  Carson’s lips pressed together, his jaw ticked. “It means nothing.”

  “Then why commission it? Why have this here—in your office?” A sick feeling rolled over her, and she wasn’t sure what this meant. Why commission a piece—a sculpted version of herself? Stare at it day after day. She was missing something, but before she could ask more, he continued on.

  “Now, I have a few terms to discuss.” He waved a hand over his small conference table.

  She took a deep breath and followed, her nerves twisted up in a fine noose. The glossy, black table was lined with curious items, clearly expensive, even before one question formed, he began the explanations.

  He plucked up a set of keys with a stunning black leather key chain, flipping the monogrammed tag up for her inspection. Ivy Wilde. “This set of keys is for your new car… an Aston Martin One-77. Only seventy-seven were made in the world and I own three of them.” He dropped them back to the table. “Apartment keys.” He pointed again, moving on.

  Carson aimed a finger at a small, cloth-covered board the size of an envelope wrapped with a red ribbon. “This is a special credit card. At all times the balance will remain at $50,000 dollars. You will use this for clothes, as you will need to appear well dressed and elegant. With any purchase, the balance will be renewed.”

  Nausea shimmied through her, lost. “I don’t need your money. I have—”

  “Stolen money?” He shook his head, clearly annoyed. “Absolutely not. As my wife, you will not touch that money. I will take care of you, Midnight.” He pointed to the next items. “Phone, tablet and notebook outfitted with a special program synced to my personal devices updated daily with specific instructions. You have an agenda with a public appearance schedule, an itinerary indicating travel times with necessary clothing suggestions. You will plan accordingly and not be late. And as a side note, your schedule will include a personal trainer, appointments with an exclusive salon to fulfil all grooming needs. If necessary, you will be given a personal stylist, but as I see it, you’re always well dressed, beautifully so.” His gazed slid down her body with nak
ed appraisal.

  Heat flamed her cheeks. “Why are you doing… this?” Ivy forced out between clenched teeth, the urge to run blasting through her.

  His expression hardened, darkening with scathing directness. “This,” he waved a hand over the table, “is your only chance to make a difference in the selfish, self-centered life you’ve chosen for yourself, Ivy. It’s either this, or I will let you rot in the misery you’ve shaped. You will subject yourself to my rules and terms or fall into hell. Your choice, my sweet.”

  He was an unyielding ass and Ivy sneered, folding her arms over her chest. “I never asked for a keeper, Carson.”

  “You never asked for a husband either, yet here I am.”

  “What do you get out of this… bargain?”

  Carson shrugged, a dark smile curving his lush lips. “Besides your beautiful presence and fuckable body? A chance to carve an angel out of marble.”

  Chapter 2

  Twenty minutes later, Ivy sat in a black stretch limousine on her way to her first appointment. She had her new Louis Vuitton bag next to her, holding all new gadgets, compliments of the control freak. Scoundrel. Fiend. Ass. Whatever! She was freaked out, shaken, and willed herself not to cry. She could leave, of course. Fly back to the South of France, but Carson’s parting words lingered in her mind… No more art theft. I mean it. You’re done. And if you run, Midnight, I’ll catch you and God help you when I do. Who did he think he was? The quiet of her mind answered… your husband.

  She closed her eyes, so lost, and so trapped—so wishing she’d stayed out of Vegas a year ago. What had turned into a sexual game with too many drinks ended up being far more—her—married with a highly rich ball and chain, the scoundrel.

  Damn, damn, damn!

  Her eyes snapped open and she frowned as the San Diego traffic buzzed by, unsure where she was headed. She fished out the tablet, flipping it on and several items flashed into focus upon the high tech screen. Email notification. Schedule. Alarm. She bit her lip with apprehension, aching to succumb to the nausea threatening.