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your claws?” His quiet taunts enraged her, but as suddenly as he’d grabbed her he let her go and set her back on her feet.
    “Bastard!” she hissed. “Pretending this is a fund-raising party so you can drag women out into the garden and have sex with them.”
    “Sure about that, are you?”
    To Frankie’s utter chagrin he wrapped one arm around her again, tipped her chin up with two fingers, and dropped a soft kiss on her trembling lips. She was horrified to find she had no resistance. That he tasted perfect. And smelled as good as he had out in the courtyard. She finally managed to thrust him away and struggle free, panting, knowing her breasts were rising and falling with each gasp—and that his eyes were all over them again.
    “Later then,” he added.
    It wasn’t an invitation.
    “No,” she replied as coldly as possible, turning to escape from her temporary prison of champagne crates, and striding away as fast as the tall boots allowed.

    Pretending it was a fund-raising party? Her scathing words cut him to the quick.
    Jake thought of the inhuman timetable he’d set his men to ensure the house had been ready on time. The cost of the theatre lights and sundry other things he’d paid for and wouldn’t be claiming back. The risk of damage to the beautiful carved balustrade up the staircase. The work that had gone into leveling the parking area so these fat cats could see and be seen while they handed over money they could very easily afford.  
    Most of all, he thought of the pain and fear in the sick children’s eyes. Funds for research were desperately needed, and this had seemed an ideal way to contribute.  
    Much as he’d like some more action with the delectable Rose, he’d bet that small lingering kiss would be the last he’d get.

    To Frankie’s intense relief she caught sight of Mike at one of the long buffet tables a few seconds later. She hurried up to him and linked her arm through his.
    “Wondered where you’d got to,” he yelled over the noise. “Enjoying yourself?”
    “It’s fantastic,” she lied.
    “So’s the dinner.” He seemed to notice nothing amiss. “Try the far table—seafood by the mile. Bella’s going to be hopping mad she missed out.”
    Frankie drifted away toward the seafood table, keeping one eye out for The Captain. She spooned up some lobster and lemon-scented rice, and returned to Mike’s side. Food was the last thing she felt like. What she desperately wanted was to go home. Right now. To get far away from marauding pirates and lick her wounds in private.
    But there was little chance of doing that. Mike was obviously having a great time. She didn’t expect him to leave on her account, and he’d stranded her miles from any form of public transport.
    Were any of the other guests leaving yet? Hardly likely. If they’d paid so much for their tickets they’d be holding out for every last minute of food, drink, and entertainment.
    So it would have to be a taxi.
    She quietly laid down her half empty plate and slunk toward the entrance of the marquee. She saw the Captain’s distinctive three-cornered hat in the distance, and skirted around him until she reached the fresh air again and pulled her phone from her bag. The taxi number was in the pre-sets, but what directions could she give them? She had no idea of the location.
    A woman in a caterer’s uniform hurried past, arms full of clanking stainless steel trays.
    “Excuse me,” Frankie called, pulling her helmet off so she looked more human. “Can you tell me the address of this place? I need to get a taxi back to the city.”
    The woman paused for a moment, surprise written all over her face. “Had enough so soon?”
    Frankie shrugged. “It’s not really my sort of party. I came with my brother because his wife’s not well.”
    “Follow me then. These things weigh a ton.”
    Frankie obediently followed. Around the corner of the marquee she found a caterer’s van being loaded. The woman stashed her