Midnight Fantasy

Midnight Fantasy
Ann Major

HE THOUGHT SHE WAS A RICH GIRL LOOKING FOR A THRILL… Claire Woods was totally alluring–and completely out of Tag Campbell's reach. But when she needed him, he saved her. She touched raw places inside him, making him ache and crave things he'd thought he'd given up. What would it be like to have her waiting…every night…for him?HE WAS HER DARKEST FANTASY…AND HER DEEPEST DESIRE Tag Campbell haunted her. Like a pirate in tight denim, he captured her and declared his love in heated whispers. Claire had to make the decision of a lifetime–a quiet role in proper society or a wild, loving adventure with a man who was so wrong…but oh, so right!

Midnight Fantasy

Ann Major

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

To Aaron Clark, my late cousin, and his widow, Glenda Clark. There are lessons in life, both dark and bright. Sometimes the dark ones teach us what we most need to know.

Aaron, you have blazed bright with love.

You have taught me about courage.

You have taught me that it is never too late

to begin anew. You have become

everything and more than you ever dreamed.

You are one of my real-life heroes.

To Glenda, who taught me more about real love than almost anyone I know.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Epilogue

Coming Next Month

Prologue

Get the hell out of here, you half-wild, no-good bastard!

The van swerved off the asphalt. A rumble of bumps and rattles jolted the prisoner on the floorboards back to queasy consciousness. Murky, gray light filtered through his blindfold.

He saw his father’s face, mottled with rage.

You’re damn sure no son of mine!

He’d turned away, knowing what he’d always felt deep down, that he was nothing. He’d gotten his start in the gutter. That’s where he should have stayed.

The stench of dank air made him shudder.

God, he was scared. So scared.

They were in the swamp now, in that eerie, primeval kingdom of cypress trees, stagnant brown bayous, knobby-headed gators and mud deep enough to swallow a man whole.

Cajun music whined through bursts of static. He was bound hand and foot, sprawled on top of smelly fast-food boxes, Styrofoam cups and candy wrappers.

The waxy-faced driver with the spider tattoo was driving faster than he had in New Orleans. “You’re gonna be gator food, boy.”

A surge of fresh fear shook the captive.

Another voice. “You know what gators do, don’t you, no?”

A boot nudged the prisoner’s hip. “They’ll drag you to some underground hole, stuff you inside, yes, and tear off little bits of you for days.”

A strange terror gripped the blindfolded man. When he shifted on top of the garbage, something squished against his clean-shaven face. Only yesterday he’d sat with his father in the best restaurant in the French Quarter. He swallowed carefully against the gag, fighting not to choke on the oily rag in his mouth and the coppery flavor of his own blood. He tried not to breathe because every tortured breath made weird, gargling noises in his broken nose.

His assailants’ mood was quiet, tense, electric.

The road got bumpier, wetter; the pungent odor of still, dark waters and rotting vegetation stronger.

Big tires sloshed to a standstill.

“Let’s dump him. Sack him up, throw those concrete blocks in. Haul him out deep so he sinks.”

The back doors were thrown open. His fine Italian loafers came off when they grasped him around the ankles and pulled him roughly over garbage, tools, and bits of wood. They flung him onto the muddy ground, and his head struck a rotten log. When he regained consciousness, they were waist deep, pushing him under.