Chapter 2
LUKE
She runs like a fucking dream.
I track her through the vineyard, hanging back just enough to let her think she has a chance. The red dress was the perfect choice—it catches the glow of the lights with every stride. I can see exactly where she is at all times, even when she changes direction and thinks she’s lost me.
My boots are silent on the packed earth as I move parallel to her path, cutting through rows she hasn't reached yet. I know this vineyard like I know my own body—every dead end, every shortcut, every spot where the old growth vines create pockets of shadow deep enough to disappear into.
I should. I've spent the last four months memorizing it.
The property originally belonged to Marcus Chen, my college roommate's husband.
When I told him what I needed—fifty acres of private vineyard, no questions asked—he'd laughed and handed over the keys while I signed a check valued at double what this place is worth.
I did it because this place is perfect for what I needed.
"You Morrisons are into some weird shit," he'd said.
He has no idea.
I pause at the end of a row, watching Seraphina's silhouette dart left about thirty yards ahead.
She's fast. Faster than I expected, even with the sedative still working through her system.
Her bare feet slap against the frozen ground—she ditched the heels somewhere in the first few minutes, smart girl—and her breathing comes in sharp, visible puffs in the cold air.
The sound of her fear is fucking intoxicating.
But it's not just fear. I can smell something else beneath the adrenaline, something sweeter and darker. Arousal. She's wet already, I'd bet my life on it. Her body knows what her mind hasn't figured out yet—that this is exactly what she needs. What we both need.
I adjust my mask and continue the hunt.
The matte black masquerade mask covers the upper half of my face, leaving only my jaw and mouth exposed. It's uncomfortable as hell, but the anonymity is crucial. She needs to be afraid.
That's what makes this work. That's what makes it real.
I think about the wine cellar waiting at the heart of the vineyard, and my cock stirs against my thigh. I've been preparing that space for weeks—the candles, the chaise lounge, the wine and grapes laid out in a perfect arrangement. Every detail carefully curated for maximum impact.
She's going to lose her mind when she sees it.
But first, I want to play.
I slip through a gap in the vines and emerge two rows ahead of her, letting myself be visible for just a moment. A shadow in the darkness, there and gone before she can be sure she saw anything.
Her gasp carries through the still night air, and I smile.
She changes direction immediately, veering right, her movements more frantic now. Good. I want her heart racing. I want her so flooded with adrenaline that every touch feels electric, every sensation amplified to the point of overwhelming.
I circle around, cutting off the path she's heading toward.
She doesn't know it yet, but she's running straight for a dead end—a section where the rows narrow and converge against an old stone wall.
I designed the chase to funnel her there, using the balloons and lights as subtle guides she wouldn't consciously notice.
Everything in this vineyard is a trap. She just hasn't realized it yet.
The music fades to silence, and I let my voice carry through the darkness.
"Time's up, my love."
She doesn't slow down. If anything, she runs harder, and fuck if that doesn't make me want her more. So many women would have frozen, would have surrendered to the inevitable. Not my Seraphina. She fights until the very end.
It's one of the thousand reasons I chose her.
I quicken my pace, no longer content to stalk. The hunt has been satisfying, but I'm done waiting. I need my hands on her. I need to feel her trembling beneath me, need to taste the fear on her skin before I turn it into something else entirely.
She's heading exactly where I want her—toward the section of old growth where the vines are thickest, where the trellises create almost a tunnel of gnarled wood and tangled branches. It's darker there, the lights more sparse, the shadows deep enough to swallow us both.
Perfect.
I let her hear me now. My boots hit the ground with deliberate weight, announcing my presence, letting her know exactly how close I am. The anticipation of capture is almost as sweet as the capture itself.
"I can hear you breathing, love." I pitch my voice to carry, to wrap around her like a physical thing. "Are you scared... or excited?"
She doesn't answer, but I hear the small, needy sound she makes. It goes straight to my cock and makes me grit my teeth against the surge of want.
She's close now. So fucking close.
I can see the red dress flickering between the vines maybe twenty feet ahead. She's slowing down, whether from exhaustion or the realization that she's running out of options. The rows are narrowing around her, the old growth section closing in like a funnel.
Ten feet.
I can hear her ragged breathing now, and the way her shoulders heave with each desperate gasp. Her hair has come loose, auburn strands flying wild around her face. The red silk is hiked up around her thighs, and even in the dim light I can see the goosebumps covering her bare legs.
She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen.
Five feet.
She must sense how close I am because she makes one last desperate push, trying to squeeze between two posts where the vines are thickest. But the gap is too narrow, the branches too dense.
She gets tangled, just for a second, the gnarled wood catching at her dress, her arms, slowing her down just enough.
It’s like the vineyard is working for me.
That second is all I need.
I close the distance in two strides and launch myself at her.