Calen's Captive

By: Lucy Leroux

Prologue


The driving beat of the music was starting to make Calen’s head pound. He put a weary hand over his eyes, trying to block out the noise and flashing lights of his newest nightclub.

It didn’t work.

All he wanted was to go home. He hadn’t been here long, but his interest had nosedived after Liam and Trick had left. It used to be the height of his ambition to sit at his own personal VIP table, watching the beautiful people spend their money on his overpriced booze and dance the night away. But the satisfaction of living out this fantasy had faded some time ago.

Liam might be right. Calen needed to find another challenge. Liam wanted him to open a club at the Caislean, the Tyler brothers’ flagship hotel here in town. The Caislean chain was starting to open hotels all over the place, but the brothers still took the most pride in their first property. So did he. Calen had helped them find the investors they needed to open their dream hotel, and he was also sentimental about the place. But right now the thought of opening another nightclub held about as much appeal as an all-tofu diet. It did nothing to enhance the arousal he should be feeling, given the determined blowjob he was getting under the table right now.

He was hard enough, he supposed, but nowhere near climaxing. He reached under the long tablecloth, and with a hand on her head, signaled to his lovely companion that she should stop and join him above table. He thanked her politely, and despite her pout, dismissed her as courteously as possible.

Calen had little respect for women who pouted, but in this case, it was helpful. It helped destroy the image he’d first had when he had spotted her. The brunette had been giving him coy and inviting looks all night. For a moment, in the dim light of the club, the fantasy created by her black hair and green eyes had been convincing, so he’d waved her over to keep him company. But she’d only been an illusion—a poor copy of Elynn.

He shifted in his seat uncomfortably. Calen couldn’t believe he was still fantasizing about his old university mate’s new wife. The fact he’d been doing so regularly since Alex had gotten married was making him crazy. And he felt like total shite about the whole thing.

He waved his manager over and told him to keep an eye on things, then got up to leave. He drove home to his penthouse, still deep in self-flagellation mode. He felt like calling Sergei, if only for the fact that he wasn’t the only one of Alex’s old friends to find his new bride a little too appealing.

Sergei Damov, Alexandros Hanas, and Giancarlo Morgese had been the first and only friends he had made in University. They had all attended Alex’s wedding a few weeks ago at his new Oxford estate and, if circumstances continued as they were, it would be the last wedding among his friends. Giancarlo had technically been married, but the best thing he could say about that disaster is that it had been brief.

With a sigh, he thought back to those early days at University in Edinburgh. It was one of the first times he’d left the country and, miracle of miracles, he’d done it with his father’s blessing. No one in the family had ever chosen to study abroad before. In fact, most didn’t bother with higher education at all. But he’d known from an early age that he wasn’t going to join the family ‘business’. He was determined to make his own way in the world, and stay clean doing it.

With his background, he’d had a hard time relating to any of the other people he’d met. Until Sergei. Perhaps friendship between the son of an Irish mobster and the son of a shady Russian magnate was out of the question under normal circumstances, but he and Sergei had felt a connection from day one.

Giancarlo and Alex drifted into their lives shortly after, and soon the four had become inseparable, despite the differences in their personalities. Alex vacillated between being a risk-taker and a control freak. Sergei was like him—easygoing on the outside but with a tendency for too much introspection. Giancarlo had been the steady one, at least on the surface. But still waters ran deep, as they said.


The last time he had seen any of them had been at Alex’s wedding. Giancarlo had to leave early after the ceremony, but he and Sergei had stayed on till the bride and groom had shared their last dance. Then he and Sergei had left the reception together to mourn the end of Alex’s bachelorhood by getting completely wasted. After drinking half a bottle of vodka, Sergei had admitted how sexy he found Elynn, and Calen had incoherently agreed. They proceeded to try and drunkenly pinpoint exactly why Elynn had affected them the way she had.

In a fog of alcohol-induced intuition, they’d eventually decided it was because of the innocent sensuality she exuded. Between him and Sergei, and before his recent marriage, Alex, the three men had fucked hundreds of beautiful women. Giancarlo’s tally had been more modest, but he’d always said it was about quality, not quantity. As for the rest of them, they’d had plenty of models, actresses, socialites, and club girls in their beds. But no other woman of his acquaintance had possessed that look of innocence waiting to be ravaged that Elynn would probably always have. Sergei had mumbled about knowing one other girl with that look, but he’d clammed up when pressed for more details.

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