Text copyright ©2015 by the Author.
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Never Cry De Wolfe
By Violetta Rand
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Dedication: To Dan—never be afraid to growl a little.
Acknowledgements: Thanks to all my readers—none of this is possible without you. Big hugs to Kathryn Le Veque for inviting me into her world, Scarlett Cole, Samanthya Wyatt, Barbi Davis, Star Montgomery, Virginia Smith, the rest of Violetta’s Valkyries, J.J., and my beloved husband, Jeff.
Table of Contents
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 ONE
A sheep in wolf’s clothing. That’s what Ramsey De Wolfe overheard people in town whisper behind his back sometimes. Not because of anything he’d done. His celebrated career as a detective with the Opposition City Police Department was overshadowed by two things, the cowardly act of a great uncle who froze during a bank robbery in progress, leaving five dead, and the fact that Ramsey couldn’t fall in love.
But like generations before him, the De Wolfe men attended police academy and served in local police departments. Ten generations of his family had worn badges in this state. And like his surname suggested, they were ravenous defenders of justice.
That tradition didn’t shield Ramsey from the penetrating looks he received when he was off duty and prowling the streets at night. Women loved him. And he took advantage of it, as long as there were no strings attached.
The men in his family were also cursed. Something to do with an ancient ancestor named Jonathan De Wolfe from England. The man had kept a secret mistress, and when she gave birth to their son and died, he begged his wife to raise the infant as their own. Instead, she banished him from her bed and cursed the baby. Something about his prick rotting off.
Ramsey squirmed a little whenever he thought about it. Thank God his parts were in perfect working order. He adjusted himself just to make sure, then walked through the double glass doors, leaving the annual police fundraiser.
He despised tuxedos, and loosened the black bow tie and unfastened the top buttons of his white dress shirt. Whenever he faced the public, he put on his best smile.
Ramsey really didn’t give a shit about anyone there. The only reason he sat at the table of honor at events like the fundraiser was because of his last name. It drew flies like honey, women with fat checkbooks with husbands who didn’t care how they spent their money as long as they were getting laid every night.
Ramsey’s reward? Women fucked him.
The best part of that family curse…
Since he never fell in love, if a girl wanted to find a husband, sleeping with a De Wolfe was rumored to be the best way. The next man she met would eventually slip a ring on her finger. So far, Ramsey had been the catalyst for eighteen successful marriages. Of course he received invitations to each blessed event, usually with handwritten thank you notes included.
He’d always declined, but appreciated in some twisted way that they’d remembered him—like the football trophies gathering dust on his shelf in his office at work. He enjoyed reminders from his past. And he kept all those elegant invitations in an envelope in his bottom desk drawer. Eighteen little reminders of what his life might have been if he wasn’t born a De Wolfe.
He sighed as he unlocked the driver’s side door of his 1965 911 Targa Porsche. One of his pleasures in life. He started the engine, then backed out of his spot in the Liberty Building parking lot. With a population of sixty-five thousand, Opposition City had a small but bustling downtown. Jazz clubs and gourmet restaurants were located on the north end, the business district to the west. Police headquarters were in midtown, less than a mile from where the police fundraiser happened every year.
Sometimes when the need hit him hard enough, Ramsey braved the two hour drive west to Lexington. It felt good getting lost in a crowd. He didn’t limit himself to the women in his hometown, preferring the company of an occasional blond from the big city. But blonds were as common as bluegrass in Kentucky, especially the bottle kind.
As he waited for traffic to clear on Main Street, he wrestled with the idea of where to go. Did he want a burger and beer? Or a martini and steak? He glanced at his watch, another precious heirloom from his deceased grandfather. The gold Rolex looked right on his wrist.
Midnight. Early enough to slip into Christian’s Brewery and grab a booth. Friday nights were reserved for local talent, usually a house band with guest vocalists showcasing their classic rock abilities. Nothing wrong with some Zeppelin or Aerosmith with a Budweiser chaser. And if he got lucky, pussy for dessert.
He tossed his keys to the valet with a smile. “Good evening, Charlie.”
The twenty year old carrot top returned his grin. “There’s something special at table eight,” he informed. “Never seen her before.”
“Alone?”
“No,” Charlie answered. “A couple brunettes.”
Charlie attended the local community college, majoring in forensic science. Ramsey couldn’t resist the kid’s enthusiasm, or his continued attempts to get accepted to the academy. For tipping him a twenty spot whenever he showed up at the club, Charlie told him where the hottest women were sitting. Not that Ramsey needed help.
“Thanks, Charlie,” he said, then stepped inside.
Out of respect for Charlie’s effort, Ramsey gazed casually in the direction of table eight. Sure enough, the woman caught his attention. Her features were stunning, pouty lips and a pert nose. And her tits… Then he heard the sultry, Joplin-like voice coming from the stage, and couldn’t resist a look as he ventured deeper into the smoke filled room. Wrapped around the floor stand like a snake, the curvy strawberry blond sang her next verse into the microphone.
The words went straight to his dick. Or was it the way her leather pants hugged her thighs? Ramsey didn’t care, he just wanted to see and hear more.
“Mr. De Wolfe,” one of the cocktail waitresses greeted him. “You’re usual table is available.”
“Thanks, Missy,” he said. “But I think I prefer something up front.”
She eyed the stage, then gazed back at Ramsey. “Like the entertainment tonight?”
Sly girl, she knew his habits. And though he considered her very pretty, Ramsey had never made a move on her. She had two young children at home to support, and he valued her friendship. “You could say that.” He rubbed his chin and followed Missy.
The interior of the club was tastefully decorated, and very Italian like its owner. The textured walls were burgundy and adorned with beveled mirrors and lithographs of famous singers from the 1940s and 50s. The main bar was sleek, all frosted glass with wrought iron accents, lighted underneath, and seated at least thirty c
ustomers. It overlooked the dance floor, which sat just below the raised stage.
Ramsey preferred simple, that’s why he frequented the place. From whatever vantage point he chose, he could see everything, which fit with his training—always be aware of what’s going on around you. He sat at the table Missy offered, twenty feet from the stage.
“The usual drink?” Missy asked.
“Vodka tonic,” he said, in the mood for something different.
Missy placed a red napkin on the table in front of him, then disappeared into the crowd. Ramsey ran his fingers through his dark hair, his gaze sharply focused on the stage. The blond diva soothed and provoked him at the same time. Music always affected him in strange ways, but the instrumentals were what usually moved him. Somehow this singer managed to capture something as potent as lightening in her voice. And it hit him hard. Never mind her physical appeal, he could listen to her all night, maybe eternity if she kept performing Adele cover songs.
Missy returned with his drink and he handed her a twenty. “What’s her name?”
“Madison Blake.”
“She’s beautiful.”
“Draws a large crowd every Friday night. I’m guessing you’re going to frequent the bar more often? We haven’t seen you in a while.”
Ramsey smirked. Madison wouldn’t be an easy woman to forget, so he might as well enjoy her while he could. “I’ve been tied up at work,” he said. “Does she have a contract?”
“If you consider a hand shake as reliable as a signature. You know how casual Anzio is, if he likes what he sees, you get the gig.”
Ramsey and Anzio attended high school together, even played football. When he opened up a nightclub after dropping out of college his junior year, it didn’t surprise Ramsey. The guy had a natural talent for peddling good food and liquor. “She’s a lucky girl, several acts have gotten discovered in this place.”
“Yes,” Missy agreed. “And I think Madison is one of the best singers we’ve ever had.” She offered him change for the twenty.
He held up his hand. “Keep it, sweetheart. Just make sure she stops by after her set.”
Missy smiled. “You’re a dog, Ramsey, but I like you.”
He’d been called worse, like bastard, beast, and heartless. It’s not that he didn’t want a meaningful relationship or a family someday. Fate just didn’t give him that choice. And history, well, ancient curses weren’t something you could just undo. Over the years he’d learned to live with his limitations. So he embraced life with conviction, even adopted a creed that reflected his unfortunate set of circumstances…and his last name. Eat or be eaten.
CHAPTER TWO
Madison recognized Ramsey De Wolfe the minute he entered the club. The man looked lethal in a tuxedo. Not only had he stolen her breath, he’d also hijacked the crowd’s attention. Nearly every head turned as he worked his way to a table near the stage. She’d been preforming at the brewery every Friday night for three weeks, hoping to run into him. And her patience had finally paid off.
A recent graduate from the University of Kentucky in Lexington, she accepted a part time job at the Opposition City History Museum as the assistant curator. Singing helped pay the bills, but working in this bar provided her with the opportunity to get close to the very subject of her master degree thesis, the De Wolfe family. She’d been obsessed with them since high school, devouring every newspaper article, magazine feature, and book that even mentioned their name.
She belted out the last few lines of her final song in the second set of the night, then returned the microphone to the floor stand. The crowd exploded with applause and she smiled graciously, appreciative of the warm welcome she’d received here. But her gaze travelled slowly to the man seated nearby, who neither clapped nor smiled up at her. Instead, he just stared, running his index finger along the rim of his glass. Arrogant man, she thought. His dark eyes were clearly fixed on her face.
Madison eventually broke free of his gaze, turning her attention to the house band. She hugged the piano player and shook hands with the other members, grateful they were so versatile. Not once had they failed to recognize a song on her playlist. She exited the stage, headed to the bar for a glass of wine.
“Madison?” One of the cocktail waitresses flagged her down.
“Missy, right?”
“Good memory,” she said. “Are you busy right now?”
“No, why?”
“There’s a man seated near the stage that has requested an introduction. He also wants to buy you a drink.”
Madison knew exactly who she meant. Should she admit she knew Ramsey De Wolfe, or just play stupid? Either way, she intended to meet him. “Who?”
“See the dark-haired guy in the tuxedo?” Missy pointed. “His name is Ramsey De Wolfe, and around here, he’s a VIP.”
She gazed in his general direction, refusing to get excited. Three families had contributed to the cultural renaissance in Opposition City, and the De Wolfes topped the list. To her knowledge, Ramsey remained the only member of his family that refused to grant interviews, even to the local historical society. What did that dangerous man have to hide? She was determined to find out.
“He looks harmless enough,” Madison said.
“Are you joking?” the waitress asked.
“No.”
“Girlfriend…” Missy patted her hand. “Be careful, that man has a way of getting inside your head and panties.”
Madison shifted her weight and rubbed her hand over her pants. “Speaking from experience?”
Missy chuckled. “Me? Sleep with Ramsey? God, no. We’re friends. But I also feel obligated to warn a nice girl like you to be careful.”
“I appreciate that.”
Missy escorted her to Ramsey’s table. He immediately stood, then pulled the chair next to his out. “Good evening, Ms. Blake. I thoroughly enjoyed your music. Can I buy you a drink?”
Madison appreciated his cool formality, it had been years since a man stood when she approached a table. In fact, she thought her father and brothers were the last ones in Kentucky with old southern charm. So much had changed in her home state. “I’d like a glass of red wine, whatever the house recommends.” She sat down and the server wandered off.
“So what brings talent like yours to Opposition City? I picture you in Nashville or Atlanta, not here.”
God, up close his eyes were black as coal. “I’m a Kentucky native,” she said with a pronounced drawl, proud of her heritage. “I landed a job at the museum last month, so here I am.”
“Tour guide?” His brow raised.
Madison coughed. “Actually—I’m the assistant curator.”
His big hand brushed over her hers. “Brains and beauty.”
The skin-on-skin contact made her insides squirm a little. Her smoldering brain couldn’t form the words she needed to advance the conversation.
“Are you all right, Ms. Blake?”
“Y-yes. You make me feel very old when you address me as Ms. Blake.”
“Okay, Madison.” He touched her hand again, lingering for a breath longer. “You can call me, Ramsey.”
To her knowledge, she hadn’t referred to him as anything yet. She feared speaking his name might enchant her like some kind of spell. But Madison never backed down from a challenge. She’d gotten this far in life because she took chances. “How long have you lived in Opposition City, Ramsey?”
“All my life.” He leaned back in his chair, stretching out, legs spread wide.
Body language experts would call that a power stance. Ramsey De Wolfe was claiming the territory around him, which included her at the moment.
“It’s a lovely place, the hills and trees...”
“The landscape is the last thing I’m thinking about right now.”
His eyes danced with mischief, and he wet his lips slowly. Deliberately trying to make her uncomfortable, that much she knew. And if she didn’t have a working knowledge of his history, she might succumb to his unbridled charm.
“What shall we talk about then?” she asked.
He leaned close. “You.”
Missy returned with her wine, set it down, and bounded off again, leaving Madison to her own devices. “What do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
Even his swagger had swagger. “There’s nothing too exciting about my life. I grew up in the Lexington suburbs singing in the church choir. I have three brothers and my father works for the defense department. I like kittens and bunnies, and long walks on the beach… Are you even listening to me?” Though he appeared to be listening, he seemed far away.
“Kittens and bunnies, and long walks on the beach. Sounds very suspicious, Ms. Blake.”
“I threw that in to test you.”
“I didn’t miss a word,” he assured her. “What about your mother?”
She felt her smile fade. “She died a couple years ago from breast cancer.”
His poker face changed into something softer, a flicker of deep concern etched his forehead with wrinkles. “Sorry for stirring up any pain.” He cupped her face.
“No.” She folded her hands on the table, hoping he didn’t notice the slight tremor. “I’m learning to deal with the pain and memories. Everyone is different, right? And I’m pretty sure no one ever fully recovers from a loss like that.”
“No,” he agreed. “True recovery isn’t an option. Not in my career, and never in my personal life.”
She wondered for a minute what he meant exactly, but if she thought too hard about it, she’d start to cry. That’s how fresh the pain of the loss of her mother still was. “Do you have family here?” Madison changed the subject quickly.
He nodded. “Brothers, parents, and countless cousins.”
“And what do you do for a living?” She had to treat him like a stranger in order to get close to him.
“I’m a detective.”
She felt suddenly caged in, like she couldn’t walk away. His eyes were precise weapons of seduction. And his words were a mere formality, necessary for whatever reasons he chose.
Never Cry De Wolfe--World of de Wolfe Pack Page 1
