Wellington Series 2

by Kris Pearson

  Somehow she managed to retain her regal expression and not look away. The same flood of awareness rushed over her again, making her feel breathless and super-alive and intensely female. The unnerving sensation included a promise of pleasure and a hint of hell. She was grateful for Mike by her side, although whether as protector or prop she had no idea.

  They prowled both floors of the once proud house. Plainly it hadn’t been lived in for many years. The bathrooms were no longer functional—there were notices directing guests to hired portable toilets outside.

  Musty drapes and swags hung askew in the bedrooms. Mike gave one of the old lace curtains a tug. The rotten weave gave way, and a piece fell silently to the ancient carpet. Frankie peeled off a loose sliver of lily-printed wallpaper and tucked it into her small bag as a souvenir of a strange and magical night.

  “I have to admit,” she said, “Even Dad would have been tested trying to restore this place. He was a great carpenter, but this is falling apart.”

  “They’ve already salvaged the best of the windows.”

  She nodded, having noticed sheets of new-looking plywood here and there. “And I bet they’ve taken down amazing chandeliers.” Dramatic theatre spots on poles now lit the old house. Cables snaked alongside the walls.

  They returned to one of the ground floor rooms and she gazed out toward the huge trees which glowed eerily green from their up-lights.

  “Got your mobile handy?” Mike asked. “Text me to find me. I’ve got people to schmooze. Happy hunting, Rosebud.”

  And he walked away.

  She stood there deserted, furious she’d ever agreed to take Bella’s place. Obviously her brother hadn’t really needed her company.

  The loud ‘whoosh’ of a skyrocket igniting right outside the window made her reel backward with surprise.

  Two strong hands grabbed her above the elbows. Two thumbs slid in against the sides of her breasts. His earthy scent surrounded her. “Rose.”

  One word.

  Husky voice.

  Warm breath beside her ear.

  Chapter Two

  “He’s left you alone so soon?” The question ricocheted around in Frankie’s brain. The Captain felt as dangerous as a cobra. Every instinct screamed it. But he was a very charming snake—thrilling and beautiful and mesmerizing.

  “He has business... ” she murmured.

  “So have I.” His thumbs stroked up and down against the velvet, nudging at the sensitive sides of her breasts. He bent and kissed her shoulder with lips as soft as feathers.

  Frankie stood as though turned to stone. How could he just walk up behind her and do that? She’d met him a bare twenty minutes ago. Not even met him. She had no idea of his name, just as he had no idea of hers. Was this what very rich people did; simply pursued what they wanted until they got it?

  Well tonight she was masquerading as one of them. She could be anyone she liked. And if she chose, this would be the start of her ‘whole new life’. Freer and braver and sexier than ever before because she’d be escaping to Melbourne tomorrow and no-one need ever know who she was, or how fervently she longed for change and adventure.

  Goodbye to the old Frankie Ellison.

  Her heartbeat had surely gained speed. Could the Captain see her hectic pulse the way she’d seen his?

  She drew a deep breath and tried to turn toward him.

  “Oh no,” he murmured. “The view’s far too good from back here.”

  His heat washed over her—he stood bare inches away. Then he leaned down and blew a deliberate stream of cool air over her breasts and her tingling nipples turned bullet-hard in an instant.

  “Even prettier.” His thumbs teased the sides of her bodice down a fraction.

  Frankie knew she was in dire danger of popping right out over the low cut velvet. She glanced down to check. Saw the dusky pink peaks lining up to make their escape. “Not in here, thank you,” she snapped, finding courage behind the concealing mask.

  “Outside then.” It was a long way from an invitation.

  His big hand tugged her through the crowded lobby and down a darkened wood-paneled corridor. Her heart hammered with furious excitement as he opened a creaking door at the rear of the old house.

  “You know your way around.”

  He nodded. “Half owner with a friend. I’m involved in the redevelopment.”

  To their right, a vast white marquee loomed ghostly in the darkness. The silhouettes of party guests flickered against the walls, but there was no sign of an entrance on this side. A rock band had set up there—a sudden burst of drums rattled out.

  Another skyrocket shot up, culminating in a loud pop and an explosion of dazzling stars. The brilliance cast hard shadows over him, lighting up the tight muscles of his butt and long strong thighs as he towed her along. The snug white trousers clung and stretched with every step, revealing he was built like a prize-fighter. Would she be his prize?

  “This way.” He vaulted down to a slightly lower level of the garden and turned to offer her his other hand.

  “Not in these boots.”

  In answer he simply grabbed her elbows and swung her over. She cannoned into him and he held her there, imprinting his body on hers. Under the brass buttons securing his trousers his cock stood stiff as steel.

  Frankie swallowed, shaken out of her dream. Past boyfriends had always tried to lull her into a sense of security; hidden their sexy intentions until they thought they’d warmed her up. Subtlety wasn’t on this man’s agenda. He wanted her. And made it plain by letting her know he was already powerfully aroused.

  Would she be safe with him? It was all very well tagging along with a gorgeous stranger for a bit of flirty fun, but what if things turned rough?

  “Second thoughts?” he murmured, sensing her slightly panicked hesitation. “I won’t take you against your will.”

  Her breath caught in her throat. She’d thought no further than a few moonlit kisses.

  Be brave, be brave. The woman in the mask is the equal of him.

  She dredged up some courage and shook herself out of his grip.

  “Sooner or later, Rose,” he said with husky certainty. “Deep and slow—or deep and fast if you’d rather. There’s enough heat between us to set the house on fire.”

  Her shocked brain raced to find a suitable rejoinder. “You’ll need to please me more than this.”

  She watched with satisfaction as his lips twisted in a sexy little snarl.

  “You want nice? You want polite and careful?”

  “I want to be impressed.”

  “The Lady Rose wants a gentleman?” he sneered. “No, I don’t think that’s what she wants at all.”

  He was right. She wanted the unknown man who stood aggressively in front of her, eyes heavy with lust, trousers bulging with promise.

  Until now she’d always been the responder, never the initiator. Tonight she had more courage.

  She reached across the small gap between them and grasped a handful of the short curling hairs on his chest.

  “Where?” she demanded.

  He took a step toward her. She kept her arm stiff, her grip tight, and went backward one pace. He advanced another step, eyes intent on her from behind his mask. She stared him down through the ornate disguise of her own, and retreated a little further.

  His big heart pounded under her fist. His skin wafted musk and she breathed him in, craving more of his sexy scent.

  He guided her slowly, eyes never leaving hers. Again a skyrocket hissed upward, and this time the spectacular starburst lit the front of his body—his deep chest with her demanding hand so pale against his tanned skin...his muscle-ridged torso...his narrow hips and the swollen protrusion that looked in danger of bursting the buttons off his trousers.

  Frankie got enough of a glimpse to make her mouth water. He was a big strong man with everything to scale.

  And it wasn’t just her mouth that was watering for him. Her tiny chocolate thong now felt drenched with slickness. />
  So this is what ‘turned on’ feels like? This is why people go stupid for sex?

  Everything about her had become super-sensitive, doubly alive. And whatever followed would feel even better? How could anything top this thrilling edgy state of high anticipation and total wanting? She itched and buzzed deep inside, craving him regardless of the consequences.

  “Turn around,” he said. “There are steps.”

  She slackened her grip and let her hand trail down his hot body until she reached his trousers. She didn’t dare touch him center front, but she pushed several fingers in beside his hipbone and grasped the fabric between fingers and thumb to continue the spine-tingling pretense of pulling him along and being in charge.

  Down five uneven stone steps. Under shaggy trees where he held low-growing whippy branches out of the way for her. Around an unexpected brick wall to a sheltered, shadowed courtyard with a spectacular view out across the whole moon dappled inlet.

  “Wow!”

  “You have to wonder why they didn’t build for this in the first place.” His husky voice brushed over Frankie’s nerve endings in a thrilling caress. “How long before he misses you?”

  His change of subject threw her for a moment.

  “What? Oh, you mean Mike? He’s my brother—not my lover, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “I’m not worried about a lot right at this moment, Rose. I saw you, I wanted you, you felt the same. Yes?”

  “Yes,” she agreed, more certain of that than anything else in the world.

  “No worries then,” he said, tugging the bow of her bodice undone and twitching the ribbons out of the first half dozen holes. He folded the fabric back. Frankie’s nipples puckered even tighter—from the cool autumn air or from his intense scrutiny?

  She wanted him to look; that thought hit her like a hammer. The moon shone brightly enough to show him her breasts were pretty. Not huge, but full for her slight frame. High. Firm. And if he didn’t do something more than just look at them in the next few seconds, she’d start begging...

  To her intense relief his hands slid inside the bodice and scooped her out. His thumbs rubbed across her nipples. To and fro in an endless teasing caress.

  She heard herself give a plaintive sigh.

  His deep chuckle set all her nerves into a glorious slow burn. She’d expected haste and hunger from him, not this tender attention to her own pleasure.

  One of his hands deserted her, pulled off his big three-cornered hat, and sent it spinning sideways like a Frisbee. She heard it land somewhere with a soft swish.

  An instant later his dark head dipped and his mouth took hers, and there was nothing tender in his scorching kiss.

  Her elated cry was muffled by his invading tongue.

  His free hand grasped her neck as though it was a kitten’s scruff, and she was held prisoner, willing beyond belief, and perversely pleased with his possessive action.

  She kissed him back with answering hunger, dragging in air when his lips lifted, sliding deeper into bliss each time they descended again.

  His other hand cupped her breast, thumb still stroking over and around her nipple, sending shafts of hot magic down to explode between her thighs. Right where his well-filled white trousers and her short gauzy skirt chafed against each other with increasing desperation.

  Behind them the twanging guitar riff that signaled Eric Clapton’s ‘Layla’ rang out across the estate, and the rock group launched into action.

  “Thank God for that,” he rasped, right beside her ear. His teeth tugged on her lobe, and his warm lips and scratchy cheek progressed down her neck and out over her shoulder. “Because we’re going to get noisy soon,” he muttered against her collarbone.

  Frankie hitched in a fast breath as his hands closed around her hips and pulled her more urgently against him. His mouth painted a trail of fire over her skin, ever closer to her unlaced bodice.

  Do it, do it, do it...!

  She gasped and shuddered as his lips and tongue finally claimed her nipple, surrounding it with dizzying heat.

  He bit. She exclaimed again, more softly this time, then groaned on and on as he took a big mouthful of her and suckled deeply. Soon he was laughing against her.

  “The Lady Rose likes that? And wants some more?” he asked, letting her slip free. He stood tall again. She gazed up, trying to see his half hidden face, and registered only a wicked white smile. Then she looked down to the aroused and puckered peak that now gleamed wetly.

  She wanted so much more she was astounded. Where had such raging desire struck from? For the years she’d lived in her parents’ house she’d led a quiet and reasonably circumspect life—no longer a virgin after twenty, but not madly impressed with sex.

  Now she was ravenous! Yes, she wanted more. More of him.

  She groaned agreement, grabbed his jacket fronts, and yanked them apart. He loosened his grip on her waist so she could slide the sleeves down his arms. Backlit by moonlight, his big shoulders bunched with muscle, shockingly masculine. He stood broad and strong, his chest and forearms dark with hair, taut with sinew.

  His eyes held hers, hot and demanding. She wanted to see his whole face but knew their masks were what made this possible. Was it the anonymity that pushed their passion to such heights, or had she missed something amazing for years?

  He draped the jacket around her shoulders.

  “Against the wall. But I don’t want it scratching your gorgeous skin.”

  He pushed her by simply crowding so close she had to move back. One step. Two. Then she hit the old bricks, still warm from the long sunny day.

  “And I’ll just finish what I started here,” he added, rapidly unlacing more of her velvet bodice.

  Frankie stood trembling as he slid his hands over her breasts and around to the back of her ribs, tilting her up toward the moon—and his hungry mouth.

  Sensation poured through her. Intense. Pulsing. As he sucked and nibbled at her breasts, the ache between her thighs became more and more urgent. She ground against him, not hearing her own desperate whispers of “Please, please, please...”

  The Captain raised his head and stared down at her.

  “Hold your skirt up, Rose.”

  He bent and dropped a line of soft kisses down the center of her ribcage.

  Heart slamming behind his kisses, Frankie reached down and slowly lifted the sides of her skirt. Above the long boots the evening breeze whispered by.

  He sank to his knees. “The front of your skirt.”

  “But—”

  “Do it.”

  Her hands moved of their own volition. The golden petals lifted to display the tiny chocolate thong.

  She heard his very male grunt of satisfaction as he leaned toward her and slid his tongue right into the diamante edged cut-out.

  Chapter Three

  The words ‘a bitch on heat’ swam through her brain as he licked her with slow slippery deliberation. The sounds she made were animal, and very far removed from any past murmurs of pleasure. The sensation that accompanied them caused her toes to curl down hard, her fingers to grab for his hair, and her hips to tilt forward in helpless demand.

  His tongue stroked and retreated, over and over, and every sliding caress drove her higher and made her more incoherent.

  He drew back and she moaned at the loss.

  “Off,” he rasped, and his big hands smoothed further up her thighs, his thumbs hooked into the sides of the thong, and he drew it down, following it with small hot kisses until he reached the top of Bella’s long boots. “You taste like chocolate,” he murmured as he sat back on his heels and devoted himself to the more difficult task of working lace and elastic past suede.

  Frankie lifted each foot in turn, hoping he’d soon resume his luscious torture, because she felt so... so... desirous and desperate and overheated and astounded.

  She saw more of him now his hat was gone. Those wonderful shoulders. Glossy dark hair, cut short. But his face remained in t
otal darkness as he looked down, concentrating on stripping her bare. Trembling, she lifted the front of her skirt again in invitation, and he glanced up, a white smile visible against his darker skin.

  Now his tongue could wander at will, could sweep and flick and tease. Now there was room for his fingers to roam and stroke, and hold her exactly as he wanted her.

  Frankie sighed, and panted, and groaned as he pleasured her acutely aroused body and carried her ever closer to release.

  “Legs further apart,” he said roughly, and she thrilled at the husky demand and slight hint of desperation. He wanted this as much as she did! Sounded just as turned on by the decadent atmosphere and the tacit ‘permission’ their concealed identities granted.

  She obeyed, and heard again that sexy grunt of masculine intent as he grabbed one of her legs behind the knee, and pushed it up until he’d totally exposed her.

  She flung the opposite arm out against the wall for balance, and squeezed her eyes shut, knowing his face was close because his breath fanned hot against her skin as he spoke.

  “Time to get serious, Rose.”

  Then his mouth settled against her again, his questing tongue located her swollen clit, his lips surrounded it, and he sucked.

  Her shuddering scream apparently pleased him greatly because he laughed—lips vibrating against her flesh.

  Somewhere during the pleasure overload, he slung her leg over his shoulder. As she climbed and climbed toward her shattering climax his long fingers slid inside her and pressed upward, forward... and she started to spasm and clench, lost to everything except his insistent demands and the pulsing waves of ecstasy threatening to steal her very consciousness.

  Reality trickled back as he gentled her down.

  She once again heard the rock music thumping and soaring from the big white marquee. Felt a gust of breeze blow by, stealing leaves from the overhanging trees and scattering them across the courtyard, and over her exposed arms and breasts.