by Kris Pearson
Her other hand snaked around them, found them big as eggs and softly hairy. She squeezed gently, feeling the balls slide inside the skin. So mysterious and silky-heavy.
The Captain growled appreciation and she smiled. Her other hand continued its hard teasing glide, up and down, firm and persuasive, until she heard his breathing deepen and hitch. Suddenly the moon burst out from behind the clouds to light him fully. Frankie now saw the beautiful details of his long solid cock, the broad blunt tip where a drop of moisture glittered and surged every time she rubbed upward. And as she watched, it gathered and gathered until it spilled out and began to descend on a glittering thread, glossy as egg-white.
The Captain drew a sudden sharp breath, his cock jumped in her hand, and pumped startling white spurts out into the moonlight. Frankie gasped as hard blissful shudders racked her and all her muscles spasmed deep inside. On and on her climax rippled, making her arch up so the bath water splashed around her. Her toes cramped in ecstasy, her head thrashed from side to side as she rode out the dark throbbing pleasure-pain, and finally she pulled her finger away with a hiss of regret when the sensation became too much to bear.
“Four,” she whispered when her jaw unlocked and she could speak again.
***
Jake spent the rest of the night looking sideways for her, not admitting he was desperate, but... Every time he saw shining dark hair, it wasn’t hers. Every time he caught a glimpse of velvet, it turned into satin. And every time a woman’s laugh echoed behind him he swung around, only to find it wasn’t Rose. It was as though she’d evaporated.
The carnage continued throughout the dilapidated house. By three o’clock there were no curtains left hanging, no panes of brittle old glass unbroken, few walls without graffiti. The string quartet had long ago departed.
As the guests continued to dance and drink in the noisy marquee next door, Jake stood at the foot of the carved timber staircase, surveying the wreckage inside the main lobby. The place reeked of spilled champagne, fireworks, and the mélange of perfumes the guests had so liberally worn.
He raised a hand to his face. Rose’s fragrance had almost disappeared. Maybe just the smallest trace of her remained on his skin. He inhaled slowly and deeply, re-living the lightning strike of seeing her, wanting her... the urgency to take… the eventual bliss.
He swore softly, feeling his body stir for her yet again, an extra distraction he didn’t need.
The house demolition work had finally started. His salvage crew would be back on Monday—removing any other valuable joinery and timber, and reducing the remains of the old mansion to matchwood
At last he and Ben could build the spectacular new homes that would affirm their success to the world. Huge profitable houses with views of the inlet glittering peacefully from the floor to ceiling windows. Always supposing Ben could handle his newly returned wife’s extravagant expectations.
He compressed his lips and turned to the front door.
The rose with its wicked thorns taunted him from the wall.
Where is she?
He needed to find her and apologize. At the very least.
Correct her wrong assumption about the party not being genuine.
He was a better man than the maudlin, sex-crazed pirate. He wanted her to know that.
And she? She was incredible. A treasure he hadn’t expected. Spirited, sassy, and sexy. Everything he’d seen of her had been beautiful.
He shook his head at his own stupidity. Why had he treated her so cheaply? He’d been immediately drawn to her again when she entered the marquee, but continued to taunt her instead of taking the chance to smooth things over between them.
He tried to ignore the terrible possibility he’d been scared to the soles of his swashbuckling boots. Finally bowled over by a woman; left floundering for the first time in his life.
He hated it might be true.
As he stood there at the foot of the stairs he again saw her arriving—with one of the many vampires. He remembered hearing her say she wasn’t ‘Bella’ before he’d held the flute of champagne to her lips and enjoyed the view of her beautiful breasts. Later she’d claimed her companion for the night was her brother. A lie, or could he believe her?
The whole night was now a dark distorted dream. The only certainty was the hefty donation for the Leukemia people.
***
Early Monday morning he contacted the party planner and asked for a copy of the guest list. As he’d hosted the event, she emailed it without delay.
He ran his eyes down the long line of New Zealand’s great and good. There was no Rose, but maybe there was a Bella?
And there she was. Bella Ellison. And Mike Ellison—no doubt the vampire. Jake Googled him. Company CEO. But of course he’d be wealthy if he’d coughed up two thousand bucks for each of the party tickets.
Nodding slowly, he checked the phone listings for Ellisons.
Got him.
***
Melbourne’s weather glowed crisp and clear. Frankie spent an enjoyable day wandering the Arts Centre before returning to her friend Kimberley’s apartment. After a small but ritzy wedding with Frankie as the bride’s attendant, Kim and her new husband had departed for a honeymoon in Tahiti, leaving Frankie in charge of an over-indulged Burmese.
She downloaded her webmail from Kim’s computer and found a message from Bella, gushing about the shops and recommending the best stores for clothes.
Did the woman never listen? Frankie intended traveling light. She’d fallen for a misty mauve hand dyed silk camisole at the South Melbourne Market but wouldn’t be adding any more weight to her luggage. Extra clothes for Italy or Greece or France weren’t needed because Europe would be sliding toward summer when she arrived.
She hesitated before opening a message from Jake Alexander.
Jake Alexander?
Then her eyes shot wide open and her groin gave a liquid sigh as she registered the subject line.
Hello Rose.
Oh God—this couldn’t be chance! He’d tracked her down. How? Why? What did he want?
Her heart thudded as Saturday’s party swooped back to thrill her. Did she dare open the message or should she delete it unread? After several minutes of too-vivid, too-enjoyable brain-sex, her hormones got the better of her. She dragged in a deep breath and clicked.
‘Wanna play?’
Instantly she was back at the old mansion, following him across the lawn, down the steps, under the trees in the moonlight. No way in hell did she want any more to do with the pirate.
But I’m two thousand miles away from you now.
Despite the distance, she could feel his hands on her, taste the salt of his skin, hear him tempting her to misbehave.
So what did he really expect?
Frankie made him wait a day while she considered. She prowled around Melbourne’s beautiful shops and galleries, hoping for distraction, but he invaded her mind at every opportunity. His wicked smile followed her along busy streets where the aroma of freshly roasted coffee vied with the sharp spicy fragrance of colorful chrysanthemums outside the flower shops. His husky voice whispered to her as she walked through tranquil parks and along the broad path by the Yarra River.
He danced through her thoughts as she tried to strip the green mask off his face and see his eyes, his cheekbones, and the determined jaw of the man who’d simply taken her when he wanted to.
Does he think the same about me? That I saw what I wanted and took?
Wondering if that could be the case, she rode a tram to St Kilda Beach, bought a gelato, and stood looking at the gentle waves while she licked and fantasized more about him. Finally, with an impatient huff, she pulled her phone from her bag, found a local hot spot, and tapped out ‘maybe.’
What would it matter? He’d led her on—she’d turn the tables on him.
He shot his few words back very fast.
‘Can I see you again?’
She allowed herself a small bitter smile.
; ‘Not unless you’re in Melbourne.’
‘I’ll swing by for the weekend.’
He couldn’t be serious!
‘I’m gone by then,’ she keyed in, grimacing at the lie. Surely he’d never find out?
‘Where to?’
‘Greek Islands.’ She deserted the fresh salty waterfront and paced through to Acland Street, enjoying the café vibe, and wondering if that was the end of him. But no.
‘Greece not currently possible. Need to talk.’
After buying a latte she sat in the sun with it, remembering his hands on her, trying not to feel so tempted.
Another message arrived. One word. ‘Please’.
So he had manners after all?
And because he was rapidly taking over her brain, she replied. If he wanted to talk, he could.
Frankie poked at the coffee froth while she waited, scraping it from the sides of the cup and licking the spoon clean. The phone remained silent, and she wondered why she felt just a little irked. Well, she wasn’t going to chase him.
She finished the coffee and found the nearest tram stop. Images of a tall tanned pirate kept her company all the way back to Kimberley’s apartment block. Her brain sparked with scenes from the dark garden again, and her body sparked with lust.
She gritted her teeth and tried to banish the swollen dragging sensation that pulsed, yet again, low in her pelvis. God, she needed her vibrator…
As the elevator arrived, a man in jeans and a leather jacket joined her, head bowed, apparently texting. Knowing no-one in the building she didn’t even look at him properly, being too preoccupied with tight white trousers, a gold-braided black pirate’s coat, and the excellent body they contained.
“Which floor?” she asked, swiping the security tag, and pushing the touch-pad for the eleventh.
“Same thanks.” The doors closed. And then her phone chirped. Him at last? The ache grew worse. She could almost smell his dangerous scent.
“Hello.”
“Hello Rose,” the man beside her said, and her head shot up to register the wicked wide smile that had haunted her for the last few days.
“You?”
“And you. Francesca, not Rose.” An eyebrow quirked with amusement and he reached across and touched her hair with a couple of fingers. “Blonde, not black—nice.” He pushed his phone back into his pocket.
They rode several floors in silence while Frankie’s astounded brain tried to recover from the fizzing mess it had scrambled itself into. His dark eyes never left her face.
“You were already in Melbourne?” she finally croaked.
“Not the whole time. But as soon as I found out who you were, and where you were, and managed to grab a ticket, yes.”
“Why?” The elevator slowed and the doors slid aside. Running on automatic she stepped out. “I suppose you spoke to Bella?”
“She’s a chatty woman, your sister-in-law.”
Frankie nodded slowly. “So why? I mean, that was a once-only party thing, and we both—”
“—went a little wild?”
“More than a little.” She glanced around the white painted eleventh floor lobby, nonplussed. One long narrow table, one tall plant. Nowhere to run.
Damn, but she wanted to touch him! Wanted to hit him for following her like this. And, more than anything, wanted to drag him into Kimberley’s bed and surprise the hell out of him.
Oh no, no, no...
Her pulse raced as he compressed his gorgeous lips and locked his intent eyes on hers—another long candid inspection.
“How did you get away from the party?” he finally asked. “I looked everywhere for you.”
A slight grin tweaked at her lips as she remembered the trip in the caterer’s van. “It wasn’t easy.”
“I’d like to start again.”
At last her brain found the ‘on’ switch and kicked into gear. “Not possible.” She turned her back on him and hurried off toward Kimberley’s door, digging the key out of her bag as she gained speed. However much she might want him, she’d be mad to let it happen.
He strode along close behind her and ignored her rebuff. “I want to apologize. Get to know you.”
“Forget it!” He thought he could just turn up and she’d be willing? She jammed the key in the door, knowing she was dangerously more than willing. The very act of sliding that bright little piece of metal in out of sight was a further turn-on she didn’t need. If that was him sliding into her again...?
His gentle hands on her shoulders stopped her from pushing the door open.
“You’re shaking. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“You didn’t. I’m not shaking.”
“Liar. I can see you are, and feel you are. You know we’re not finished yet, and I’m here hoping for a second chance, so...?”
Frankie whirled around, furious her body had given her away. Then she started to tremble even harder as the pirate’s hands drifted up to cradle her face.
She drew a panicked breath when his dark head dipped and his lips brushed over hers.
She could have pulled back. Knew she could. Knew she should. But something pinned her there—in that unfamiliar impersonal corridor, in the late sun-striped afternoon, with a thumping heart and unsteady knees, and his mouth so soft and seeking.
Everything turned dark and quiet and went far away. There was only him—tasting like heaven, smelling like summer, hot and taut and strong against her, feeling sinfully good. How could she not kiss him back?
Once her lips clung to his, he grunted softly and reached behind her, turned the key, and walked her slowly backward into the apartment, exactly as he’d walked her up against the wall in the courtyard on Saturday night.
Frankie heard the door click shut, and they were private, private, private.
Way off in the far corner of the room her conscience danced an annoying jig, trying to warn her she was behaving really badly again. She reached out an imaginary arm and swatted the damn thing away. Pesky conscience! When had it ever given her a good time like this?
Another surge of lust swamped her, and she clung tighter to his big shoulders. This was so much better than Saturday’s dark overgrown garden with its whistling skyrockets and sudden bursts of shattering glass.
“Wait,” he muttered between desperate kisses. “I need to say this. I had too many things on my mind the other night. Big things. Bad things.” He stroked the back of his hand down her cheek and closed his eyes briefly. “They made me act crazy, and then there you were, so damn beautiful. My consolation prize for everything wrong.”
He kissed her again, more softly, and she pressed against his hard thighs, felt how primed he was, wanted him inside her right now.
“I was rough,” he whispered. “You deserved better.”
Frankie doubted ‘better’ was possible, but she burned to find out. She parted her legs a little, tilted her hips up, and offered him a shamelessly warm welcome, knowing without a doubt now she’d take him up on his second chance offer after all.
“Francesca...” His husky complaint made her smile.
“Frankie. Haven’t been Francesca for years. And you’re Jake?”
“Yup.”
“So—real names this time.”
“Real everything this time.”
She slid her hands up under his T-shirt onto hot skin, knowing he was right. They were nowhere near finished.
THE END
Out of Bounds
(Wellington, Book 7)
Kris Pearson
Jetta has inherited half a house. Big problem: she has to share it with co-owner Anton, and her past has left her terrified of men.
Prologue
Jetta Rivers despised herself for snooping on him over the old fence, but with her face hidden safely in the foliage of Gran’s jasmine vine, her eyes still followed his every move.
He was sex on legs. Sex on very long legs. Maybe thirty—with strong arms, and a smooth tanned back flexing in the bright Kiwi sun as he polished
the silver flanks of an impeccable old Porsche.
She imagined running her hands over his taut muscular body as sensuously as his were caressing the car.
Then, quick as a wink, her naughty brain stripped the jeans off his very cute butt.
‘Stop it Jetta!’ she snapped at herself, adding a couple of frustrated curses as hot little ripples of pleasure pulsed between her thighs. Why did she feel like this when she couldn’t do anything about it? Her body might be bursting with lust but her brain always put the brakes on. In twenty-six years, she’d had exactly one night of sex.
And it had been terrible.
Chapter One — Mr Porsche
A week later Jetta swiped at a trickle of tears and drew a deep determined breath. The house she’d just inherited was far from beautiful—Grandma’s loving welcomes had somehow disguised the awful details and softened the scruffiness.
But it was hers now, and chipping up the old kitchen floor with Grandpa’s spade was only the first of dozens of jobs she had planned.
Wincing at her new blisters, she gathered up some of the larger pieces of linoleum, carried them along the hallway, and threw her armful of rubbish onto the growing heap beside the path. Then she took a few gulps of fresh summer air before retreating to the dusty kitchen.
“Hello...?” a man yelled through the open door a few seconds later.
As Jetta turned to investigate, she caught sight of herself in the small mirror on the back of the kitchen door. Under Grandpa’s ancient painting hat, her face was dirty, tear-streaked and bare of make-up. She looked about sixteen, and really didn’t need a visitor.
“Hello?” His voice was softer now and very close.
She whirled further around, heart racing, grabbed for the spade handle, and clutched it tightly. There was only him and her. No one else to save her.