by Rosie Vanyon
Impishly, she began to increase the tempo of their coupling. She sucked harder, pulled him further in, clutched his butt cheeks, urging him to pump faster into her mouth.
His hands were no longer gentle in her hair. They were yanking at the damp curls, pushing her head into his groin again and again.
“Oh, God, yesssss…” He moaned and she felt him tense up, almost reaching the limits of his control.
She didn’t let up, didn’t back off, did nothing to ease his tension and everything to escalate it. She made her own sounds of delight and encouragement as he pulsed into her. She gripped his ass harder with one hand, almost slamming his pelvis into her face. She moved her other hand to the sweet spot just behind his balls and within a split second, he was roaring and gasping through the excruciating pleasure she had given him, making one final lunge in to her willing mouth and pouring his seed down her greedy throat, over her tongue, and finally across her lips like the most precious balm she would ever taste.
For a moment, he stood still, catching his breath, slowing his heart rate, coming back to himself. He blinked once, twice. When he smiled at her like she was an all-you-can eat dessert bar and he was famished, she was pretty sure they were about to use up every skerrick of hot water. And she didn’t mind one bit.
****
His phone rang at three a.m. She was instantly awake and her first thought was of Bronte. He barely stirred. She saw the flash of the screen where he had discarded his cell amongst the bed clothes. She picked up the phone as she shook him awake. Saw the caller ID. Couldn’t avoid it really.
“Candy.” Stripper? Escort? Ironic hitman?
He took the phone and answered with his surname before his eyes were even open, his voice sounding awake despite the reality.
But whatever Candy said next had his eyelids up like crazed roller blinds. He listened with his whole attention for maybe thirty seconds, nodding and making affirmative noises.
Cara could hear the fast-paced, high-pitched commentary from the other end of the line, but only the occasional phrase resolved itself. “Took the bait…guarantee…recommend you…”
“And it’s definitely a done deal?”
Whatever Candy replied had him smiling like he’d scoffed the whole cage of canaries and the budgie too.
He quickly signed off, placed the phone beside the bed, yanked Cara into his arms, and snuggled with her.
“Um…good news?” she asked, feeling a bit miffed at being left out of the information loop. “You look like you just found Mom’s missing treasure.”
“Better than good news and better than treasure. You may have to remind me in the morning that that call was real and not a dream,” he told her, his voice infused with happiness but clogged with sleep.
“Bronte?”
“No. Not Bronte, exactly. Long story, babe. Tell you in the morning,” he murmured, lapsing into soft snores as he drifted into an uncharacteristically deep and tranquil sleep.
Cara lay awake for a long time wondering. What on earth had the phone call meant? Who was Candy? And why was he so thrilled to hear from her at three in the morning?
Despite her deliberations, Cara must have fallen asleep because when she awoke, sunlight streamed in through the skylight. It was her phone ringing and Levi was nowhere to be seen.
She answered Belle’s call, still half asleep with the wisps of dark, sensual dreams still clinging to her consciousness. She wondered if, perhaps, she had imagined Levi’s cell going off in the early hours. Maybe it had been some weird and vivid hallucination.
“I’ll cut to the chase,” said Belle without preamble. “The Midnight Star weighed an enormous eleven hundred carats.”
Cara’s sleep-fogged brain scrambled to get on topic. Carats…Midnight… Oh, the sapphire!
“That is enormous,” Belle continued. Almost record-breaking. Plus, it’s unusual in that it is a black sapphire. At the time it was sold, it was uncut—a superb quality stone that could be transformed into a star sapphire.”
Cara wished she had Levi’s ability to sound alert even when sleep-fuddled. Her eyes flicked around the room. The black alarm showed it was about to turn nine. The cat had somehow snuck into the trailer and nestled at her feet. She idly stroked it.
“Transformed? When you say transformed…?” Insightful, cowgirl, erudite and articulate.
The skylight was still propped open and she could hear the whirr and whine of tools and machinery, the shouts of the crew, and the rumble of vehicles. The air was a strange potpourri of earth, roses and pine, coffee and bacon.
“Well, in its natural state?” Belle continued. “It would look kind of like…well…a lump of rock.”
There was silence for a moment. Cara was suddenly wide, wide awake. Adrenaline swamped her entire system. She literally felt it course through her body on a wave of realization, flooding her limbs like a drug. Her body had connected the dots before her brain fully registered the implication of Belle’s assertion.
“So…this sapphire? It might be gray with some black crystally bits? Kind of wobbly and not particularly eye-catching? About the size of a man’s fist?”
Cara held her breath, waiting for Belle’s answer, yet already knowing she would confirm her suspicions. The cat stirred and stretched, yawning and arching. The clock ticked over to nine. A cloud passed over the sun.
“A giant’s fist, more like it. And worth a giant’s fortune.”
Cara’s smile was wide and instantaneous. Her joy was sharp and loud and satisfying, like a colossal chainsaw roaring. She could barely catch her breath and her heart thumped like she had just done ten rounds with Mike Tyson.
“Thank you, Belle. I could kiss you! You are the bee’s knees, the cat’s pajamas, and the duck’s guts.”
“You’ll be pleased to know Brian agrees,” Belle confessed shyly.
“You’re back together?”
“Yes, and we’re hiring a fulltime manager for the store so I’ll have more time with the family and for my art. We’re even talking about traveling to Australia together.”
“That is fantastic news, Belle. Congratulations.”
“Yeah. Levi said the same earlier this morning. Is he okay?”
“I guess so. Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know… He seemed kind of…weird… Maybe he was distracted or something.”
“Maybe. I’ll go find out.”
Cara ended the call and smooched the cat, petting and rubbing the feline with her hands and cheeks. “Awesome news, eh, Love Cat? For Belle, but especially for us! We’d better tell Levi.”
The cat let out a plaintive meow that was more hunger than agreement, so Cara scooted off the bed to fetch the animal a quick breakfast before she set off to break the news. It was only as she slid past the wardrobe that she noticed the shelves were empty. No neatly folded gray shirts, no jeans, no duffle bag.
She glanced around. No medical bills on the table, no laptop, no background radio…
Just a dirty coffee cup abandoned on the table like a nasty full stop.
“He’s gone, Love Cat,” she told the animal, picking it up and burrowing her face into its fur. “Levi’s gone.”
****
She found him walking to the silver Tacoma with his bag and laptop case.
“You’re going?” she asked in disbelief.
“Have to,” he bit out tersely.
“But we need to talk.”
“I can give you thirty seconds.”
She’d heard this brusque, businesslike tone before—he’d talked that way to Brian and occasionally to his workers—but she’d never been on the receiving end of his harsh manner. And it stung.
“Generous,” she muttered sarcastically.
“Pardon?”
“Nothing.”
“Look, Cara, I’m sorry, but if you have something to say, kindly spit it out. I’m in a hurry.”
She didn’t know whether she wanted to slap him or burst into tears. Her emotions were already so unsteady they were maki
ng her seasick—the news about the sapphire, his unscheduled departure, and now his brash attitude… It was too much.
So, she did what she always did when she couldn’t handle things and pushed all the angst and upset into a mental box and slammed the lid shut on it.
When she spoke, her words were clipped, succinct. Her tone flat, factual.
“We really need to talk about the sapphire.”
“I’m a bit pushed for time, Cara,” he said, patting his pocket for his keys and wallet. He was distant, distracted, as though he was already somewhere else. “Besides, I think it’s a bit late for that discussion.”
“Too late? But, listen, I suspect it’s been hiding in plain sight all the time.”
“So I understand…” He didn’t even glance at her. He seemed more interested in securing his luggage in the back than he was in her news.
“You knew? You figured it out, too?”
“I have a flight to catch.”
She tried again. “I thought you’d be excited. Bronte…”
Finally, he looked at her. His eyes were like grim, icy stones—flat and opaque. His mouth was a harsh line and his whole bearing was forbidding. “Bronte’s condition worsened last night. It looks like she’ll need the surgery immediately.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry! Last night? The call? I thought it was good news… But then, finding the jewel could—”
At that moment, his phone rang. She was starting to really dislike that cell.
He answered and listened for a moment.
She wondered narkily if he was talking to Candy again.
“Don’t fret,” he said down the line, “I have the money in the bag. They can go ahead with the surgery.”
Cara prickled with anger. He had barely acknowledged her part in funding his niece’s operation. Not that she expected bucketloads of gratitude or kisses on her feet or anything, but a polite thank you would have been appropriate, surely? Even if he had simultaneously figured out the nature and location of the sapphire, he could have shown even a hint of gratitude. After all, it was her inheritance he would be using to fund Bronte’s operation—even if it was technically his because it was on his property.
She tried to rationalize his arrogance and impatience. He did have a lot going on in both the logistics of Bronte’s treatment and his travel, she supposed, to the hospital. But also the emotional component of feeling responsible for Bronte’s condition, and being hopeful for a positive surgical outcome.
Her follow up thought was not so kind, but her inner critic bypassed Levi and sent that particular poison dart directly into her.
Did you really think he wanted any more from you than your money? A roll in the hay was a happy detour and the film was great bait, but it was only ever the bucks he wanted.
So, now that he had what he wanted from her, he had no use for her, Cara realized. She swore she heard a tinkle like chinaware as he drove away, still talking on his cell, as her heart shattered into chunks and shards and slivers of unrequited love.
Chapter Seventeen
Cara had heard from Mia that, after a week’s absence, Levi had returned to Flinders’ Keep to progress the film. It appeared Mia was consulting in Cara’s place, which seemed kind of strange, given that Mia had not supported the film in the first place. Evidently, Mia had a change of heart. Maybe proof of a bona fide lover and news of the found fortune had given her some new perspective. Or maybe reconciling with Joe had mellowed her outlook. In any case, it seemed Mia’s involvement in the film had increased in unswerving proportion to Cara’s refusal to participate.
Despite Levi’s impersonal invitation via email, Cara had skipped the rushes and tersely declined every other invitation—delivered through his office staff—to contribute further to Lost Treasure. She didn’t want any more to do with it. She had done her part. She wasn’t prepared to take anymore crap from anyone, whether it be Levi, Mia, or her dead mother.
But the invitation to the premiere was irresistible.
She had chosen a long gown, the blue of her eyes. A dipping halter neck, it exposed the creamy slopes of her shoulders and drew the eye to the vee of her décolletage, also baring an expanse of skin at her back. In contrast with the slightly daring cut of the bodice, the skirt was a demure, flowy floor-length creation. Sparkling faux sapphire drop earrings and a matching pendant offset high-brushed gold sandals and seemed a fitting nod to her mother’s treasure. The overall impression, she hoped, was striking but elegant. Not that she really cared how she looked, she told herself. Why should she give two hoots about what anyone thought of her outfit? She wasn’t out to impress anyone—anyone at all. And besides, next to a megastar like Selena Simms, she would pale into insignificance anyway.
“Do you see him?” Mia asked, gawking around the glittering crowd in the luxurious theatre.
“Who?” Cara asked, pretending not to scan the room under her lashes. She would have expected Levi to be knee deep in meet-and-greet schmoozing with the paparazzi and the glitterati alike. But, so far, there was no sign of him. Not that she was looking.
“Who do you reckon? The Giant Stay Puft Marshmallow Man?”
Cara ignored the gibe and waved at Otto and Selena across the foyer. Caught up in conversation with a couple of guys in power suits, Otto pantomimed a big double thumbs up and Selena blew elaborate kisses. The playful gestures afforded Cara a modicum of comfort.
Truth be told, Cara was nervous about everything, tonight—about the film and the critical response to it, about the film and its personal impact on her and her sister, and most especially, she admitted, about seeing Levi.
A bell chimed, letting them know it was almost show time. She stalled, adjusting her shoe strap, summoning a second champagne, pausing to admire the famed vintage movie posters. But in the end, she was ushered into the luxury theatre without having laid eyes on him.
Damn. Secretly, she had wanted him to see her strolling up the red carpet with Mia, bathed in the pops of flash lights, aloof, smiling serenely with her skirt swirling around her legs. Or, at the very least, poised elegantly, cradling a champagne flute and chatting amiably with Quentin or Russell or Meryl. But it wasn’t to be.
Maybe she would see him afterwards, she thought. She hoped her dress didn’t crush while she sat in the plush chair to watch the film. She hoped her fancy up-do held and her makeup stayed fresh. She wondered if anyone would notice if she slipped off the strappy stilettos—they were killing her feet.
Surely Levi wouldn’t miss the premiere.
The lights dimmed and the opening credits filled the screen, simple white serif type over a montage of Flinders’ Keep—aerial and ocean views, cozy interiors and garden scenes, interspersed with thoughtful macro shots of flowers and architectural detail. The moon falling across the lawn, the key hanging beneath the window ledge, the sunlit back kitchen. These frames made Cara feel lost in time, like a mystical bridge between two eras at the house. The orchestral soundtrack was light yet poignant. The authenticity was flawless. Cara felt as though she had stumbled back in time to her adolescence.
And then her mother appeared on the screen and Cara gasped aloud. Mia’s hand flew to her own mouth. Both women were riveted to the screen. Her stance, her clothing, her manner, her voice… Selena had captured the exact essence of their mother in the very first seconds of the film.
Levi had truly worked his best magic.
Despite Cara’s absorption in the film’s opening, her focus suddenly receded from the screen. Her senses precipitously prickled with alertness. While she kept her eyes front, she heard his footfalls against the thick carpet in the aisle, heard his mumbled apology as he stepped past audience members toward his seat. A relieved smile tugged her lips and she let out a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding.
Cara always got a buzz from seeing her name up there on the big screen as the writer, but tonight, she barely cared. She was hyper-aware of the unique scent of him moving closer to where she sat. She was entranced by his familia
r posture in her peripheral vision, his buff build, his killer smile, and his undiluted sexual magnetism. And if that wasn’t enough, he had donned a tux. Mmm-mmm. He practically sizzled. Blast her traitorous libido!
From the moment she first sensed him in the theatre, she had known as surely as she knew her own name that he was slowly but steadily progressing toward the seat beside her. He was a human Cara-seeking missile, unerring in his direction, unstoppable in his determination. She felt as though she could have donned an invisibility cloak and he still would have found her. Indeed, she almost felt as if her thoughts had summoned him and her desires were drawing him to her like a silent siren song.
When he was close enough to touch, she dared a direct peek at him. He flicked her an uncertain glance as he took his seat beside her. She wasn’t sure whether he was unclear on her reception of him or the film. While she had instantly warmed to the film, she wasn’t sure how she felt about being so close to Levi in real life. Oh, she was hot for him, sweltering like she was sitting beside a desert bonfire. But she also wanted to protect her wounded heart.
Between Levi’s presence and the reality of Lost Treasure, Cara’s evening felt surreal.
Selena had so completely captured her mother’s quintessence that at times she forgot herself and the child inside her ached as though the real woman was up there on the screen, almost close enough to touch. During other moments, she completely zoned out of the drift of the film, not due to any lapse in quality or intensity, but only because of the sheer entrancing force emanating from the man beside her.
Most mesmerizing of all were the tiny half-forgotten details of her childhood—the book her mother kept with typed and cut out recipes, the cut glass vase in the hallway, always brimming, even if it was only with pretty winter foliage and grasses, the mailbox constantly battered by vehicles clipping the gatepost. Between her own memories and Mia’s, they had managed to weave hundreds of tiny, genuine details through the main story.
Their mother, humming that half-remembered song—da, da, da something, something—warning the girls not to eat their apples too fast or they’d get the hiccups, smiling wryly with an egg in one hand and a stray feather in the other, leaving out the almonds, eating only half a biscuit.