by Kris Pearson
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 iPhone 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. Send me your number.’
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. His number and one word. ‘Please’.
So he had manners after all?
And because he was rapidly taking over her brain, and he already had her email address, she tapped her number back to him. If he wanted to talk, he could pay.
Frankie poked at the coffee froth while she waited for his reply, 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
Reviews on Amazon are always welcome. Help get the word out by leaving a review on Rose’s page. And if you enjoyed this naughty shortie, try some of my longer stories.
Presenting Kris Pearson’s Wicked in Wellington series:
Romances, set in New Zealand’s capital city, that sizzle with love, life and laughter
—Wicked in Wellington—
The Boat Builder’s Bed
Seduction on the Cards
The Wrong Sister
Out of Bounds
Resisting Nick
***
The Boat Builder’s Bed
A windy day...a flyaway signboard...a hideous crunch. Sophie Calhoun can’t imagine how she’ll pay for the damage to the luxurious car.
Already cash-strapped, she’s struggling to launch her new interior design studio and make a home for her daughter. She’s only days away from disaster.
Out of the sleek black Jaguar storms super-yacht tycoon Rafe Severino. Steaming mad. Totally gorgeous. And desperately in need of a top-line decorator for his spectacular new harbor-side mansion.
Sophie fears her dream contract comes with strings that tie her to the boat-builder’s bed. No matter how she tries to escape, he’s always there - implacable and irresistible.
She knows he doesn’t want a preoccupied single mother, but concealing her daughter’s existence from the man she’s falling in love with is getting harder and harder. If he discovers her lies, she’ll instantly lose everything.
Warning: contains one determined golden-skinned man who knows his way around boats, bodies and bed-sheets.
***
Seduction on the Cards
When journalist Kerri is assigned to interview a seriously rich anti-gambling crusader, she imagines a grandfatherly tycoon with a comb-over.
But hunky Alex Beaufort has plenty of hair—and enough of everything else to make her mouth water.
Irrepressible Kerri decides to find out exactly how much, and a sizzling game of strip-poker soon has them both peeling off their layers of self-protection.
Seduction is definitely on the cards—but who’s seducing who? And what are the odds? Good enough to take a chance on?
Warning: Contains sexy Frenchman, tropical heat, and enthusiastic outdoor fun and games.
***
The Wrong Sister
Fiona Delaporte has an impossible assignment—to care for her newly widowed brother-in-law and his tiny daughter. (The newly widowed tall, dark and delicious brother-in-law she’s secretly wanted for five long, frustrating years.)
Christian Hartley would rather spend time with anyone except the tempting woman who reminds him so much of his cherished wife. But she has six weeks leave from her cruise-liner job on the other side of the world, and seems determined to do her family duty. How can craving the wrong sister feel so right?
WARNING:Contains one hot man who always gets what he wants—in bed and out.
***
Out of Bounds
Jetta Rivers has inherited half a house. Big problem: she has to share it with co-owner Anton Haviland, and her past has left her terrified of men.
Gorgeous Anton is a confident sexy architect, and he might be exactly who Jetta needs to put her crippling fear to rest.
But can she allow him near enough? And would he even want to try?
A midnight disaster leaves her no option when he drags her off to the only bed l
eft in the now-damaged house. She’s appalled to find how much she craves the man who plans to smash her inheritance to pieces. Anton is equally shocked when his sharp-tempered housemate attempts to seduce him.
WARNING: Contains one ambitious man with a tender heart and a body to die for. And one unlikely temptress with an ancient copy of The Joy of Sex.
***
Kris also writes stories about sexy sheikhs…
Taken by the Sheikh
Abducted. Seduced. Purring.
Laurel de Courcey is captured by terrorists, chained up in a disgusting bunker, and videoed for a ransom demand which is shown worldwide.
Ooops—wrong hostage! Who’d expect a shy Kiwi nanny to be worth anything?
Laurel’s soon tied up in Sheikh Rafiq’s bed instead, because he rescues her and appoints himself her personal bodyguard. Very personal. But she has good reason to distrust men.