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Authors: Rosie Vanyon

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BOOK: Coming Attractions
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“I don’t know,” he replied more
evenly than he felt, “you wear purple brocade astonishingly well.”

“And next you’ll be telling me
naked is the new black.”

“Naked works for me.” He grinned,
letting a flash of masculine appreciation light his eyes, a hint of hunger tint
his smile.

Her cheeks flushed a little darker
and he was surprised to find that her underlying modesty aroused him further.

He stepped closer to the bed again,
inhaling her musky feminine scent, taking in the dark sweep of her lashes and
the faint downy hair on her tanned forearms. He longed to taste the plump flesh
of her peach lips. She didn’t flinch at his approach. Her nostrils flared
slightly. She would scent his shampoo and soap, he registered, and she couldn’t
miss the low note of intense manly desire. He saw her swallow, watched the
faintest tremble run through her, but her blue gaze didn’t waver.

He was mesmerized. The potent
combination of the sumptuous fantasy room and the unexpected demi-deity within
somehow bypassed his rational mind, harnessed his imagination, and kick-started
his hormones.

He leaned nearer. He wanted to kiss
her. He allowed the thought to surface in his eyes, messaged his need to taste
her with the slant of his body, channeled his intention through the very air
between them. And still, she didn’t shy away from him.

He waited a heartbeat. Two.

Her lips parted slightly as she
exhaled and that was all the invitation he needed.

Planting one hand on the bed, he
reached for her. Cradling her head in his large palm, he drew himself down to
her and touched his lips to hers. The slightest brush of her mouth seared him,
his body combusted, the world ignited. There was nothing but heat and light and
the taste of Cara Kelly burning away everything but the very essence of him.

Cara wasn’t tentative and she wasn’t
greedy. Her mouth beneath his own was assured, curious, and sexy as hell. Her
hand was in his hair, pulling him closer, leading him further into temptation.
Her eyes were closed, her head thrown back. She emitted a sound somewhere
between womanly need and animal satisfaction. She was all wanton abandon and
certain seduction.

He needed two hands. He needed to
touch her—stroke her face, caress her shoulders, tangle in her hair, revere her
body. Reluctantly, he drew his lips a hairsbreadth away, not relinquishing his
hold on her. Her eyes fluttered open, her drugged gaze reproachful and hungry.
His own eyes questioned hers. Did she want to take this further? Did she feel
the same need he did? Was she, too, consumed by the utter necessity of
completing what they had just begun?

She opened her mouth as though to
articulate the compelling desire he had already read in her blue stare.

And then the sound of an engine
rent the morning air—800ccs of red Ducati starting up and roaring away.

“Oh no!” Cara cried.

“What the...? Yours?”

She nodded grimly.

They made it to window in time to
see the bike swing at breakneck speed through the iron gates, the fat back
wheel spurting gravel and almost clipping the post, then hurtling out on to the
isthmus and pulling an irreverent mono in a classic gesture of contempt. Levi registered
denim, flannel, and helmet-less longish brown hair—not to mention flagrant
disregard for property laws—and the laws of physics, it seemed.

“Organ donor…” Cara muttered
angrily.

Levi already had his phone in his
hand and was dialling. “Brian. It’s Levi Callister at Flinders’ Keep. We need
to report a stolen motorcycle... Red Ducati SuperSport... Yeah, it should be
heading past the police station in a few minutes. Maybe see if you can
intercept it, huh?”

Cara could do nothing but pull the
bed cover tighter around her and stare helplessly as the anonymous rider stole
her bike across the isthmus, disappearing to not much more than a speck as he
reached the mainland.

Chapter
Two

 

Brian Shepherd had always looked
good in uniform, Cara recalled. He’d looked hot in his varsity football kit, sizzling
in his prefect blazer, and he was fairly scorching now in his mid-blue police sergeant
vestments, especially with a little maturity on his side. Eyes the colour of
Bombay Sapphire, hair artfully streaked chocolate and caramel, a plump pouty
mouth, and cheekbones you could sharpen knives on. Plus, he had the kind of
body you wanted to photograph, touch, and possibly cast in gold.

Too bad he had the conversational
capacity of Mr. Bean and none of his imagination.

Brian was just taking a seat at the
Formica table when Cara entered the back kitchen. He immediately leapt back up
off his seat like a dog responding to a whistle and rushed to grasp her hands.
She almost expected him to start panting or pawing her.

“Cara Kelly? Is that you?”

Nah,
it’s Lady Gaga,
she thought, but forced a polite curve to her lips.
This guy was a long-time acquaintance and perhaps central to the return of her
bike. Not to mention an officer of the law. She needed to dredge up at least a
semblance of respect. But she was struggling as a host of high school memories
bombarded her. Front and center was the recollection of Brian Shepherd
projectile vomiting Stones green ginger wine over the Head of School’s Volvo
bonnet.

“It’s good to see you.” Cara smiled,
letting him cup her hands in his.

In a way, she was glad that Brian
was present to deflect any awkwardness that might have simmered between herself
and Levi after their earlier encounter. As it was, she was hyperaware of Levi,
as though he was casting out “touch me” vibes like irresistible lolly-bright
lures.

God, Levi was a knockout. If he
were a drink, he’d be something bold, sultry, and dangerous—the darkest,
richest, heavy-bodied rum, aged in charred oak and tinted with molasses. The
kind of drink that would lull you with its seductive caramel sweetness then
render you helpless under its shadowy spell. Oh, and wouldn’t she love another sip
of him!

Not classically handsome like
Brian, Levi’s look was more rogue cowboy or cheeky pirate—dirty blond hair and
expressive gray-green eyes under defined brows. A straight nose, firm dusky
lips, and a strong, stubbled jaw. His face might have been boyishly handsome
but for the glint of steel in his gaze and the pale scar traversing his left
cheekbone and snaking into his short sideburn.

Did he just wink at her as though
he knew exactly what she was thinking? Blushing and flustered, Cara forced her
mind—and her eyes—off the divine attributes of Levi Callister and back to the
ravishing but vacuous Brian.

“It’s been a long time, Brian,” she
said, longing to yank her hands out of his protracted, fervent, and slightly
sweaty grip.

“High school.
 
And you haven’t changed a bit. Still as
beautiful as ever.” His eyes skimmed over her hair and face, slowing over her
slim hips and legs before settling on her breasts.

Cara gave a self-conscious laugh.
She didn’t feel too beautiful, barefoot, in her oldest jeans, and with damp
hair curling crazily down her back. Also, she didn’t feel exactly comfortable
with Brian’s eyes glued to her boobs. Levi cleared his throat and Brian’s eyes
darted to him as though he suddenly realized he might have been inadvertently
stepping into dangerous territory. Levi merely handed Brian a mug of coffee,
forcing the officer to let go of Cara’s hands, and gestured for Brian to help
himself to creamer and sugar.

Cara shot Levi a look of gratitude.

“You want anything?” Levi asked
Cara, and she was sure she heard a suggestive note in his question. She felt
heat rise in her cheeks and licked her suddenly dry lips. She wanted something,
all right, and it wasn’t coffee—and she just bet Levi had guessed exactly what
she wanted and how much she wanted it. She bit her tongue, shook her head, and
busied herself making a pot of tea, glad the task didn’t require a whole lot of
attention or intellect. It seemed Levi’s kiss had turned her brain to doona
innards. She couldn’t remember another time a simple kiss had turned her into a
total featherbrain—and she couldn’t say the feeling was unpleasant. Dreamy,
yes. Horny, yes. More-ish, absolutely, she thought hungrily, forgetting how
many scoops of tea leaves she’d added to the old enamel pot.

Maybe it wasn’t so great that Brian
was here. If he’d taken a little longer to do his duty, she might have enjoyed
a follow up taste of Levi Callister, just to confirm that the intensity of that
first encounter was just a fluke, of course. Not at all because she was
starving for seconds and imagining that his sculpted body was an all-you-can
eat dessert bar. An image flashed through her mind of Levi sprawled on a
buffet, his broad chest smothered in melting hokey pokey ice cream…

First
kiss, cowgirl?
her inner voice mocked.
That implies there will be subsequent kisses.
She mentally turned
down the volume on that rational, pedantic inside voice and tried to focus on
making tea. But the whole world was just static in comparison to her mind’s
reruns of this morning’s pash, lighting up her hormones and sending sexy tingles
to every corner of her body.

What had she been thinking kissing
him at all, she wondered? The answer was simple—she hadn’t been thinking. She
had been feeling, experiencing, reacting, and smoldering under the spell of his
lips. She had been surrendering to his passion and her own. And she had been
frantic and ravenous for more of the magic that he proffered.

The spark between them had ignited
the moment she had opened her eyes. Still half in sleep, it had seemed to her
almost as though he had emerged from her hot, erotic dreams. Dreams of desert
nights in silken tents, bounty and pleasure of every type imaginable, heat and
lust, spices and oils, hands and lips and desperate, aching need...

And then there he was, the epitome
of her lonely somnolent longings—Levi Callister.

He was gorgeous.

And it wasn’t just his face. The
man was built. Toned, defined, bronzed. While Levi wasn’t bulging out of his
chocolate-colored t-shirt or anything, he was lean and muscular in the best
kind of way, the way that made her pulse jitterbug and her mouth water.

It must have been the lingering
wisps of sleep that had emboldened her, she thought, or his frank appreciation,
for she had not been embarrassed to be discovered naked. There had been no
shyness about being nude and no coyness about her body. Although, in the face
of Levi’s admiring gaze and obvious arousal, there wasn’t a great deal of room
for concerns about waist measurement, thigh shape, tan lines, or cellulite.
There was only his burning stare lighting up her skin and his mouth providing a
tempting taste of what his lips could do in the wake of his eyes.

“So, you ended up in law
enforcement,” Cara said to Brian, trying to crowbar her mind off Levi’s hot
body and on to the matter at hand. “You always wanted to do that. You and Belle?”

“Yeah, we married right out of high
school, but we split up about six months ago, now. It’s not bitter or anything.
Belle says we just grew apart. I’m hoping that if I give her a little space, we
might still work things out. We have two terrific boys, six and eight. What
about you, Cara?”

Cara felt a stab of envy at the
parental pride in Brian’s voice and, as was her habit, pushed it aside and
focused on the positives in her life.

“I’ve been writing films. Did some
indie stuff and some docos. Made a small feature that did okay in Toronto three
years back. Apollo Films has bought my latest script,
Lost Treasure
.” She nodded in Levi’s direction. “That’s your
company, isn’t it, Mr. Callister? Apollo?”

“Levi,” he corrected, nodding, and
Cara could see the satisfaction in the small gesture. Clearly, heading up a
film production company was a meaningful and fulfilling role for Levi, perhaps in
the same way that her writing was deeply rewarding for her. She liked that he
had his vocation together, that he’d found a calling and pursued it until it
paid the bills. It made him all the more attractive. Too often, she found
herself in the company of struggling writers, wannabe actors, and failing
directors whose lives were punctuated by “if onlys” and “could have beens.” It
was refreshing to meet someone who’d pushed through the negativity and
obstacles, just as she had. Someone who had made the grade.

“Things sure have changed in Ocean
Ridge since you bought up Flinders’ Keep, Levi,” Brian commented, his face lit
with genuine gratitude and admiration for the other man. “After they built the
highway bypass in ‘98, things turned sour. There was no through traffic to keep
the stores, gas stations, and hotels in business. People started moving away.
The town was almost a ghost town until you brought all these movie people with
you. Now, Ocean Ridge is the place to be. We’ve got busloads of tourists
star-stalking, constant media and film production crews boosting the economy,
year round. Best thing that could have happened.”

It was the longest speech Cara
thought she had ever heard Brian make. And he hadn’t even mentioned football,
lingerie wrestling, or muscle cars in it. Brian had clearly matured in more
ways than just his mustache and distinguished silver highlights.

“I’m glad it’s worked out for the
town,” said Levi, “and, naturally, I’m grateful to Cara and her sister for
parting with this grand old house.” He beamed at Cara with candid warmth and appreciation,
and she found herself smiling back, her heart doing a little happy dance at
their small moment of connection.

“It was a win-win deal, believe me,”
she replied.

“The house is great for interiors
and exteriors.” Levi had picked up Brian’s chatty gambit, but was looking right
at Cara, his sincerity unmistakeable. “The Victorian facade and the formal
gardens are versatile. The surrounding countryside has a touch of everything,
too—mountains, beaches, forests, lakes, and farmland. There’s a lot we can use
in the area. This house is a real blessing.”

“Using this location will give my
screenplay authenticity, too,” added Cara. “That’s vital.”

“It sure will. We start shooting
two weeks from now, assuming we finish the set by then.” Levi gestured toward
the main part of the house. “Half the house is torn apart and the other part
looks like it’s still set up for
Secret Geisha
Dreams
and
Hot Arabian Confessions.

Brian guffawed. “They sound like
porno flicks—oh, ‘scuse me, Cara.”

Judging by that classic vintage Brian
comment, Cara had applied maturity credit to him too soon. She should have
guessed he hadn’t really grown up by his non-police issue Scooby Doo socks and
the milky drips clinging to his whiskers. She wasn’t sure how to respond to the
blue movie line, but Levi hoisted the conversational lead balloon.

“There’s an emerging market for
erotic thrillers produced for women by women. Apollo has a subsidiary called
Aphrodite that’s breaking new ground in the field. My research shows the female
response to opulent harem fantasies can be quite...
intense
.” Levi flicked Cara a smirk.

Cara rolled her eyes, but inside
she trembled at the memory of just how intensely she had responded to Levi’s
very thorough research into her extremely personal harem fantasy. It wasn’t
enough that he had reduced her to mindless capitulation, now he had to bait her
with memories of the kiss they had shared. The man was incorrigible.

But two could play that game.

“Oh, an exotic locale with an
erotic sheikh sounds incredibly
stimulating
,”
Cara drawled. “All that desert heat, silk damp against fevered skin, remote
oases with palm trees and hot springs—and no consequences whatsoever. Sultans
gorging on the plump offerings of slave girls...” Cara slanted Levi a wicked
look and saw him swallow. Hard.

“Plump offerings, eh?” His voice
was taut and his eyes dropped to her breasts. Her nipples puckered beneath the tight
sky blue t-shirt and she wished she had thought to wear a bra—donning armour
would have been prudent before stepping into the sexy-banter arena with this repartee
gladiator. “Keep this up, Cara, and we’ll have to hire you to write for
Aphrodite.”

“Great idea,” Brian added. “That
slave girl thing...wow. Maybe I should buy one of these erotic Afro-delight
films for Belle. Set the mood for, you know...”

“Reconciliation?” Cara supplied
sweetly.

“Yeah! We could drink some
overproof cider, share some popcorn, and then—”

“Er, anyway...about the bike,” Cara
interrupted, drawing the line at hearing Brian’s seduction plans for his
ex-wife.

Brian shook his head sadly. “We
hot-footed it straight outside when your call came in, but there was never any
sign of your bike. It’s as though it just vanished into thin air. Guess the
perp was seriously fanging it and we missed him.”

Levi frowned. Brian shifted
uncomfortably.

“Look, naturally, tracking the bike
down will be high on our list. In fact, I’ll make it a personal priority,” Brian
promised, hand on heart and eyes sweeping Cara’s cleavage.

BOOK: Coming Attractions
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