Coming Attractions (6 page)

She was desperately aroused,
screamingly eager, wet and hot and throbbing for him. Her clit was puckered
tight and the muscles inside her were clenched with anticipation.

He let her panties slither to her
ankles, clasped the cheeks of her butt, and pressed his scorching mouth hard
and without warning against her wet sex. His lips were apart and he sucked her
inside his mouth—the whole plump folded core of her—and his tongue probed
unerringly to her clitoris. The feel of his mouth was the most incredible pressure
she had ever experienced. The fast, sure flicking of his tongue inside the full
suckling of his lips almost drove her out of her mind. She had not known there
was pleasure like this to be had.

Her whole body was flushed with
longing, her breath was growing irregular, and her pulse was breakdancing all
over the place. She could feel the tantalizing edges of orgasm fluttering
around the limits of her excitement. But she needed more. Something to tip her
over that exquisite, elusive precipice.

“More...” she gasped, clutching at
his shoulders as he pressed his face between her thighs, maintaining her
pleasure. But even as she begged, she had no idea how he could deliver what she
needed. His ministrations were already utterly and deliciously absorbing.

She clung to him, a single drop of
perspiration trickling between her engorged breasts as she gasped her need.

“Please…” The word was thin and
strangled. She wasn’t even sure what she was asking for.

He slid his right hand from her
buttocks around her hip and across her thigh. With nothing more than a gesture,
he commanded her thighs apart and, lost in a maelstrom of lust, she mindlessly acquiesced.
She felt utterly wanton standing before this man, legs spread while he thrilled
her with his talented mouth, his hand stroking relentlessly up and down her
thighs.

His fingers traveled lightly,
teasingly, sometimes grazing the trimmed hair at her center, occasionally
brushing the fleshy entrance to her feminine core.

She could barely catch her breath
now and she felt dizzy. Her throat was clamped shut and the razzle-dazzle of
dancing lights behind her eyelids told her she was close to losing consciousness.
She was no longer holding his shoulders for balance and encouragement. Instead,
her fingers dug into his skin for support, and as a desperate plea for him to
take her where she needed to go.

“Please, Levi, please...”

He didn’t hesitate. On the next
upstroke between her thighs, he drove his finger deep into her sex. Plunging
the digit once, twice, thrice into her soaked and scorching channel.

And then she flew apart. The orgasm
rocketed through her like a searing star shower. There was no room for thought.
Her release was pure sensation, so intense it was almost painful, so complete
it was practically spiritual. The spasms rocked the depths of her very being
and even as they began to subside, she knew what Levi had given her was a gift
both precious and rare, and that the experience had changed her so profoundly
there was no return.

Gently, lovingly, he helped her to
the bed, easing her quaking body down on the silken covers, sliding beside her
and gathering her in his arms. Slowly, as though from far, far away, she came
back to herself. First she noticed the warmth of his body in the cool air of
the room, the scuff his body hair against her smooth skin, the soothing glide
of his fingertips over her quivering arm and her hip. His heartbeat beneath her
ear was a perfect counterpoint to the rain thrumming against the window. His
breath tasted faintly of mint and wine and her own musk. Her breathing slowed
to match his lungs’ steady rhythm and her trembling began to abate.

“You look beautiful there,” he
murmured against her hair. “Your golden hair spread all across the bed, your
skin glowing, your lips swollen...”

His hands emphasized his words,
stroking her body more intently as he spoke. Of their own volition, her fingers
followed suit, trailing over his skin, mindlessly exploring the bulges and
hollows of his body. He shivered when her short fingernails skimmed his nipple,
gasped when she trailed her index finger down his hip toward the waistband of
his briefs.

There was no mistaking his arousal.
The thick length of him spasmed every time her hand drew close, and there was a
tell-tale spot of dampness near the tip. Enjoying his responses, she teasingly
drew her fingers around his belly and down the edges of his jutting hipbones,
across the elastic of his underwear and up and down the arrow of hair between
his navel and the stretch of blue fabric. He hissed and growled and squirmed
under her ministrations.

“You are going to drive me
completely insane,” he ground out, but he made no move to hurry her or change
her agenda. She could see the pulse leaping at his throat, the desperate bob of
his Adam’s apple, the sheen of sweat glistening on his brow.

She smiled saccharine sweetly at
him and deliberately brushed her hand over the bulge in his pants.

“Really?” Cara said. She did it
again. “I’m so sorry...”

“Funny, Cara, you don’t sound very
sorry.”

Was he actually panting?

She quirked an eyebrow, her gaze
all delighted mischief. “It’s hard to be sorry when there’s this tempting
package right in front of me, just begging to be unwrapped.”

“If you’d like to unwrap it, Cara,
be my guest.”

“Oh, I’ll unwrap it all right, but
I like to open my presents in my own sweet time. I enjoy prolonging the
anticipation.”

She scuttled up his body and
swallowed his groan in her mouth from her position beside him. The taste of him
was complex and addictive. His lips were clever and intuitive. His tongue was
thorough and tempting. Cara felt as though she could stay here, kissing like
this, lost in Levi forever.

But clearly, Levi had other ideas
as he turned further toward her and maneuverered his arm free from under her
shoulders. Once Levi was propped up on one elbow, he was much more dextrous and
she was much more vulnerable to his roaming touch. He was a master of contact, stroking
here, squeezing there, lingering a little, skimming and skirting. He was
setting her on fire with his every caress.

But two could tangle, she decided.
She had to do something to hold on to her sanity while he drove her body wild, and
her fingers, her palms, her French-painted nails, and the back of her hand all
worked their slow, tantalizing magic on his body. And here and there, her
tongue followed. His breath was utterly shredded, his skin flushed deeply, his
body bathed in perspiration. She could hear his thundering pulse, smell his
animal need. Deliberately, systematically, she tortured his skin, strained his
patience, drove him to the very edge of reason. At last, she sipped her fingers
below the waistband of his jocks and drifted a single fingertip over the dewy
tip of his penis.

The shudder of pleasure and want
rent his whole body. His teeth were clenched, his eyes screwed shut, the cords
of his neck jutted starkly from his reddened skin, and his knuckles were white
where he fisted the silk sheet.

“I…can’t…wait…much…longer,” he
ground out. Gruff. Fraught. “I need to be inside you, Cara. Now.”

In one swift movement, she yanked
his pants down and pulled herself astride him, hovering a hairsbreadth above
his straining cock.

His eyes were wild like a manic
beast, his control barely leashed. But he did not touch her. Did not take her.

“Please,” he implored as she
positioned her sex gently against his and held him at her opening with nothing
but the folds between her legs. His penis jumped and bucked against her. She
could feel the damp head slick against her own juicy flesh. But still, he did
not move to seize her. She was awed by his self-mastery.

Slowly, impossibly slowly, she
eased herself down the impressive length of him, taking him inside the wet heat
of her vagina, drawing him into the tightness, thrilling in the way that he
filled her. Only then did he uncurl his quaking hands from the bedclothes and gentled
them on her hips, half-guiding, half-acceding to the small undulations she
initiated.

She felt him begin to move against
her. Taking his cue from her restraint, he eased his hips up and down, lifting
her slight frame as he moved inside her, creating an exquisite friction between
them.

It was only moments before her
carefully crafted control began to unravel and she watched his eyes glint. She
knew he must notice the frantic edge creeping into her breath, the flicker of
impatience in her gaze, the skittish fervor in her moves. As if to confirm her
thoughts, his command rapidly slipped loose, too.

In a heartbeat—two—she watched him
surrender to his raw, masculine requirements. Seemingly driven by a need deeper
than animal pleasure, Levi clamped his hands on her hips and pulled her down on
him hard even as he thrust his cock inside her. And he roared his hunger and
relief.

She tilted forward, her hair
brushing his face, his chest, her mouth seeking his, devouring his lips,
sucking, licking, biting. Her legs pumped, trying to get as much of him as she
could, trying to keep his hot, hard rod buried in her center, wanting him to
stab into the very heart of her femininity.

He shoved his cock inside her again
and again, jerking her down against his hips, almost hard enough to bruise.
Their breath was all over the place, their limbs entangled, their moans and
cries of unsated lust mingling in the air, their movements uncoordinated in their
sheer desperation for completion.

Levi paused and, before Cara could
even take a breath to protest, he maneuvered her onto her back in one speedy
twist and was between her legs, back inside her, more fully than before. He
propelled himself rhythmically into her and she arched up to meet him,
perfectly in tune.

The movement was too ideal, the
angle too perfect, the friction too relentless, the pressure too intense. It
was only a handful of moments before first Levi and then Cara catapulted into splintering
orgasm.

Chapter
Six

She looked like a woman who had
been thoroughly ravished, Cara thought as she finger-combed her hair in the
bathroom mirror. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips were puffy, her eyes were
over-bright, and her aura would put a hundred watt Sylvania to shame. Though
she considered herself fairly fit, she hurt in places she didn’t even realize
she had muscles in.
 
But they were good
aches. Very, very good.

It had been a long time since she
had been with a man, she thought. Probably too long. For the past two years,
she had been wrapped up writing and selling
Lost
Treasure,
as well as juggling some bread and butter work on a television
series and a part-time teaching load. There wasn’t a lot of room in her life
for intimacy. Even her cat, Tarantino, had run away from home, moving in with
the young family next door and only deigning to visit Cara every few days. Cara
couldn’t blame him.

But even if she had last enjoyed a
lover yesterday, he would have vanished into the shadows cast by Levi’s
scorching performance. The man was a magician, a god, an orgasm machine. Never before
had she lost herself in the pleasures of the flesh. Never had she surrendered
to a man and the delights he proffered.
 
Levi’s
loving was all spice and sex and sin wrapped up in a bundle of playful humour
with a surprising heart of tenderness.

Everything about Levi seemed
perfect. When they had grown hungry in the middle of the night, he had
resurrected their dinner and they had eaten together, cross-legged in bed. When
she grew sleepy, he held her close and fondled her hair until she drifted off.
When she awoke, he talked softly with her about everything and nothing.

“You ought to be careful,” she
warned her disheveled reflection. “A girl could get addicted.”

As if she wasn’t already, she
thought, loosening the front of the scarlet floral kimono to deepen the vee at
her cleavage. “Scarlet the harlot,” she murmured delightedly under her breath,
and winked at herself in the mirror. Then, she sashayed back to the bedroom to
see if she couldn’t coax a morning fix of her new favorite drug.

“Mmmm... Breakfast.” He leered as
she paused in the doorway.

“So gorgeous and yet so insatiable,”
she replied. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“I certainly have no grumbles.” He
grinned as she sauntered over to his side of the bed. “Except, perhaps, that
you have way too many clothes on.”

“One incy-wincy kimono?” she asked,
leaning over to stroke his cheek while affording him a tantalizing view of her
décolletage.

“Red is your color.
 
And the idea of you being my own personal
geisha girl is quite erotic.” He reached up and his knuckles grazed her cheek, then
his fingers cruised leisurely down her exposed neck and downward still between
her breasts. “But given the choice...” He eased his hand beneath the lapel of
the robe and smoothed his palm over her breast. Her nipple instantly sprang to
attention beneath his touch, tingling like soda. “I would prefer you naked.”

Suddenly, he grabbed her around the
waist and hauled her down toward him. She squealed as he turned sideways and
used the movement to roll her onto the bed beside him, then followed through to
flip himself on top of her. He smirked, propped above her, his legs spread, his
weight on his toes and elbows. She could feel the simmering heat of his body,
but not the touch of his skin.

“No fair.” She pouted.

“A little jujitsu seemed to fit the
whole Japanese theme—you know, rice paper, kimono, cherry blossom, geisha...” He
smiled.

“Did you know, geisha are not”—she
waved her hand at his prone body above her—“submissive or subservient. In fact,
they are dominant and always remain in control.”

At her words, she felt the faintest
quivering reaction suffuse his body.

Interesting...

From her position underneath him,
she deliberately placed her finger on her mouth then sucked it slowly between
her lips. His smile froze on his face as she withdrew the slick digit and
methodically circled one of his nipples and then the other. Emboldened by his
puckering flesh, she continued to trace patterns over his chest, sketching back
to his nipples from time to time, straying lower over his flat belly and
drifting over his upper arms.

“Geisha are expert at caring for
and entertaining men,” she purred, looping her arms around his neck and
hoisting her torso upwards to kiss him tauntingly before lowering herself back
to the mattress.

“Temptress,” he accused, dropping
his weight from his toes to his knees and lowering his hips over hers so her
thighs were trapped between his own and their pelvises were pressed together.
There was no mistaking the rigid flesh at his groin. She let out a mew of pique
and he chuckled. “Let’s see how dominant you are now.”

As his chest pressed down toward
her own, she tried to maintain her studied sulk, but her giggles, as she began
to wriggle away, ruined the effect.

“Stay still, wench,” he ordered,
laughing as she squirmed up the bed. He was all arms and legs, trying to pin
her down as she twisted and writhed playfully.

She turned over and crawled away
from him on her hands and knees. “Catch me if you can,” she taunted, laughing
and breathless.

“Keep waggling that tush in my face
and you’ll be in big trouble when I do,” he warned mischievously as he grasped
her ankle and dragged her back toward him.

Flat on her stomach, she tried to
shake off his grip, but he held her fast. “Let me go, you brute!” She chuckled,
turning over and trying to inch away on her elbows. Her leg was twisted at an
awkward angle and the second he let go to readjust his hold so as not to hurt
her, she seized the opportunity to snatch her leg out of his reach and shimmy
away on her backside.

Unfortunately, the slinky satin
kimono against the slippery silk sheets combined in the worst way with her
rapid backward momentum, and in the next breath, Cara hurtled clean off the bed
and her butt thudded on to the bamboo floor, dragging a sheet-tangled Levi
behind her.

For a moment, they just blinked,
dazed. And then as they realized the hilarity of the situation, their laughter
erupted. The gasped and giggled, giddy and out of control until their stomachs
hurt and tears streamed down their faces.

****

Cara leaned over and placed her
plate on the linoleum for the cat skulking in the doorway. She’d cooked enough
scrambled eggs and bacon to feed half of Ocean Ridge instead of just the two of
them. “My eyes were bigger than my stomach,” she moaned, smiling as the feline
tentatively approached.

“I should have passed on the extra
toast,” Levi groaned, patting his flat belly.

“You deserved it. You sure worked
up an appetite.”

“Now I need to work off the extra
food.”

“I can think of just the exercise
to take care of that.” She grinned, her eyes alight with invitation.

“Your constant enthusiasm is one of
your finer qualities, Ms. Kelly,” he said, taking her hand and rubbing his
thumb over her knuckles. “But I need to let that humongous breakfast settle
before I take you up on your very appealing insinuation. I was thinking that
before Otto and Selena show up, we should maybe take some time to go over our
changes to your script,” Levi said, stirring sugar into his coffee.

“
Our
changes?”

“Otto and I had some thoughts. Come
on, we can look them over in the study.”

“Sure. Good idea. I did actually
come to Flinders’ Keep to work, not just to romp around naked with the gorgeous
producer.”

While she had been cooking
breakfast, Levi had built a fire in the den. The weather wasn’t particularly
cold, but the cheery blaze was a pleasant antidote to the rain, which had not
eased in the last twelve hours.

The room was cozy and the papers
strewn across the oak desk suggested Levi had been using it as an office. Like
the back kitchen, this room showed no signs of demolition or reconstruction.

The den had been pretty much off
limits to Cara and her sister as they were growing up. The door had generally
been locked, though their mother occasionally spent an afternoon in there
reconciling accounts or catching up on correspondence.
 
It felt vaguely inappropriate to be in here,
especially in her very disheveled and totally loved-up state.

She glanced around. The decor was
masculine. Mocha walls were highlighted by a bold chocolate-striped frieze,
three wingback leather chairs clustered around a heavy glass-topped coffee
table, and the sideboard matched the imposing oak desk. All it needed was
brandy balloons and cigars, she thought, and the mob would be right at home
here.

Cara moved to the hearth and took
in the enormous watercolor of the house over the fireplace. In some ways, the
painting seemed too feminine, too light and delicate for this room, but its
sheer size made it work, somehow, the house’s fine Victorian lines and graceful
gardens captured for posterity in a polished rosewood frame.

“She bought the house because of its
name, you know.”

“Your mom?”

“Yeah. The first time she came
here, she saw the brass plaque with the name in fancy script by the front door.
But she misread it. Thought is said ‘Finders Keep’ and decided it suited a
treasure hunter perfectly. By the time she realized her mistake, the ink was
dry on the contract and she was in love with the place anyway.”

She valued the way Levi listened to
her, as though she was the most riveting human being on the planet. He was so
attentive, she thought. As if they were the only two people in the world and
there was nowhere else he needed to be, nothing else he’d rather be doing than
conversing with her.

He’d showered—she’d have to do the
same soon, but silly as it sounded, she was loathe to wash away the musky,
earthy scent of him on her skin. Fresh from the bathroom, though, he smelled like
dark flowers and citrus. The buttery color of his polo shirt picked up the
highlights in his hair and contrasted with his caramel skin. He leaned back in
his plush desk chair and sipped the coffee he’d carried with him, all easy
grace and casual elegance. He should be in front of the camera, she found
herself thinking. He was gorgeous enough.

“You ever think about acting?” she
asked him as she took a seat on the soft, cream hearth rug, wincing slightly as
her bruised behind settled on the floor.

“Nope. I did some modeling a few
years back, but I was too impatient. It was boring. I felt like a blob of
modeling clay and the results were PhotoShopped so heavily my own mother wouldn’t
have recognized me. You?”

“No way. Mother like mine, I’ve
spent my life trying to stay out of the limelight.”

“Funny. Many people would have
tried to capitalize on their parent’s notoriety, but, until now, it’s almost
like you’ve shied away from it. What changed?”

“Well, for a start, I’m not ‘capitalizing’
on my mother’s fame—”

“Hey, I didn’t mean it like that...”

“Sorry. Defensive. Mia has that
effect on me.”

“You don’t have to answer. I was
just curious.”

She patted the space beside her.
From the desk, he swept up a pile of typed pages that she recognized as her
screenplay, with scrawls and scribbles in the margins and between the lines,
and took a seat on the rug beside her. She was at once thrilled that he had
gone over her script so closely and nervous that he may have found her work
wanting.

She felt a tremor of anxiety shiver
through her body. She reminded herself that under their contract, he couldn’t
make wholesale changes without her agreement. But surely this conversation
wouldn’t come to legal clauses and fine print?

She assured herself that Levi
understood the importance to her of getting Alessandra’s story out into to the
world, complete and intact. He knew how close to her heart this screenplay was.
He knew what it meant to her. He was totally aware of the importance she placed
on authenticity. There was no way he would even want to make substantial
changes, she told herself.

It suddenly became imperative that
he comprehend her impetus for telling her mother’s story. And she found that,
at some level, she wanted to tell him. At least part of the truth. Where Mia
had written off Cara’s actions as selfish and fickle, there was a chance that
Levi might understand. And while she didn’t need anyone’s endorsement to follow
through on her plans, the path to the big screen was getting kind of lonely. It
would be a relief to have somebody at least acknowledge her rationale as valid.
Cara took a deep breath, fixed her eyes on the fire, and forced herself to
begin.

“When Mom decided to go after the
treasure, it was pretty traumatic. It was one thing sitting around the dinner
table and her telling us that she wanted to set a good example, that she wanted
us to know we could follow our dreams and that being a mom didn’t mean you had
to stop being a person. It was a whole other thing to watch her drive away. And
then a fortnight later, we got the phone call. She was dead. I was fifteen.