Ravishing Rose

by Kris Pearson

  It wasn’t an invitation.

  “No,” she replied as coldly as possible, turning to escape from her temporary prison of champagne crates, and striding away as fast as the tall boots allowed.

  Pretending it was a fund-raising party? Her scathing words cut him to the quick.

  Jake thought of the inhuman timetable he’d set his men to ensure the house had been ready on time. The cost of the theatre lights and sundry other things he’d paid for and wouldn’t be claiming back. The risk of damage to the beautiful carved balustrade up the staircase. The work that had gone into leveling the parking area so these fat cats could see and be seen while they handed over money they could very easily afford.

  Most of all, he thought of the pain and fear in the sick children’s eyes. Funds for research were desperately needed, and this had seemed an ideal way to contribute.

  Much as he’d like some more action with the delectable Rose, he’d bet that small lingering kiss would be the last he’d get.

  To Frankie’s intense relief she caught sight of Mike at one of the long buffet tables a few seconds later. She hurried up to him and linked her arm through his.

  “Wondered where you’d got to,” he yelled over the noise. “Enjoying yourself?”

  “It’s fantastic,” she lied.

  “So’s the dinner.” He seemed to notice nothing amiss. “Try the far table—seafood by the mile. Bella’s going to be hopping mad she missed out.”

  Frankie drifted away toward the seafood table, keeping one eye out for The Captain. She spooned up some lobster and lemon-scented rice, and returned to Mike’s side. Food was the last thing she felt like. What she desperately wanted was to go home. Right now. To get far away from marauding pirates and lick her wounds in private.

  But there was little chance of doing that. Mike was obviously having a great time. She didn’t expect him to leave on her account, and he’d stranded her miles from any form of public transport.

  Were any of the other guests leaving yet? Hardly likely. If they’d paid so much for their tickets they’d be holding out for every last minute of food, drink, and entertainment.

  So it would have to be a taxi.

  She quietly laid down her half empty plate and slunk toward the entrance of the marquee. She saw the Captain’s distinctive three-cornered hat in the distance, and skirted around him until she reached the fresh air again and pulled her phone from her bag. The taxi number was in the pre-sets, but what directions could she give them? She had no idea of the location.

  A woman in a caterer’s uniform hurried past, arms full of clanking stainless steel trays.

  “Excuse me,” Frankie called, pulling her helmet off so she looked more human. “Can you tell me the address of this place? I need to get a taxi back to the city.”

  The woman paused for a moment, surprise written all over her face. “Had enough so soon?”

  Frankie shrugged. “It’s not really my sort of party. I came with my brother because his wife’s not well.”

  “Follow me then. These things weigh a ton.”

  Frankie obediently followed. Around the corner of the marquee she found a caterer’s van being loaded. The woman stashed her trays and rolled her shoulders to ease them.

  “I’m driving this back to the depot now dinner’s served. I can give you a lift if you want. Whereabouts?”

  “Oriental Bay,” Frankie said, relaxing a little. “But anywhere will do. I’d be very grateful.”

  “I’ll drop you home—I’m going right through. You can’t go wandering about dressed like that on a Saturday night.”

  Frankie pulled a wry face and the woman grinned.

  “Yeah, I know, I’m old enough to be your Mom. But I see too many young girls out on their own after events like this. Some men would take that skirt as an invitation.”

  Frankie flushed as she remembered her missing panties; it was worse than the caterer thought. One man certainly had taken the skirt as an invitation.

  Jake’s eyes tracked back and forth across the huge marquee. Where the hell had she disappeared to? He’d expected to spot the crest of her helmet easily enough, even in all these people. She hadn’t seemed very tall, but those nodding feathers stuck up a foot or so. Why couldn’t he see them?

  He raised a hand to his nose and dragged in her scent.

  Faintly chocolate. Deliciously woman. His cock stirred just thinking of her.

  She’d been so damn juicy he’d surged into her like a rutting animal. He was worried now that he’d been too fast and rough. He might have jokingly called her ‘Lady Rose’ but he hadn’t treated her like any kind of lady. More like a sex slave there for his pleasure. He cringed as he recalled his lack of finesse.

  Usually he spent more time making sure a girl was well satisfied before he came. But with this one? Hell no—she’d turned him on to such a degree he’d totally lost it. No wonder she’d wanted nothing more to do with him. He searched the crowd again, determined to find her, make amends somehow, arrange something more civilized as soon as he could. And assure her his heart was genuinely behind the fund-raising effort in the hope that then she’d see him in a different light.

  “Jake!” a cheerful voice yelled behind him. A heavy hand clamped down on his shoulder. He turned and couldn’t help grinning at his younger brother’s fake black eye and genuinely missing front tooth. Tony wore a noisy pin-striped suit and carried a huge plastic machinegun.

  “You look the part, bro.”

  “Always enjoyed a good scrap.”

  Jake acknowledged that with a nod, privately thinking Tony’s fights had always been confined to back alleys and drunken parties with no referees to stop things when knives were pulled.

  “Tracey here?”

  “Too far gone. Baby’s due in less than a week. Didn’t see why I should miss out though. I’ll take her a doggie bag eh?”

  Jake nodded again, hardly surprised his light-fingered brother was planning to make off with something.

  “Seen Paul?” Tony asked. “Done up like a hooker. Geez, he’s a good looking one too!”

  Jake peered around the marquee. “Saw him in the house a bit earlier. I’m looking for someone as well. Keep your eyes peeled for a helmet with a bunch of feathers on top.”

  “Male or female?”

  “Definitely female.”

  He watched as Tony gave the crowd a perfunctory scan and lost interest.

  Where was she? Who was she? How had she disappeared?

  Frankie unzipped her boots, stepped out of them, and groaned with relief. She peeled the thick socks off, and wriggled her toes in the guest bedroom’s deep carpet.

  She’d already sent Mike a text to let him know she was safely home. She itched to dive under a hot shower and wash away every trace of Captain Cool. Every touch of his hands and swipe of his tongue and rasp of his bristly chin. She hadn’t exactly fended him off, and she now felt desperately ashamed of herself.

  He’d lifted her onto the table, pulled her on top of him, she’d wrestled with his fly buttons, and he’d had his cock in her seconds later. She had no memory of any awkward fumbling. He’d been incredible. So strong and sure. So certain about what would feel good for her.

  She pressed her bare thighs together, feeling the twinges of his possession again. God—just thinking about him set up tiny twitches and ripples inside her!

  Annoyed, she unzipped her costume, stepped out of it, arranged it on its hanger, and checked it with care. She re-laced the bodice and tied a neater bow, smoothed down some of the crushed petals, and let out a sigh of relief when she found it hadn’t been damaged after its rough ride on the table. Some of the feathers on the helmet were crushed and broken—no doubt from its tumble onto the paving of the courtyard. She fetched her nail scissors and trimmed the worst of them. Would Bella notice?

  “That you Frankie?” came a croak from the next room.

  She grabbed her robe and slipped it on against her curiously aroused skin, hunting for the sash as she calle
d back, “Yes, only me. Sorry—didn’t mean to wake you.”

  “No worries sweetie. I’ve been feeling so awful I haven’t been able to doze off yet. Come and tell me what I missed.”

  As if, Frankie thought, biting her lip.

  “It was great,” she said brightly as she trotted in to see Bella. “A string quartet and a rock band. Lots of fireworks. But I didn’t know anyone there of course, and your boots were starting to kill me, so I hitched a ride home early with one of the food ladies.”

  “Mike was enjoying himself?”

  “Talking non-stop. He said it’d be a good opportunity for networking and I’m sure he’s right. He knows everyone, doesn’t he?”

  Bella coughed thickly from her cozy nest amongst the magazines and pillows, and grabbed a tissue from the nearby box before sneezing again.

  “Like some more juice?” Frankie asked, eyeing the empty glass on the bedside table. “Pills, potions, painkillers?”

  “Juice please, darling. And perhaps just a little sandwich if you could make me one? I couldn’t face eating anything earlier. There’s some ham in the fridge. How was the food?”

  “Amazing. Total banquet. I had some fantastic lobster.” She avoided having to give any further description by dashing off to make the sandwich.

  When she carried the tray back to Bella a few minutes later, she decided the poor woman really did look ill.

  “Sure you don’t need anything else?” she asked, setting the tray down. “I’m going to have a shower, but if there’s anything I can do...?”

  “Stay and talk to me for a while. It’s nice to have company. How did my costume compare with all the others?”

  Frankie resigned herself to having the Captain all over her skin for a few minutes longer, and settled onto an ivory brocade armchair that was just so Bella it made her teeth hurt.

  “Outshone almost everyone,” she said without having to lie. “There were angels and shepherdesses and fairies and showgirls...”

  “But nothing like my warrior queen?”

  “Nothing remotely. I certainly felt exotic and powerful.”

  “Not like your shy little self then?”

  Frankie winced at that. “Is that how I seem? I’m not really. Just a bit self-contained perhaps. Maybe it’s living so many years at home.”

  “You were a saint with your mother,” Bella said through a mouthful of sandwich.

  A saint without much help from you or Mike, Frankie couldn’t help thinking.

  “I enjoyed being anonymous behind your mask tonight,” she said instead. “I felt brave. As though anything was possible.”

  “And did they wreck the old house?”

  “Plenty of graffiti and ripped curtains and smashed windows by the time I left.”

  Bella bit into her sandwich again and nodded.

  “I think your boots are going to need a good going over with a suede brush,” Frankie stammered. “The place was a bit rural.”

  Not to mention I got led up the garden path by a pirate.

  “I’m sure they’ll clean up,” Bella said, unconcerned. “We could go shoe shopping next week if I’m feeling better. I know some lovely stores.”

  Frankie shook her head. “No, I’m flying out to Melbourne tomorrow. Kim’s wedding. Remember?”

  Bella sneezed again and set down the half finished sandwich. “Of course you are,” she agreed. “I’ve had a lot on my mind lately, darling.”

  Me too, Frankie thought. Mom’s death, and her funeral, and packing up the house, trying to organize the rest of my life, going to that damn party in your place, and getting plundered by a pirate...

  “I think I’ll have that shower now,” she said firmly, rising from the chair and padding off to the luxurious bathroom.

  But when she got there she couldn’t resist the lure of the big spa bath. She dimmed the lights, ran the water deep and warm, set the jets bubbling, and sank back into it with a sigh of abandon. God that felt wonderful.

  After a few minutes she sat up and smoothed Bella’s expensive bath gel over her arms and shoulders, enjoying the scent as it drifted in the steam. Then she leaned back again and lifted a dripping leg from the foaming water. She squeezed out more gel and ran her hands up to her toes, down to her thigh, again and again in a sensuous massage, thinking of the Captain’s hands on her. She followed with the other leg, and then found her slippery fingers had strayed to her breasts.

  She closed her eyes, pretending her hands were his. Not that she wanted to think about him, but he’d been good at what he did, for sure. He’d scooped her breasts out of the unlaced velvet bodice so easily, and his thumbs had caressed her nipples...mmm...just like that...until they stood tight and aching. Each of his soft nudges had teased her nerve endings into tiny points of shimmering fire until she almost couldn’t bear it. Even now she felt super-sensitive, aware she’d been touched and pleasured by a man who knew exactly what he was doing, damn him.

  Frankie’s fingers tweaked and stroked, making her recall vividly the luscious way his mouth had felt on her. So much more intense than this. As though his lips and teeth had found the direct nerve thread from her nipples to the very centre of her belly. And tugged on it repeatedly until he’d pulled it so tight she’d crashed in great washing waves on a shore of almost unendurable sensation.

  She closed her eyes to heighten the memory, and suddenly there he was. Standing before her as she lay back on the table in the courtyard, still pulsing with the third glorious orgasm he’d given her.

  He’d just pulled free. She could see his big swaying cock glistening with her juices as he stood looking down at her, face in shadow. His white trousers rested halfway down his thighs. Such beautiful thighs—powerfully muscled, gleaming like superb bronze sculpture in the dim light.

  He’d stood there for several memorable seconds, totally exposed and unselfconscious before reaching down for his trousers and somehow stuffing himself back inside them. And Frankie’s mind had screamed silently ‘No—I want to touch you in return.’

  She flinched at the memory. He’d covered himself as though she was suddenly poisonous, flipped her that very useful white handkerchief so she could blot up her wetness, and then stomped back toward the house in a mood apparently as dark as his big black hat.

  But now it didn’t have to be like that. A delicious shudder of memory and desire shook her. Her fingers deserted her breasts and slid down between her thighs to brush gently over the tip of her engorged clit. God—just thinking about him had her aroused to flash point. She parted herself with her other hand so her clit pouted out into the warm water. Then, feeling how tender and sensitive it was after his insistent sucking and licking, she slid a finger gently inside herself and drew out a slick of slippery lubrication. Softly, softly she stroked over the exquisitely tender little bud.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Behind her closed eyelids, the Captain again stood exposed and available. She reached out a pale hand, grabbed him, and imagined she heard his husky grunt of satisfaction. Gripping his long shaft, she started a rhythmic massage along its hot resilient length. He thrust his hips further toward her to make himself more available, and a fitful moonbeam flirted with the soft weights hanging below.

  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 mo
onlight. 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.