Synopsis
During a freak summer storm,
screenwriter and heiress, Cara Kelly and movie producer, Levi Callister
are marooned alone for days in a mansion used as the set for an erotic
film series.
When Levi discovers Cara sleeping naked in one of the sensuously themed
rooms, the two embark on a collision course that can only end up in
flagrante.
Cara is a nomadic loner, too afraid to commit to family, a home—or even
a potted begonia.
Levi is a player—a womanizer and entrepreneur. He needs a lot of money,
fast.
So, when sparks fly between the unlikely pair both in and outside of
the various sexily-decorated bedrooms, Cara can’t help wondering if
Levi’s insatiable interest in her is real—or if it’s just her missing
inheritance he’s chasing.
Excerpt
She was practically naked—the last
pastel pink scrap of lace hid nothing. He could see, touch, taste
everything. And yet there was something incredibly intimate and
romantic about the slide of his fingers beneath the waistband of her
panties, the slow drift of lace and fingertips over her thighs, the
feel of his breath against her center.
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
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Bonus feature - Levi's
slow cooked lamb recipe
What you need
- 2 tbsp olive oil
- 4 French-trimmed lamb shanks
- ½ cup seasoned plain flour
- 2 medium brown onions, chopped
- 4 cloves garlic, crushed
- 2 tablespoons tomato paste
- 1 cup red wine
- 2 cups beef consommé
- 2 cans diced tomatoes
- 2 tbsp brown sugar
- 1 bouquet garni (stalks of fresh parsley, thyme and bay
leaves tied together in string)
What you do
- Heat half the oil in a large frying pan. Toss lamb in
flour; shake away excess. Brown lamb all over. Transfer to a baking
dish.
- Add remaining oil to the same pan with onions and garlic;
cook, stirring, over medium heat for about 2 minutes or until the onion
softens. Add the tomato paste; cook, stirring, for a further minute.
- Add the wine to the pan; bring to the boil. Stir in
consommé, undrained tomatoes, sugar and bouquet garni. Bring to the
boil; pour over the lamb. Cover with foil; cook for 3 ½ hours or until
lamb is soft and falling off the bone.
- Serve with baby vegetables, wine and slow dancing. See what
the night holds…
Author Info
In between writing romantic stories, Rosie
Vanyon is building a house on a hillside with stunning mountain views
in her childhood home, Tasmania. She’s looking forward to sharing her
dream house with her high-maintenance dog and a couple of
naughty-but-smoochy cats. She has a Creative Arts degree and a grown-up
job in financial services. Rosie has been a writer and editor in fields
as diverse as motoring, travel and tax. She is relieved and elated to
(once again) let loose her ‘romance author’ alter-ego. At last, she is
following her heart.
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Julie Mulhern is a Kansas City native who grew
up on a steady diet of Agatha Christie. She spends her spare time
whipping up gourmet meals for her family, working out at the gym and
finding new ways to keep her house spotlessly clean--and she's got an
active imagination. Truth is--she's an expert at calling for take-out,
she grumbles about walking the dog and the dust bunnies under the bed
have grown into dust lions. 
Born British and raised in South Africa, Sarah
Hegger suffers from an incurable case of wanderlust. Her match? A hot
Canadian engineer, whose marriage proposal she accepted six short weeks
after they first met. Together they’ve made homes in seven different
cities across three different continents (and back again once or
twice). If only it made her multilingual, but the best she can manage
is idiosyncratic English, fluent Afrikaans, conversant Russian, pigeon
Portuguese, even worse Zulu and enough French to get herself into
trouble.