Coming Attractions Page 2

  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 cr
ews 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.

  “I’ll just bet you will,” Levi muttered under his breath.

  “But, I’ll be honest with you, Cara, I don’t hold out much hope for its return.”

  Cara’s heart deflated. She loved that bike and having it stolen was more like losing a pet than losing a car. There was something special about a motorbike. Each one had its own quirks and personality. Her Ducati—Duke, as she called him—was thoroughbred impressive and bullet fast. A person could easily be intimidated by his sleek racing lines and fat 17-inch wheels, his racy burnished chrome and immaculate lustrous duco.

  But Cara knew the bike beneath the gloss and glamour. She understood Duke didn’t like cold mornings and needed to be warmed up before they took off on the day’s adventures. She knew she had to ride him smoothly, not throw him around the way you could some of the Japanese imports. She was grateful for his pessimistic fuel gauge and the squooshy sheepskin seat cover she’d bought. She also realized that compared to many newer sports bikes, Duke’s swanky chassis supported a less-powerful engine, but its grunt meant she could still accelerate like a peregrine falcon. She also knew that in the hands of the right rider—her, for instance—Duke could keep up a blazing pace on any road.

  Her heart ached at the thought of losing her loyal, faithful compadre, and the sentiment was clear in her husky reply.

  “Thanks, Brian. I appreciate you trying. I know you’ll do your best.”

  “He had better do his best,” Levi said stonily, fixing the police officer with a hard stare.

  Brian sighed and withdrew a tablet and stylus from his satchel. “Let me take down the details and I’ll get back to the station and write up a report.”

  “I might catch a ride into Ocean Ridge with you, Brian, if you don’t mind, seeing as I’m suddenly without wheels—”

  “I’ll take you into Ocean Ridge,” Levi interjected, and in light of his stark tone, nobody argued.

  As Levi saw the police officer off the property, the two men safely confining their conversation to the weather and upcoming ball game, Cara washed their mugs and teaspoons and propped them in the draining rack, wondering why Levi had suddenly turned serious and severe and what had happened to the playful, sinful love bunny she had met earlier in the day. The question must have been in her eyes as he returned.

  “He’s either incompetent or he’s lying,” Levi growled, picking up a floral tea towel and beginning to dry the crockery, “and when it comes to recovering your motorcycle, which any fool can see means a great deal to you, neither is acceptable.”

  Her mind photographed the moment—a mental picture impregnated with sound and touch, taste and scent—an unexpected moment in time that made her feel so close and cherished that tears gathered. Cara tucked the split second aside to look at later, in private, and moved her mind to safer ground.

  “I do love the bike, but common sense says it’s only a possession. It’s replaceable. What do you ride?”

  Levi dropped the Smurfette mug he was drying and she heard it crack as it hit the linoleum. Neither of them moved to pick it up. His whole body had stiffened and his expression darkened. He was all tension and guarded fury. A quiver of unease trickled through her. Clearly, she’d inadvertently set foot in forbidden territory.

  “What makes you think I ride anything?” he asked, something sour and perilous in his voice.

  She made her speech sure and steady despite her inner hesitation. She didn’t waver, didn’t step back. “When you rang the police this morning, you trotted out the make and model of my bike when you probably only walked past it on your way into the house. Someone who wasn’t a rider wouldn’t take in that kind of detail.”

  He let out a breath and his face softened. “No wonder you’re such a good a writer. You’re pretty observant.” Levi’s hand involuntarily went to the scar on his cheek. “Fact is, I don’t ride. Anymore.”

  His statement was like a door closing. His mouth firmed and his e
yes went blank, not so much forbidding her to trespass on the topic, but completely shutting the conversation down.

  Cara’s response was twofold—empathy, for whatever lay behind such a heavily guarded door could only be deeply painful, and curiosity. Her innate writer’s instinct was piqued by his mystery. Any enigma that made this intriguing man tick was especially enticing. But, for the moment, empathy won out and she let the subject go, busying herself wiping down the sink and keeping her eyes to herself as he bent down to retrieve the broken mug that had belonged to her sister. The handle had snapped off, but it was otherwise unharmed.

  Cara automatically reached for the third drawer where her mother had kept all kinds of knickknacks from matches and thimbles to string and stray jigsaw pieces. Triumphantly, she held up the superglue. “See? No problem. It’s a quick fick.”

  “A quick what?” he asked.

  “Oh…” She laughed. “Old family joke. One day, my sister Mia was toddling around with her finger in her ear and my father asked her what she was doing. She told him there was a ‘wack’ in her ear. Puzzled, he asked her if she meant ‘wax.’ ‘No,’ she told him, ‘there’s only one.’”

  He grinned, obviously enjoying the cute anecdote.

  “It became a running joke,” she told him as she opened the glue and fixed the handle in place. “A one-page facsimile was a fack, not a fax. If there was one carton, it was a bock… You get the idea.”

  He smiled indulgently at her as she stretched to place the mug on the windowsill to set, flashing a strip of tanned, toned midriff in the process. When she turned, she found his eyes lustrous and his face relaxed again. In fact, his grin was positively wanton.

  “In that case,” he told her, letting his eyes trail lazily over her, “you’re a fock—not only a babe, but one of a kind.”

  She laughed his comment off, but she couldn’t help but be warmed by his insouciant flattery. He really was a fine-looking guy, and that morning kiss really had set her libido flying. She wouldn’t mind going back for seconds, she thought, as she watched his big hands gently cradle the dishes and imagined them clasping parts of her anatomy instead.