Ravishing Rose by Kris Pearson Page B

happen here.”
    She trailed a hand over the swathe of ivy threaded with tiny fairy lights that coiled around a veranda post, and Mike sent her an indulgent ‘older brother’ grin. She dug her elbow into his ribs as retribution.
    Inside it was brighter, and a great deal noisier. Dozens of expensively perfumed people thronged the imposing central lobby, champagne flutes twinkling, voices raised above the music from a string quartet in an adjacent room. Everyone wore masks, and Frankie’s eyes roved with delight over the variety of disguises and costumes.
    She smoothed down the short front of her skirt, conscious of what hid behind the handful of gauzy gold petals. Well, she was finally free—and if her new life included sex-shop panties, then so be it.
      Mike handed their tickets to a half naked angel with spectacular feathered wings.
    “Welcome, Michael,” the angel boomed. “And—”
    “Rose,” Frankie said quickly. “I’m not the wife, I’m the sister.”
    “Bella’s come down with the ‘flu,” Mike explained to the angel. “So in place of my wife, I’ve brought...Rose.” He raised an eyebrow at Frankie and winked.
    “Welcome, Rose,” the angel said.
    “Welcome, Rose,” a huskier voice repeated right beside her ear, and under Frankie’s fake black ringlets, the tiny blonde hairs rose up on her nape.
    “Your host, Captain Cool,” the angel announced.
    Captain Cool? What kind of stupid name is that?
    An ideal name, she decided, when she turned to inspect the owner of the devastating voice. He stood much too close, and he wore pirate’s garb. A gold-braided black jacket. Skin-tight white breeches which she was sure would leave very little to her imagination if only she could get a decent look at them. Black boots and a three cornered hat. Far too much sexy stubble. And a strip of green cloth tied across his face like a blindfold. From the eye holes, dark pupils inspected her with blatant appreciation. His grin stretched wide and wicked.
    Frankie drew a deep breath. All of a sudden there wasn’t enough oxygen in the room.
    Her breasts rose.
    His eyes dropped.
    Her nipples peaked in a sudden squirming shiver.
    She thanked the costume gods for thick violet velvet and hoped the Captain couldn’t detect what lurked so dangerously close to the edge of her laced-up bodice.
    She released her breath and felt the small delicious friction as her breasts subsided against the plushy pile.
    “Welcome indeed , Rose.”
    Oh God—he’s seen?
    “Captain,” came Mike’s confident greeting.
    “Captain,” she echoed, standing straighter in her borrowed boots, stretching her neck up so he didn’t seem quite so tall.  
    If ever she’d hoped for adventure, here was the perfect companion! A swaggering bad-boy, with an enticing aura of predatory confidence. He obviously thought he was too hot to resist. And Frankie just knew he was right.
    He seemed to be bursting out of his skin with strength and vitality. There was no shirt under his pirate jacket, and his very life force was on display; his heart beat visibly under the hard flesh of his tanned and darkly hairy chest.  
    Which, she noticed without trying to, led down to a long smooth sweep of taut torso, bisected with only a narrow strip of that same dark hair before the boldly buttoned flap of his white trousers intruded on her view.
    “Champagne, my lovelies,” he said. “There’s a bar in the next room, and one in the marquee on the back lawn. Or it arrives on trays,” he added as a waiter wafted by. He lifted two fizzing flutes, passed one to Mike, and held the other right up to Frankie’s lips so she was obliged to either lean forward and sip or get it tipped down her cleavage. He waited until her fingers had curled safely around the stem, and then swung aside to greet his next guests.
    She stood there feeling half anaesthetized, drifting, unreal, like a boat tossing on ripples and floating away from the safety of the shore.
    Who is he? And why