Ravishing Rose
Authors: Kris Pearson
RAVISHING ROSE
—A Naughty Shortie—
by
Kris Pearson
(Previously published under an alternative author name)
Kindle Edition
ISBN 978-0-473-23271-9
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and are used fictitiously.
Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is co-incidental.
(But the demolition party in Wellington really did happen.)
Copyright © 2012 by Kris Pearson
Cover © by Philip Pearson
Cover photograph dreamstimes.com
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the US Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior permission of the author.
CHAPTER ONE
Francesca scowled at her very Kiwi socks. All the rest of her reflection looked fantastic.
The long coal-black curls of her wig flowed out from under the exotic helmet with its feathery crest and half-face mask. The tightly laced violet velvet bodice’s plunging neckline revealed her breasts practically down to the nipples, and the gauzy lace encrusted skirt with layers and layers of crushed shot-gold petals brushed the floor behind her but showed plenty of thigh in front.
She was a creature from Venice’s famous
Carnevale—
apart from the socks.
How she yearned to see Venice!
“Come and show me how you look, darling,” Bella croaked from the huge master bedroom next door. Frankie’s sister-in-law languished in bed with her phone and a heap of glossy magazines, coughing and complaining, and about to miss the party of the century if you could believe her.
As she twirled for Bella’s inspection, Frankie caught sight of herself in the massive mirror. A wash of secret delight shimmered through her. It was
so
not Francesca Ellison staring back from the sequined-edged openings of the mask. This woman needed sooty eye-shadow, lashings of mascara, outrageous panties...
“And my boots, too,” Bella demanded. “I want to see the total look.”
“Back in a mo,” Frankie sighed as she padded away again.
She sat on the window seat in her room and wrestled with the burgundy suede above-the-knee boots—brand new and still wrapped in crackling tissue paper inside their long box. Italian boots, which had no doubt cost a small fortune. They were a size too large for her, hence the thick wool tramping socks to take up the slack.
Once she’d zipped them up she stood inches taller but acceptably comfortable. She returned to show Bella and struck a pose, head high, breasts thrust out, hands on hips.
She felt fantastic. Not at all like the Frankie she assumed everyone else saw. The dutiful daughter, her mother’s caregiver, the good little girl who obliged and obliged and always put herself last.
No, she’d now become a confident adventurer, itching to leave New Zealand and explore the rest of the world. Finally free to live out her fantasies and desires.
She sneaked another admiring glance at herself in Bella’s mirror. Slathering on the dramatic eye makeup would be easy enough. But the party panties? Did she dare wear that tiny thong? The one she’d unwrapped in front of everyone at the Christmas work party and then couldn’t hide? Secret Santa had been shopping at the sex store—the pretty scrap was dark chocolate brown, imbued with chocolate flavoring according to the label, and had a diamante edged cutout on the front panel.
Frankie had been swamped with embarrassment, as the anonymous purchaser had no doubt intended. She’d tried on the wisp of stretchy lace at home later that evening, blushed all over again, and then buried it deep beneath the rest of her underwear. There’d been no-one special to wear it for, and her fragile mother hadn’t needed a fright like that lurking amongst the laundry. But maybe tonight?
Mike Ellison checked his Rolex as he bounded down the staircase. “Ready Sis?” he called.
Frankie rose from her seat in the hall alcove, tall, imperious, and spectacular.
“More than ready.”
Mike’s eyes widened. “You’ll do,” he said. “You’ll definitely do. “Poor old Bella, missing out on wearing that.”
“Yes, it’s a gorgeous costume, and she even insisted I had her new boots.” She did a quick twirl to show her brother the full effect, and then tipped her head on one side and checked out his tuxedo and swirling cape in return. “You look exotic too.”
Mike grinned, and she gasped at his suddenly revealed vampire teeth. “Don’t they feel strange? Sharp?”
“Bearable. I’ll probably take them out after a while. And lose the mask,” he added, producing a diamond patterned silver one from his pocket.
“I thought we were all supposed to be anonymous?”
“Frankie, I paid a couple of thousand bucks each for these tickets. I want everyone in Wellington to know I’m there.”
“Showing off your money?”
“Supporting an excellent cause.”
“And showing off your money,” she repeated, enjoying the confidence the costume gave her. Twelve years older than her, he’d been a somewhat distant figure for the last decade, rocketing up the business ladder in London while she’d been a teenager back home at the end of the world.
“Letting them see I’m worth a dollar or two,” he agreed, tucking the mask away and tossing the car keys up and catching them again before he ushered her out.
Frankie hugged her arms around herself as they drove. They left the main harbor behind, drove out along the expressway, then turned and skirted a huge tidal inlet. The lights of the big houses rimming the cliffs along the shore danced and rippled in the placid water as the showy car sped along. It was a perfect early autumn night.
Skyrockets burst somewhere ahead.
“That looks like the party,” she exclaimed.
“Did Bella tell you what’s happening?”
Frankie shrugged in the darkness. “Fundraiser. Posh nosh. Important guests.”
“Yes, but the house?”
“She didn’t say.”
“We’re going to demolish it for kicks. It’s coming down anyway. Practically in ruins already, or so the story goes.”
“We’re supposed to
work
?”
“Nah, just have a little fun. Graffiti the walls. Rip the place up a bit. Smash a few windows...”
“Well that’s different.”
“There’s something new being built on the same site—hence the decadent costumes and so on.”
“Poor old house.”
“Way past saving, apparently.”
“I bet Dad could have saved it.”
Mike grimaced and reached across to pat her hand. “Yep, great carpenter. He was one of the good guys. Just as well Mom had you to look after her once he died.”
Frankie sighed. “She missed him so much, and she was so sick...” She tried to banish the tremor in her voice, knowing she wasn’t quite in control of it.
“Tough on you, seeing them both go.”
“Tough on you, too, Mike.”
“But at least I was in London, away from the worst of it.”
“You came home for Dad’s funeral. And you’re back here again now with your girls.”
Mike braked for a tighter bend, then accelerated again. “Bella wanted to get them settled in Wellington before they started school.”
“You’ve come back, but I can’t wait to leave. I need to start a different life.”
“If you’re looking for a man, this’ll be a good hunting ground.”
She gave him a scathing look which he couldn’t possibly have seen in the dark car.
A man? The last thing she needed was to be tied down again. She’d itched to have a life of her own. Now her Mom had passed, Frankie’s time had finally arrived. Her first step would be Melbourne, Australia—house-sitting while her friend Kimberly honeymooned in Tahiti.
“Ohmigod!” she exclaimed as they swept around a bend, and immense gateposts topped with grinning orange pumpkins came into view. Each was illuminated inside with flickering lights. “It’s Halloween, half a year early.”
“It’s the right season for pumpkins in the southern hemisphere anyway,” Mike said, turning off the sealed road onto the crunching gravel of an ill-tended driveway. They growled up the incline and leveled out in a field set aside for parking. The ghostly gleaming shapes of other luxurious cars sat in haphazard lines.
He offered Frankie his arm as she straightened from the low seat, and she took it gratefully.
Flames leaped and flickered in braziers either side of the front steps of the spooky old timber mansion. The ancient surrounding trees sported eerie green up-lighters. Pungent smoke from exploding fireworks drifted in the still air. A shiver of excitement ran up her spine.
“It’s fantastic, Mike. What an atmosphere! It feels as though anything could 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.