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This is the uncut version of a short story I’ve written for the Australian magazine, That’s Life. The story has appeared in That’s Life’s That’s Love special issue (available now in newsagencies across the country) along with a two page article about me!! (Yay!)
Anyways, this is the slightly more raunchy version.
Dedicated to two people I know well…
An Exclusive story for That’s Life readers by Lexxie Couper
Carrie Davidson had not seen P.B. Ferguson in fifteen years, but that didn’t stop her recognizing him when he entered the Tudor Hotel.
Her ice water temporarily forgotten, she watched him move through the crowded pub, his six foot three frame dominating the space just like it had at high school. The pit of her belly clenched in a tight little spasm of heat and she sucked in a swift breath.
She shifted on her seat, the faux suede rubbing the backs of her bare thighs in a silken caress that made her sex constrict. Or was the entirely licentious behaviour of her body due to the supremely confident way P.B. moved? The same way an alpha lion moved through the pride. A walk that said: Don’t mess with me or I will eat you.
Her sex constricted again, with more insistency this time.
Unable to drag her gaze from the man’s towering frame, Carrie let out a dismayed dismay. What was she thinking? Getting all hot and horny over P.B. Ferguson? She didn’t get hot and horny over anyone anymore. She couldn’t. It wasn’t wise.
She lifted her glass to her lips and took a gulp. The cool water did little to ease her burning thirst and she bit back a curse. Water wouldn’t slake her thirst now and she knew it.
She let her gaze roam over P.B. as he continued to move through the pub, touching the tip of her tongue to her bottom lip. Damn, he looked good. And menacing. She’d heard rumours he was a cop. An ASIO agent. A political assassin. Rumours she’d dismissed. Perhaps they were true after all?
P.B. had been an enigma at school. Not quite a jock, not quite a geek, quiet but a little goofy and more than able to finish any fight. They’d shared one mind-blowing kiss during a reckless game of truth or dare in their senior year. A wild, unforgettable kiss that shook her to her core and left her wanting more, but nothing in P.B’s history hinted at a killer’s nature. Nothing.
Yet now, he seemed to ooze menace.
Curious. And – curse it – arousing. It changed everything. Everything.
She chewed on her bottom lip, watching the man stop at the bar. His shoulders were broader than they’d been fifteen years ago, his neck a little more muscled, his arms even more so. For a dizzying second she imagined those perfectly sculpted arms beneath her palms, and the junction of her thighs grew damp.
“Damn it,” she muttered. She didn’t need this complication. Didn’t need it, didn’t want it. If she didn’t leave the pub now, she’d do something she’d regret.
As if sensing her hungry stare, P.B. turned and stared right back at her, his dark brown eyes glinting in the dim light, his lips curling in a laconic grin.
Carrie’s chest squeezed tight. Her mouth filled with saliva and her sex fluttered.
She leapt to her feet, moving toward the exit. She had to leave. She had a rule she stuck to with unbending stringency. No one she knew. Not even the man whose kiss had never been rivaled.
The hot summer night air wrapped around her as she burst from the pub, like a cool embrace on her flushed flesh. She hurried down the deserted footpath, every fibre in her being demanding she turn around. Go back to the possibility she’d seen in P.B’s grin. To the perfection of his body, his neck…
No one you know, Carrie.
She stumbled to a halt and slumped against the glass front of a salon, staring at her feet. P.B. Ferguson. Why P.B. bloody Ferguson?
“I always wanted you at school, Carrie.”
The deep male voice sent Carrie’s head jerking up, and she stared into eyes darker than midnight.
P.B. gazed down at her with a desire she couldn’t miss. He took a step closer, his hips pressing hers, his hands flattening to the glass either side of her head. “I want you now.”
Carrie stood frozen, imprisoned by his eyes. They told her exactly what he wanted to do to her, as clearly as the rigid length nudging her belly.
“Do you remember the kiss we shared, Carrie?” He lowered his head, his lips brushing hers. “Because I do.” He claimed her mouth with savage force, his tongue plunging past her teeth. Demanding she kiss him back. One hand skimmed over her shoulder to cup her breast in a punishing caress that made her sex flood with tension. Oh, God, she wanted this.
P.B’s long fingers massaged her breast, tweaking her nipple through the cotton of her shirt. His lips scorched a path up to her ear. “When I saw you in the pub,” he murmured, warm breath like velvet on the column of her neck, “I knew it was fate giving me another chance.”
The word slipped through Carrie’s pleasure-fogged brain and she moaned. Fate. Was it fate she came back to her hometown now? Fate P.B. kissed her fifteen years ago? Fate he kissed her now?
“Are you a killer, P.B?” The question tore from her throat in a hoarse whisper. “Are the rumours true?” She ground the curve of her sex to his erection, wanting him to say no. Wanting him to chuckle and tell her the rumours where just that: rumours. Instead, he lifted his head and gazed down at her, lips curled in an enigmatic smile. He slipped his palm up her chest, circled his fingers around the base of her throat for a moment before feathering the back of his knuckles along her jaw. “Does it matter, Carrie?” He rolled his hips, stroking the junction of her thighs with his steely length, his stare holding her trapped. “Does it?”
Carrie closed her eyes. Oh, P.B.
His answer sealed his fate. And hers.
“Yes, P.B.” Her incisors extended. Grew sharp. Pointed. “It does.”
She opened her eyes and looked at him, the man she’d dreamed of even after becoming a soulless vampire five years ago. The future she’d longed for since he’d kissed her that very first time. “It does,” she repeated.
And just as his gaze fell on her revealed fangs, just as he gasped in sharp shock, she spun them both around, slammed his body against the glass and sank her teeth into his neck.
His fingers clawed at her shoulders, his hips bucked against hers, his sweet blood poured into her mouth and she sighed. She wasn’t thirsty anymore.
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