Read an Excerpt
Sunset Heat
Bandicoot Cove Series: a Novella
By Lexxie Couper, Heidi Shoham Entangled Publishing, LLC
Copyright © 2012 Lexxie Couper
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-63375-992-3
CHAPTER 1
See Aidan
See McKenzie
See Aidan and McKenzie get married.
Dear Bianca Rogers,
Aidan and Mack would love to invite you and your "plus one" to bear witness to their wedding on Bandicoot Cove's main beach,
Saturday, four p.m.
Dress is completely casual as the atmosphere will be relaxed and full of laughter. No top hats, tuxedos or stilettos allowed.
Please come and share in Aidan and Mack's special day as they finally formalize what the rest of the world already knew: they were meant to be together from the start.
RSVP Kylie Sullivan
Bandicoot Cove Resort
Bilby Island, Australia
P.S. Luke, that tuxedo rule applies to you too, best man or not. (Although I'd love to see you in stilettos sometime.)
Kylie
Luke Beasley dropped onto his suite's plush white leather sofa, dumped his feet on the glass coffee table before him, dragged his hands through his hair and let out a ragged breath. Damn, who would have thought being a best man was so bloody tiring? He closed his eyes and rolled his neck, willing the tension in his muscles to ebb away. The last time he'd been so buggered he'd spent over forty-eight hours fighting a house fire: the very house fire that almost claimed the groom's life, come to think of it. Good thing for Rogers Luke had been around, or the guy wouldn't be getting married in two days' time.
Better remind him of that fact when he finally gets his arse on the island. That and point out just how much effort you're putting into organizing his buck's night. Guilt him into a beer or two at the Oasis Bar before the fun begins.
Luke let out a low chuckle. It was a sound plan, if a somewhat devious one. Aidan Rogers had saved Luke's arse more than once at a fire scene, so it was probably high time Luke saved Aidan's. And as for organizing the buck's night ... well, the Bandicoot Cove Resort's social manager was so damn efficient, all the hard work had already been done. Food for the night? Check. Music for the night? Check. Drinks for the night? Check. Entertainment for the night? Check, check and check.
All pretty much taken care of, thanks to one vivacious bundle of efficiency wrapped up in the social manager's uniform. All Luke really had to do was select which exotic dancer would spin around the pole in the middle of Bar Evoke's dance floor come midnight.
Okay, if he had to be honest, being tired had little to do with organizing Aidan's buck's night and everything to do with the gorgeous beach just outside his door, the stunning pool just around the corner from his door and the maniacal Brit currently showering in the suite's opulent bathroom.
Luke let out a wry snort. If he'd known his cousin was going to be his "plus one" to Aidan and Mack's wedding when he'd received the invitation, he'd have started training for this weekend six months ago. It wasn't until the man launched himself full tilt into the surf at Luke's hometown, Newcastle, three hours after arriving from England that Luke remembered just how bloody fit his cousin was. And how competitive.
Fun, though. Lots of fun. Another reason you're so exhausted. Tell me, Luke, just how did he con you into participating in a dance-off last night? And when was the last time you spent five hours plus doing little but the Macarena, the Nut Bush, the Time Warp and the Chicken Dance?
Luke chuckled again. Never. Of course, neither had Addison Ellis Lancaster, but that hadn't stopped either of them. When it came to competing, the award-winning wildlife cinematographer from London was an all-or-nothing player, even in something as ludicrous as a dance-off. God help them both if they ever lived in the same country. They'd both be dead from competition overdrive.
"Head's up, convict," a deep voice called, a second before a damp towel whacked into the back of Luke's head.
Luke pulled a face, unwrapped the length of thick cotton from around his neck and tossed it back to his cousin. "Will you bloody well stop calling me convict? You damn well know my ancestors didn't come over on the First Fleet."
The man grinned at him, his brilliantly white teeth flashing in the room's early morning sunlight. He rounded the sofa and flopped his six-foot-two lanky frame onto it. "Says you. Just 'cause your great-great-great-great-great-grandfather was my great-great-great-great-great-grandfather's cousin doesn't mean he wasn't a criminal deported for his crimes."
Luke shook his head. "You're an idiot. Tell me again why I brought you to this event when I could have brought any one of a bevy of beautiful women from back home instead?"
"Because I'm blood, Luke. I'm blood. And blood is thicker than a bevy of beautiful women's water any day."
"True that may be, but apart from that statement sounding just plain wrong, blood isn't getting me laid tonight."
Addison raised eyebrows as dark as his hair — which was black and thick and glossy. "Is that all you Australians ever think about? Sex?"
Luke laughed. "Don't play the offended gentleman with me, Ado. It's all you Poms think about as well. If I remember correctly, the only reason you became a wildlife cinematographer was to, and I quote, 'impress the ladies with my far-from-humdrum career'. How many times have you scored since arriving in Australia a week ago with the line, 'I photograph wild lions for a living. What do you do?'"
Addison tipped his head, acknowledging the compliment Luke had apparently given. "Many times, old bean. Many times. Probably as many times as you've used the line, 'I'm a firefighter. Check out my big muscles.'"
Luke grinned. Okay, his cousin had him on that one. When it came to picking up, being a firefighter pretty much was a dream job.
"So, convict —" Addison crossed his ankles on the coffee table and threaded his fingers behind his head, his dark blue eyes glinting with mischief, "— we've swum, we've snorkeled and we've chatted up the waitresses, and it's only ten a.m. What's the plan for the rest of today?"
Luke scratched at his stomach, the memory of the little cutie who served them breakfast not an hour ago stirring pleasant sensations in his groin. She was quite lovely and completely charmed by them both. Maybe they could head back to the bistro for some coffee before Luke headed to the island's main dock? A quick flirt before Aidan arrived by seaplane?
He shot his cousin a sideward glance. "Fancy some coffee at the place we had breakfast?"
Addison's lips curled away from his teeth. "That sounds like a fine idea. Think you can handle seeing me get the girl again?"
Luke smacked Addison in the gut with the back of his fist, chuckling at the way his cousin jackknifed into a laughing, coughing ball. "Think you can handle being beaten by a convict this time?"
Five minutes later, they made their way through the resort's lush tropical gardens, heading for the Seaspray Bistro and the waitress who'd more than welcomed their earlier flirting.
And stopped when a naked woman ran out of a suite's open door directly across their path. A completely naked woman.
Completely naked, absolutely gorgeous and totally familiar.
* * *
Kennedy Collins hated butterflies. She knew it was a stupid, ridiculous phobia, but there it was all the same. Lepidopterophobia. The fear of butterflies and moths. Not spiders or snakes or sharks or axe-wielding psychopaths, but butterflies. Freaking flittery-fluttery little winged things no one in their right mind would be scared of. Kennedy was scared of them, though. Absolutely petrified of them. And Australian butterflies were worse. Who knew if they were as deadly and dangerous as the rest of the godforsaken wildlife in the country? Which meant she ran like a demon was on her tail when the multicolored little flittery-fluttery winged thing had flittered and fluttered its malevolent way into her suite through the open patio door just as she was about to go have a shower.
Ran like the petrified lunatic she was, leaving her recently worn yoga clothes on the floor behind her, her heart racing, her mouth dry, her pulse pounding. Fled her suite like a wimp, away from the unpredictable menacing butterfly, any hope of rational thought destroyed by unhinged terror.
Unhinged terror that now saw her standing — naked as the day she was born — outside her suite. Outside her suite, for Pete's sake. Outside her suite naked and in the direct path of two tall, stunned men. Well, one stunned man and one grinning ...
Kennedy's flustered thoughts screamed to a halt. God save her, the stunned man was Luke Beasley.
Her heart — already smashing into her throat with abject terror — smashed some more. "Luke!" she burst out, throwing herself into the massive Australian's arms. It didn't matter that she'd snuck out of the guy's hotel room four months ago after a night of wild sex and hadn't spoken to him since. It didn't matter that he probably didn't remember her, due to the copious number of drinks they'd consumed in the New York bar in which they'd met. It didn't matter, because there was a goddamn butterfly in her room, a goddamn butterfly, and he was a firefighter, and firefighters saved people, and she needed saving, and he was going to save her, and she was —
Two strong hands wrapped around her upper arms, and Kennedy yelped. Her heart continued its wrecking-ball attitude in her throat and she plastered herself against Luke's hard body. The butterfly? What if the butterfly —
"Kennedy?"
"You know her, convict?"
Another voice joined Luke's rumble, deep and cut with a crisp British accent, but Kennedy didn't care. "Luke," she all but cried, "there's a ... oh God, help me there's a ..." An image of the butterfly flashed through her mind, malicious and demonic and tiny and colorful, and her throat seized up. She clung to the man she'd had the most wicked one-night stand with four months ago, her mouth working but nothing coming out of it.
Serious brown eyes gazed down at her. The hands on her arms tightened. "Jesus, Kennedy, you look terrified. What's going on?"
She tried to tell him. Tried to vocalize the words, but at the mere thought of the winged creature in her suite her belly knotted, her tongue thickened, and all she could do was shake her head and cling to him.
"Is there someone in your room?" Luke's expression turned dark. Dangerous. "Did someone attack —" His fingers dug into her arms with brutal pressure for a split second and then he was letting her go, spinning away to barge into her suite.
Followed immediately by the other man.
Kennedy staggered back a step. Her blood roared in her ears. A rational part of her mind knew they thought she'd been attacked by a person. That they'd stormed into her suite looking for a rapist. Instead they would find a butterfly and —
Butterfly.
Ice-cold terror sank into her belly, and she staggered back another step. Only to squeal and leap forward when her naked ass brushed against something soft and —
Butterfly.
"Kennedy?" Luke bolted from the room, his stare swinging wildly around her. "Where is he? Where —"
She jerked her stare from the fern frond behind her and shook her head. No, her whole body shook. She stared at him, knowing she was naked, knowing she was ridiculous, but incapable of doing anything but shake. If only she could —
"Umm, cousin?"
Luke spun to face the other man appearing at Kennedy's suite door. "Did you find anything?"
The other man, a leaner version of Luke with dark hair instead of blond and blue eyes instead of brown, gave Kennedy a quick look. His eyebrows pulled together. "Not exactly."
Kennedy's belly rolled. She tried to step away, but Luke stopped her, one large, muscled arm snaking around her waist, his other covering her breasts. If she weren't so sick with fear she'd be grateful. "What do you mean, not exactly? She didn't just run out of her room naked for nothing."
The other man flicked her a sorry look, his eyebrows knitting together some more. "Not for nothing, cousin."
He lifted his arm. Kennedy cried out, fighting against Luke's arms, squeezing her eyes shut. No. No, no, no. She had to get away. From the butterfly. From the —
"Steady, love," the Brit said. "It's just a towel."
Kennedy opened her eyes and stared at the wide strip of fluffy white toweling in the man's extended hand.
She let out a wobbly breath, reaching around Luke to take the towel. She gave the Brit a slow smile and wrapped the towel around her body. Her heart still thumped hard in her throat, her blood still roared in her ears, and her belly was still knotted so tightly she wanted to throw up. But somehow, with Luke holding her, his massive body just as hard and solid as it had been four months ago, maybe more so, she could hold her ground.
Just.
Luke's fingers pressed beneath her chin, forcing her to look up at him. "Kennedy, what's going on?"
"She has a fear of butterflies, cousin," the Brit said, his voice smooth and gentle.
Luke's eyebrows shot up his forehead. "A what?"
She trembled. Oh man, this was not how she'd anticipated her first day at work. When she'd accepted the job as official photographer on Bandicoot Cove, a job vied for by more than one professional photographer she knew, she'd never imagined the job would come with dangers. Nor bring her face to face with her greatest fear and Luke Beasley. All on the same day.
"A fear of butterflies," his cousin continued. "Otherwise known as lepidopterophobia?"
Luke twisted about to frown at him. "Lepidowhatia?"
The other man's eyes twinkled with mirth, and despite the ludicrous situation, Kennedy felt a tight heat low in the junction of her thighs. She bit back a soft gasp. It had to be the situation causing it. The adrenaline rush, the fact she was naked under the towel, Luke's reappearance in her life ... what else would explain it?
"Lepidopterophobia, convict," Luke's cousin repeated, his gaze holding Kennedy's. "A fear of butterflies."
Luke swung his stare back to her, the tension in his face and body softening. "Really?"
She nodded, a single, jerky dip of her head. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't ..." She stopped, the shameful truth of the situation slamming into her.
Oh God, she'd run from her suite as naked as the day she was born and thrown herself into the arms of an Australian she'd known for a grand total of four hours and forty-two minutes.
And his cousin — a complete stranger to her — had witnessed the whole thing.
"I have to go." Fire flooded her face, and she ducked her head. Or tried to. Luke's fingers under her chin made it impossible. She looked everywhere but at the two men. "I have a meeting to get to."
Luke's fingers slipped from her chin. "A meeting?"
She wrapped her arms around her waist and stepped back from him. She wasn't in control of her body at the moment. Fear and adrenaline were messing with her. What other reason for the way her pulse quickened to a frenzied pace at his closeness?
Because he fucks like a demon, and you haven't been able to forget —
"I work here," she blurted out, killing the unsettling thought. "I'm the resort's photographer."
Luke's nostrils flared. "Since when?"
Kennedy swallowed. Why did his question sound strained?
"Yesterday. I mean, today. I ...I arrived yesterday and ... and start today." She looked at his cousin, her heart thumping faster in her chest. "Can ... can you get rid of the but ... butterfly, please?"
A slow smile curled the Brit's lips, and a distant part of Kennedy's mind, the part not unhinged by the damn thing in her suite, noticed how sexy he was. "Your wish is my command, my lady."
He bowed at the waist, a grin playing with his lips, and then disappeared back into her suite.
She stared at the open doorway. Partly because she was petrified the butterfly was going to swoop out at her on silent wings and flutter near her head if she didn't. Partly to avoid looking at Luke Beasley. What did she say to him? I'm sorry I screwed your brains out and took off while you were having a shower?
"Are you going to look at me, Kennedy?"
Kennedy's throat squeezed tight at his low question. Her breath grew shallow.
"I mean, you do owe me an explanation, after all."
She gnawed at her bottom lip and tugged the towel higher up her chest.
"One second we were talking about ordering room service, the next you were gone."
Dragging her stare from the cavernous interior of her temporary residence, she turned her attention to the hulking Australian firefighter beside her.
His gaze was fixed on her face, his jaw bunched. He crossed arms the size of tree trunks over his equally muscular chest. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I thought we had a connection." He paused, a moment of discomfort flickering on his face. "Apart from incredible sex, that is."
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Sunset Heat by Lexxie Couper, Heidi Shoham. Copyright © 2012 Lexxie Couper. Excerpted by permission of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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