Coming Attractions Read Free

cried.
    “What the...? Yours?”
    She nodded grimly.
    They made it to window in time to
see the bike swing at breakneck speed through the iron gates, the fat back
wheel spurting gravel and almost clipping the post, then hurtling out on to the
isthmus and pulling an irreverent mono in a classic gesture of contempt. Levi registered
denim, flannel, and helmet-less longish brown hair—not to mention flagrant
disregard for property laws—and the laws of physics, it seemed.
    “Organ donor…” Cara muttered
angrily.
    Levi already had his phone in his
hand and was dialling. “Brian. It’s Levi Callister at Flinders’ Keep. We need
to report a stolen motorcycle... Red Ducati SuperSport... Yeah, it should be
heading past the police station in a few minutes. Maybe see if you can
intercept it, huh?”
    Cara could do nothing but pull the
bed cover tighter around her and stare helplessly as the anonymous rider stole
her bike across the isthmus, disappearing to not much more than a speck as he
reached the mainland.

Chapter
Two
     
    Brian Shepherd had always looked
good in uniform, Cara recalled. He’d looked hot in his varsity football kit, sizzling
in his prefect blazer, and he was fairly scorching now in his mid-blue police sergeant
vestments, especially with a little maturity on his side. Eyes the colour of
Bombay Sapphire, hair artfully streaked chocolate and caramel, a plump pouty
mouth, and cheekbones you could sharpen knives on. Plus, he had the kind of
body you wanted to photograph, touch, and possibly cast in gold.
    Too bad he had the conversational
capacity of Mr. Bean and none of his imagination.
    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