Suspicious Ways (24 page)

Look for these titles by Lexxie Couper

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Death, the Vamp and his Brother

The Sun Sword

Tropical Sin

Suck and Blow

Triple Dare

Dare Me

Love’s Rhythm

Savage Australia

Savage Retribution

Savage Transformation

Coming Soon:

Muscle For Hire

Dark Embrace

Let the games begin…

Suck and Blow

© 2011 Lexxie Couper

Talent agent Frankie Winchester is a hellion. Her motto is all a girl needs is a fun time, a fast car and an awesome masseur on speed dial. There’s only one person who could beat her at anything. Alec. Bane of her high-school existence, a kid whose parents were as working class and loving as hers were rich and distant.

When celebrity landscape architect Alec Harris spots Frankie at an exclusive Sydney house party, everything comes rushing back. The memory of being the “cheap-money” kid, trying and failing to prove himself—and impress his dream girl, Frankie Winchester.

Unexpectedly partnered in a wildly sexy game, the delicious friction ignites a scorching sexual tension. But there’s more than a playing card trapped between them. Frankie refuses to admit that kiss shook her to the core. Alec wants nothing less than her full surrender.

Warning: C’mon, the book’s called Suck and Blow. What more warning do you need?

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Suck and Blow:

Someone ran into him. Hard. A firm, warm body slamming into his side as if the person hadn’t been watching where they were going but was in a damn hurry to get where ever it was.

He stumbled to his left, a chuckle rising to his lips as he turned to face the someone, his hands instinctively reaching out to steady them on their feet, his fingers curling around biceps both smooth and firm.

And looked straight down into the wide, blue-grey eyes of Francesca The Gun Winchester.

Oh, boy.

His mouth went dry. Just like that. His mouth went dry and his breath caught in his throat. The precise moment their eyes met, ten years were wiped from his life and he was the flustered, horny teenager aching to impress the girl every guy at his school and hers wanted to date.

“Errrr…” He licked his lips, his pulse quickening as he watched her gaze track the path of his tongue.

Say something, you idiot.

“I’m not really sure,” he murmured, his voice deeper and huskier than normal, “but I think you kiss better than I do.”

The words fell from his lips, uninhibited by his befuddled schoolboy’s brain, each one making his heart beat faster.
Jesus Christ, Harris, you
are
an idiot.

He couldn’t stop looking at her. He couldn’t remove his hands from her arms. He couldn’t let her go. She was right here before him, staring at him with an expression he didn’t have a hope in hell of deciphering on her exquisite face. Her smooth skin was warm against his calloused palms, her soft, sweet perfume threading into his body with every breath he took.

Christ, Harris. Do something, will you?

But before he could, Frankie raised one straight eyebrow and lifted her chin. “I don’t think we can be certain based on one kiss, do you?”

Alec’s heart slammed hard into his throat. “In that case,” he said, lowering his head a fraction closer to her, “you better kiss me again.”

“Should I now? Maybe
you
should be the one to kiss
me
?”

“And have you say I beat you once again?” He shook his head, enjoying their banter far too much. His balls ached and his dick was so hard it hurt. He wanted to kiss her like hell, but here he was—as usual—loving the sound of her voice.

Storm-grey eyes studied him from behind half-lowered lids, a small grin playing with her lips. “Should I go find a playing card again? Will that help?”

“Depends? Do you need a Ten of Hearts to hide behind?”

One dark, straight eyebrow lifted. “I don’t hide from anything.”

“And yet, I’m noticing a distinct lack of kissing going on here.”

“Maybe you’re not as clever with that tongue of yours as you thought?”

He chuckled. “To quote someone very close to me, ‘I don’t think we can be certain based on one kiss, do you?’.”

Frankie’s chin tilted. “In that case, you better kiss me again.”

Alec lowered his head closer still to her upturned face. “If you insist, Fran—”

She didn’t let him finish. Her lips found his and there was nothing chaste or hesitant about her kiss. She dipped her tongue into his mouth, swirling it around his. Her hands slid up his chest, her fingers resting lightly on his collarbone before, with a low groan, she pressed her body to his. Her breasts crushed against his chest, sending dizzying waves of pleasure through him. Her thighs moved against his legs, their smooth, leather-encased length playing with his senses. Ten years ago those legs had been the stuff of his unbidden fantasies—legs both soft and toned he’d imagined wrapped around his waist. Now, it wasn’t just his waist he wanted them wrapped around. Now, he wanted them wrapped around his head as his tongue explored the sweet, damp slit of her pussy.

Now, he wanted…

She rose up onto her tiptoes, stroking the stiffening pole of his cock with the soft mound of her groin, sucking his tongue into her mouth as she did so and it was his turn to groan.

Jesus, she was driving him wild.

His hands raked her back. He wanted to touch her. All of her.

His music moves the world. Can his love move her heart?

Love’s Rhythm

© 2012 Lexxie Couper

Nick Blackthorne knows all about words of love. They’re the reason he’s the world’s biggest rock star. The irony? He turned his back on love a long time ago, lured away by the trappings of fame.

An invitation to a friend’s wedding is a stark reminder of how meaningless his life has become. When he enters that church, there’s only one woman he wants on his arm—the one he walked out on a lifetime ago. But first he has to find her, even if all she accepts from him is an apology.

Kindergarten teacher Lauren Robbins once had what every woman on the planet desires. Nick. Their passion was explosive, their romance the stuff of songs…and it took fifteen years to get over him. Then out of the blue Nick turns up at her door, and all those years denying her ache for him are shattered with a single, smoldering kiss.

But molten passion can’t hide the secret she’s kept for all these years. Because it’s not just her heart on the line anymore…and not just her life that’ll be rocked by the revelation.

Warning: Remember your first crush on a rock star? Now add smoldering sex, a raw and undeniable passion, soul-shattering orgasms. And secrets…

Enjoy the following excerpt for
Love’s Rhythm:

“Hello, Lauren,” a deep male voice said behind her.

Lauren squealed. An honest to goodness squeal. At the same exact second she spun on her heel and swung her satchel, weighed down with two textbooks, her uneaten lunch, car keys, half-empty water bottle, twenty-two hand-drawn self-portraits tucked in a sturdy cardboard folder, her purse and her iPad.

The satchel smashed into the temple of the man standing behind her.

There was a solid thud, a surprised
oof
, followed by an even more surprised, “shit, that hurt,” before the man went down like a bag of bricks, collapsing to the ground in one fluid, graceful drop. No, not just the man, the rock star. The rock star the whole world idolised, the one who’d grown up in this very parochial town with her.

The rock star who’d stolen her heart in that life she refused to think about.

Lauren’s mouth fell open. Her pulse turned into a sledgehammer. She stared at the motionless man lying at her feet, refusing to believe what her eyes were telling her. Nick Blackthorne was here in Murriundah, and she’d rendered him unconscious with the very satchel he’d given to her fifteen years ago.

“Oh, no.”

The words were a whispered breath. She dropped to her knees, the ground’s winter-damp seeping through the linen of her trousers as she reached out with one hand and gave Nick’s shoulder a gentle push. “Nick?”

He didn’t move.

Oh boy, Lauren, you’ve KOed the world’s biggest rock star.

She shoved him again, a little harder this time. “Nick?”

He didn’t make a sound. Not a bloody one.

“Shit.”

Her heart slammed into her throat, just as hard as the satchel had hit his head. She licked her lips and brushed a strand of his black hair from his forehead. He was just as gorgeous as always. Older, yes. He was almost thirty-seven after all, but the years looked good on him, so good. In fact, they suited him. When he’d been a teenager, he’d been god-like in his beauty. When he was in his twenties, that god-like beauty had verged on painful to look at. She’d spent many nights lying in the bed they’d shared for a year and a half, gazing at him while he slept, wondering at his perfection, her belly knotting with love, her sex constricting with longing. And then it had become just her bed, Nick nothing but a ghost in her heart.

She’d stopped reading articles about him somewhere in his late twenties, knowing each one would only make her stupid heart ache. But it was impossible to avoid seeing images of him. He kept popping up on the national news. Australia loved one of their own, especially when they’d won a Grammy or Billboard Award, or when they were dating Hollywood royalty or British royalty, something Nick Blackthorne seemed to do on a regular basis. Even worse was the local
Murriundah Herald
, the small newspaper constantly keeping the town aware of their famous
son
and his activities. Those images were hard to escape, and when she had let herself stare at them for longer than a heartbeat, she’d noticed his late twenties and early thirties only elevated his looks to a lived-in sexiness. The tiny seams around his eyes, the lines by his nose, they all heightened what she’d never forgotten—Nick Blackthorne was a sexy, sexy man. And now here he was, unconscious on his side in the Murriundah Public School’s muddy playground, looking even sexier than she remembered.

Damn it, what was he doing here? What the hell was he doing back here?

For me?

She frowned, shaking her head at the notion. No. Nick wouldn’t be here for her.

Could be. Isn’t that what you’ve dreamed about for the last fifteen years?

Her frown turned into a scowl. No, it bloody well wasn’t. She had moved on. She wasn’t still the naïve young woman with impossible fantasies and fairy-tale wishes of happy-ever-afters. And if he was here for her—her heart smashed harder into her throat at
that
thought—he could bloody well bugger off. The last thing she wanted was—

He groaned. A barely audible noise deep in his chest.

Lauren started, a tiny yelp slipping from her. “Nick?”

She nudged his shoulder again, but the groan was about it. “Well, at least I know I didn’t kill you,” she muttered, giving him a glare. He lay there on the cold ground, long, lean body decked out in black jeans, a black shirt and a black leather jacket she knew would cost more than she earned in a month.

Lauren rubbed at her mouth. What was he doing here? And was he alone? Surely he travelled with an entourage? A bodyguard? She’d seen enough paparazzi images of him to know there was usually a hulking great big guy shadowing him wherever he was. Where was
that
guy?

She sat back on her haunches, studying the empty playground around her. There were no massive hulking great big guys running at her, which meant
she
would have to deal with the unconscious Nick.

A tight twisting sensation stirred in the pit of her belly and she bit back a groan. She was not going to get all horny and excited at the idea of dealing with Nick. Besides, there wasn’t a hope in hell she could lift him by herself and carry him to her car, even if she wanted to. At five-foot-six and one-hundred-and-thirty pounds wringing-wet, she wasn’t exactly the lugging-unconscious-rock-stars-around type even
if
said unconscious rock star had more than once lay full-length atop her in bed, on the living room floor, the kitchen bench, the—

Lauren slapped her hands to her face, killing the utterly insane train of thought. God, was she an idiot? What the hell was she doing thinking about Nick making love to her?

“You a masochist, Lauren Robbins?” she snarled under her breath, grabbing at her satchel/instrument of destruction before digging her phone from its lethal contents.

She turned it on, keying in Jennifer’s number. Hopefully, her best friend was sticking with Friday-afternoon tradition and had closed her vet clinic early. Jennifer was used to dealing with heavy, unresponsive animals, being the only vet in the district. Dealing with an unconscious Nick Blackthorne would be a breeze.