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Rackety Kate and the Pirates

Chapter 28

Firm Hands

The story so far:
To Kate’s astonished relief, the Hormone Harlots step in and take control of the entire situation. In fact, they seem to wield an extraordinary degree of control over the wicked Comte de Nothos. Talk about a firm hand!

You can read all of Kate here – http://www.deniserossetti.com

Kate gripped the phone so hard, the plastic creaked. Her head spun. “Jack,” she croaked at the Hormone Harlots. “Jack’s in my office, he’s—”

Ess turned her pretty head. “Do you trust us, Kate?”

Gulping, Kate nodded.

“This won’t take long.” She shot a sideways glance at the Comte’s pale, brutally handsome face and sighed. “Unless we’ve miscalculated. It’ll all be fine, I promise. Tell them you’ll be there in thirty minutes.”

“I’m with…with the client, Shazelle,” said Kate into the phone. “Just finishing him off. I mean— Hell, say to Mr Cavanagh, another half hour, okay? Don’t let him leave.”

“I’ll try,” said Shazelle doubtfully. “Hope you know what you’re doing, Kate.” She rang off.

Tess’s grin it looked a little ragged ’round the edges. “So we’re cool. We got our witness. Do it,” she said to her sister.

Ess pushed a stray wisp of hair off her forehead. Her fingers trembled.

What the—?

The Comte frowned down at her, his dark brows knitted.

***

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Tell me, does this flip your switch? It passed the Rossetti giggle-out-loud test. Not many do.

But wait, there’s more. The rest of the joke goes like this -

I e-mailed it to my Chinese doctor friend. He e-mailed back: “If the light stays on for more than 4 hours, call your erectrician.”

Boom, boom!

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Rackety Kate and the Pirates

Chapter 27

Punishment Is its Own Reward

The story so far:
To her astonishment, Kate discovers that she’s been retained as counsel by the Comte de Nothos — in an action against Cavanagh Enterprises. Legally, The Comte’s position is untenable, but he’s refusing to budge. If he won’t listen to Kate, who will he listen to?

You can read all of Kate here – http://www.deniserossetti.com/kate.html

Kate leaned back in her chair, putting on her poker face. “You know who,” she said. “The Hormone Harlots.”

The Comte glared. His face, already pale, went the colour of finest alabaster. “I have no idea who or what you’re talking about,” he said in a voice like ice. “I’m instructing you to pursue the action against Jack Cavanagh, Ms O’Reilly.”

Shit, it wasn’t working. Come on, Rossetti, thought Kate. You can write smut for the discerning anytime. I need you right now.

“You don’t have a snowball’s chance in hell,” she said. If she hadn’t been watching him so closely, she might have missed it, but the Comte’s lashes flickered. Kate leaned forward, intent. “I like to win, Comte,” she said. “Not piss off the judge and waste the court’s time.”

Very faintly, she heard a sound from somewhere deep in the building, or was it in her head? Tap, tap, tap.

Holding the Comte’s fathomless gaze, Kate licked her lips. Her heart hammered. “Did you hear that?”

The Comte shifted slightly in his high-backed chair. “This is an office, people work here.” he said.

In the distance, an elevator made a swooshing sound, then a bright ding! The low murmur of female voices drifted through the door, accompanied by the tap of heels, drawing closer.

A slow flush climbed out of the Comte’s collar, reaching his cheeks. Apart from that, however, he’d gone so still he could have sat for a portrait entitled Sex in a Suit.

“I’ll let them in, shall I?”

“No,” croaked the Comte. “I haven’t… They’ll…”

Ignoring him, Kate rose and flung the door open wide.

Arm in arm, Tess and Ess beamed at her. They looked just as she remembered them, except that Tess had purple and red streaks in her hair and a nose stud, while Ess was tricked out in a silk suit the colour of a dove’s breast, with a cream silk blouse and pearls.

“Heya, babe,” beamed Tess.

“Kate, dear,” smiled Ess.

***

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Rackety Kate and the Pirates

Chapter 26

Devious Plans

The knock came again. Kate glared at the door as if she could eviscerate the idiot on the other side. “For crying out loud, come in!” But all she could produce was a strained whisper, as if she’d been sobbing in her sleep. Which was ridiculous. Really.

Footsteps moved away, a voice murmuring something to the receptionist.

With a muttered oath, she sprang to her feet, knocked her hip on the corner of the desk and cursed even louder. Rubbing the sore spot, she wrenched the door open. At the far end of the corridor, the receptionist was reaching forward to take a pile of documents from a man with long blond hair, confined in a neat pony tail. He wore an elegantly tailored suit in a charcoal gray. Shazelle’s upturned face was a study in feminine appreciation.

Peter had had hair like that.

Ruthlessly, Kate slammed the lid down before the thought could take on a life of its own. She made a mental note to do a background check on the Rossetti woman. There had to be some dirt somewhere. Everyone had a dirty little secret.

“No problem,” Shazelle was saying, heavily mascaraed eyelashes fluttering like centipedes on speed. “I’ll see she gets them.”

The man murmured something in response that made the girl flush with pleasure. Straightening, he turned toward the foyer and the elevators, his lean body moving with compact grace. Fine, very fine, thought Kate, enjoying the scenery. Of course, Armani did tend to have that effect. The elevator swished open, the man entered, pressed the button and about-faced.

Holy shit.

Designer spectacles that magnified glorious sea-blue eyes, a straight nose, sexy mouth.

“Peter.” She thought she’d shouted, but the word got strangled in her throat.

He gave her a quick appreciative glance up and down, all male. But after a second, his grin stalled, a crease appearing between his brows. The doors of the elevator slid closed on his puzzled face.

“No, no!” She pounded at the `up’ button, almost sobbing with frustration. “Come back, come back!”

***

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I thought that you folks Over There might like to experience the flavour of an Aussie Christmas, so here’s a ’seasonal’ poem. High literature it ain’t - enjoy!

BTW, as I write this, I’m sitting at my desk in a sarong, looking out the window at the mangoes beginning to blush on our big old tree. Meanwhile, it’s raining - steady subtropical wet stuff, with a sauna to follow when the sun comes out and sucks all the moisture out of the ground. I’m finally considering air conditioning. *sigh*

‘Twas the night before Christmas; there wasn’t a sound.
Not a possum was stirring; no-one was around.
We’d left on the table some tucker and beer,
Hoping that Santa Claus soon would be here;
We children were snuggled up safe in our beds,
While dreams of pavlova danced ’round in our heads;

And Mum in her nightie, and Dad in his shorts,
Had just settled down to watch TV sports.
When outside the house a mad ruckus arose;
Loud squeaking and banging woke us from our doze.

We ran to the screen door, peeked cautiously out,
snuck onto the deck, then let out a shout.
Guess what had woken us up from our snooze,
But a rusty old Ute pulled by eight mighty ‘roos.
The cheerful man driving was giggling with glee,
And we both knew at once who this plump bloke must be.

Now, I’m telling the truth it’s all dinki-di,
Those eight kangaroos fairly soared through the sky.
Santa leaned out the window to pull at the reins,
And encouraged the ‘roos, by calling their names.

‘ Now , Kylie ! Now, Kirsty! Now, Shazza and Shane !
On Kipper! On, Skipper! On, Bazza and Wayne !
Park up on that water tank. Grab a quick drink,
I’ll scoot down the gum tree. Be back in a wink!’

So up to the tank those eight kangaroos flew,
With the Ute full of toys, and Santa Claus too.
He slid down the gum tree and jumped to the ground,
Then in through the window he sprang with a bound.

He had bright sunburned cheeks and a milky white beard.
A jolly old joker was how he appeared.
He wore red stubby shorts and old thongs on his feet,
And a hat of deep crimson as shade from the heat.
His eyes - bright as opals - Oh! How they twinkled!
And, like a goanna, his skin was quite wrinkled!
His shirt was stretched over a round bulging belly
Which shook when he moved, like a plate full of jelly.

A fat stack of prezzies he flung from his back,
And he looked like a swaggie unfastening his pack.
He spoke not a word, but bent down on one knee,
To position our goodies beneath the yule tree.

Surfboard and footy-ball shapes for us two.
And for Dad, tongs to use on the new barbeque.
A mysterious package he left for our Mum,

Then he turned and he winked and he held up his thumb;
He strolled out on deck and his ‘roos came on cue;
Flung his sack in the back and prepared to shoot through.

He bellowed out loud as they swooped past the gates -

‘MERRY CHRISTMAS to all, and goodonya, MATES!’

Let me know if there’s something you’re curious about.For example, Shazza and Bazza are the nicknames for Sharon and Barry, respectively. Not something a foreigner might intuit!

Hope your Christmas was simply wonderful, full of love and ease. Mine wasn’t too damn bad at all! I know I’m blessed and I’m infinitely grateful.

I’ve never been an outdoor girl. Give me a bed and a book and a cuppa tea.

Don’t get me wrong, I love seeing animals in the wild and Nature’s beauty restores my soul. But the … ah… logistics really bother me. Okay, okay, I confess - the main issue is going to the toilet.  Not having convenient plumbing on the outside like a guy makes it a tad difficult. When you squat, inquisitive vegetation wants to get personal with your nether regions. And it’s always prickly. Then there’s the whole issue of the pants hooked around your knees - slap bang in the way. Not to mention the rest of it - digging holes, balancing while you wipe etc etc

Let’s not forget the wild life either. When DD was about six, she had to go while we were on a rainforest walk. (I swear her bladder is the size of a pea.) She collected a leech in a VERY bad place. The sight of her capering about and screaming with the leech dangling is graven in my memory.*shudder*

Probably ruined the poor kid for life. Speaking of which..

I imagine this poor woman is about to be ruined for life too. Oh dear.

Are you better at the outdoor stuff than me? (No details, BTW!) The rest of camping escapes me too. I’m just not very practical, I guess. Do you enjoy camping? Why?

I’m terminating Yahoo with EXTREME PREJUDICE.

BOOOOOM!!!

It might be free, but hell - you get what you pay for! I’ve been using Yahoo for my monthly newsletter since the very first issue (in May 2006) and I have finally had EEEENOUGH!

From this moment on, I’ve shifted my newsletter - that is, my whole newsletter ‘family’ - to another service. One that’s professional. Sure, it costs, but dammit, it actually works!

CLICK HERE TO SUBSCRIBE!

There are free gifts on joining. *hint, hint*  *cackle*

(NOTE: Existing subscribers should have come along for the ride. If you’re worried about anything, email me and I’ll sort it out.)

I love these folk, they really are ‘family’ to me, and I try to offer them special stuff that you can’t get elsewhere - exclusive excerpts, free books, regular contests, glimpses of my life. Then of course, there’s the ongoing saga of Rackety Kate and the Pirates.  *grin*

So what does Yahell do???

Hah! It stops sending the newsletter to bunches of my faithful subscribers.  And it’s totally random - differs from one month to the next. If I send the newsletter a second time in a month, it doesn’t help, the same people miss out and the rest are irritated by getting it twice.

Either I look like a slack tart who doesn’t care and can’t be bothered, or an overanxious pest who floods your inbox.   Grrr…

Right. *settles feathers* Rant over. Thanks for listening. I’ve changed all the links on my website and this blog to point to the new service.  If you’re not already a member of my ‘family’, give it a try. Sheesh, sounds like a serial killers’ commune, doesn’t it? I’m harmless. Honest. Heh heh.

Anyone else have something they’d like to get off their chest about Yahell? *snort*

 It’s newsletter time, which means…

Rackety Kate and the Pirates

Chapter 25

Bumps and Briefs

The story so far:
Duka and the Duchess, Harley and Chan, all disappear into the night, well-satisfied. Kate’s pretty happy too, cuddling up with Jack and dropping off into a happily exhausted sleep. If it wasn’t for the ominous tap, tap, tapping of the Rossetti woman’s keyboard…

You can read all of Kate here – http://www.deniserossetti.com/kate.html

Sometime during the night, Kate woke, tears streaming down her cheeks – even though she never cried. She couldn’t recall the substance of her dreams, but her arms and legs were twined about Jack’s sleeping form as if he were about to be torn from her. Over the regular soothing boom of the surf, she heard the sound she dreaded - tap, tap, tappity, tap. Stubbornly, she clung even harder.

“No,” she muttered through clenched teeth. “I won’t leave him. You can’t make me.”

Tap, tap, tap. The sound sped up, the little clicks running together, merging into a long murmuring rush like tropical rain on the roof. Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap…

Kate’s eyelids drooped like lead shutters. She struggled. “Jack!” She shook his shoulder.

Jack opened one sleepy hazel eye. “Humpf?” he said.

“Hold onto me! Don’t let me go!”

“‘Course not.” Jack slid a warm, appreciative palm over the curve of Kate’s backside. “Never gonna…let…you…let…you…” His words trailed away and his lashes fluttered down.

“Jack? Jack!” When she tried to rouse him, he simply drew her closer, nuzzling the skin under her ear, mumbling unintelligibly. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear he was drunk. “Hate you, Rossetti,” she muttered. “Hate—” But she was overtaken by a jaw-cracking yawn. Her head swam, images flashing by beneath her eyelids – Duka, with the Duchess over his knee, her upraised bottom a delightful stinging pink; Peter, stretching up to release Tom Cavanagh’s bonds and Tom flushing brick red as he did it; Harley’s bad boy grin and dark tossing curls; the Comte de Nothos, his pale perfect body and shining pointy teeth. Then there was Jack – his tiger gaze, his body cradling hers as they floated in the jungle pool, his hard length buried as deep inside her as it would go. His kisses – hot and wet and searching, tender and coaxing.

Everyone she’d met on Sweet Sisters Isle had found their happiness, even Ess and Tess, the Hormone Harlots. There was nothing left for her to do – except love Jack for the rest of her life. Oh God. Nothing left to do. Nothing at all.

Each vision pulled her further into the dark velvet of unconsciousness, sleep cushioning her like a soft warm blanket, safe forever in Jack’s arms.

It was a lie. She wasn’t safe at all.

***

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I squibbed on the blog upgrade. What can I say? I took one look at all those truly hideous geeky instructions and I just…well, I just felt tired, all right? I can do it another day.

In the meantime, I thought we might discuss hair lice.

OMG!, I hear you scream, why hair lice? Here’s what got me thinking of them again -

Isn’t it a hoot? I laughed out loud when I saw it - which is my general gauge of blog-worthiness. It’s from  Longmire does Romance Novels. Go  have a look and a giggle.

But it took me right back too, to the - shudder - days of head lice. DD has the most beautiful hair, really thick. She’s also one of the most determined people I know and nothing would do but for her to grow it long. When she was seven, the head lice adored it so much, they set up Louse Town on her scalp. I hit the little buggers with natural remedies first. Nope. So I held our noses and tried something that smelled like undiluted DDT. Nope.

In desperation, I took her out to the back verandah with a ruler and my big sewing scissors and I cut it. Unfortunately, as a hairdresser I make a great romance writer and the back came out at the strangest angle. Gave me vertigo. So I evened it out. *snip, snip, snip*  From being halfway down her back, she ended up with a pageboy around her ears.

Poor little darling. She went into her room, took one look in the mirror and came over all weak and strange. She had to go to bed and lie down for a while to get over the shock. I felt like Delilah - and not in a good way either.

OTOH, with her hair shorter, I was able to get rid of the damn things. I guess it was poetic justice that a few of the little horrors transferred themselves to me. *shudder* I had absolutely no problem bathing in the DDT stuff. It was orange from memory. Probably accounts for a few things now.

Please don’t tell me I’m the only one….

 It’s newsletter time, which means…

Rackety Kate and the Pirates

Chapter 24

Beginnings and Endings

The story so far:
Duka and the Duchess appear to have formed some sort of pact. Meanwhile, Harley and Chan are moving things right along to their inevitable conclusion – until the clock chimes. Oh, no! They’ve run out of time!

You can read all of Kate here – http://www.deniserossetti.com/kate.html

Duka turned his head, his cheek brushing against the soft, white skin of the Duchess’s belly. Imperiously, he snarled, “Don’t stop, ye bastards. You started this, are ye men enough to finish it?”

Out in the garden, Kate held her breath, Jack equally motionless beneath her. The playful little breeze had dropped, the night air balmy and still. Thank God, the crazy Rossetti woman had shut up, not even the faintest tappity, tap of her fingers on the keyboard.

“Oh aye,” growled Harley. “I’m man enough to make ye scream.”

The First Mate was shuddering now, full body tremors, head to toe. Gritting his teeth, he grunted a negative. The Duchess pressed even closer, whispering in his ear.

Harley leaned forward to sling a muscled arm around Duka’s neck. “You’ll never last,” he hissed. “Give it up for me, man.”

***

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