Free [Churchminster #3] Wild Things by Jo Carnegie Page A

his pint of cider. ‘Actually, I thought I might head off. I’m knackered. Will you be all right by yourself?’ He’d been there an hour, which was a miracle as Jed wasn’t much of a socializer. Camilla knew he’d only come down because she’d asked him.
    ‘I’ll be fine, everyone’s here. Go and get your beauty sleep.’
Not that you need it
, she thought as Jed kissed her and walked off, oblivious to the admiring looks in his wake.
    By 11 p.m. the party was in full swing. The cover band was fantastic, and the little dance floor was packed with villagers and film crew enjoying a boogie. Several of the minor cast members had turned up, causing great excitement amongst the female population of Churchminster. Angie Fox-Titt, buoyed up by several glasses of champagne, dragged them all up to dance when her favourite Rolling Stones song, ‘Paint It Black’, came on.
    ‘What about Rafe?’ Freddie asked wrily, when Angie returned bright-eyed and with a flushed face afterwards.
    She flung her arms round his neck. ‘Who needs Rafe when I’ve got you?’
    Freddie looked at his wife, her maturely curvy body spilling out of an old cocktail dress she’d had for years. Her wavy chestnut hair shone in the overhead lights, mascara starting to run, accentuating her big brown eyes . Christ, he fancied her! He whispered something in her ear.
    Angie threw back her head and laughed. ‘I’ll hold you to that when we get home, Frederick Fox-Titt!’
    Meanwhile, Calypso was outside on her mobile dealing with a work call. A shipment of champagne being delivered to a house first thing tomorrow had been held up. ‘When will it be there? My client is going to freak out, she’s holding a brunch for sixty!’ Calypso listened to the person on the other end. ‘No, that
won’t
do. The brunch will be halfway through by then!’
    ‘Excuse me,’ a voice said. ‘Is the film party being held here?’
    Calypso looked up, cross at the interruption. In the half-light she could see a tall blond man standing there. ‘Yep, it’s inside,’ she said brusquely.
    ‘Thank you,’ the man said. He had a rich, deep voice.
    Calypso nodded and turned her back on him, her mind whirring with angry clients and errant delivery drivers. She didn’t need this shit tonight! ‘Are you still there? Now, what the hell are we going to do?’
    When Calypso re-entered the pub several minutes later, she was aware of a different atmosphere. Everything seemed much more charged, the level of conversation hushed and excited. She’d barely taken two steps before Brenda Briggs gripped her arm.
    ‘Oh my Gawd! Have you seen? He’s here!’
    ‘Who?’ asked Calypso confusedly. After much cajoling , the problem had been sorted. Her stress levels were still soaring through the roof.
    Brenda’s eyes were popping out of her head so far, Calypso thought she must be suffering from an overactive thyroid. Brenda jerked her head violently in the direction of the bar. ‘Him!’ she whispered dramatically. ‘Rafe Wolfe!’
    Calypso saw a gaggle of girls, all jostling and flicking their hair. In the middle of it all stood Rafe Wolfe, as though he’d just been beamed down from a Sunset Boulevard billboard. He was at least a foot taller than his admirers, light-blond hair bleached by the sun, complexion tanned and apple-fresh. The baby-pink polo shirt and dark jeans he was wearing couldn’t hide the hardness of a killer body.
    Calypso was probably the only female in the pub who wasn’t swooning. Even Freddie Fox-Titt was thinking what a jolly handsome fellow Rafe was. ‘
How predictable
,’ she thought scornfully, watching the women’s desperate straining faces as they tried to talk to him. Rafe Wolfe towered over them, his arms crossed. Occasionally he would lean down to listen to what someone was saying to him and nod vaguely. He might be sending every female around him crazy, but Calypso thought he looked insufferably smug.
    Suddenly Rafe looked over and their eyes