Angelic Beauty Read online

  Table of Contents

  Table of Contents

  Cover

  Awards

  Reviews

  About the Author

  About the Story

  Sexy Snippet

  Major Characters

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Epilogue

  Back cover

  Lisa-Ann Carey’s

  Angelic Beauty

  A Fiery French Romance

  Romance Number Four

  From the writer’s desk of

  Carey’s Classics

  Romance Books of Australia

  Special Edition

  Illustrated by Lisa-Ann Carey

  Story by Lisa-Ann Carey

  CCB Publishing

  British Columbia, Canada

  Angelic Beauty: A Fiery French Romance

  Copyright ©2012 by Lisa-Ann Carey

  ISBN-13 978-1-927360-58-3

  First Edition

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Carey, Lisa-Ann, 1965-

  Lisa-Ann Carey’s Angelic beauty [electronic resource] : a fiery French romance, romance number four / story and illustrated by Lisa-Ann Carey.

  “From the writer’s desk of Carey’s classics romance books of Australia”.

  Electronic monograph in PDF format.

  ISBN 978-1-927360-58-3

  Also available in print format.

  I. Title. II. Title: Angelic beauty.

  PR9619.4.C36A54 2012 823'.92 C2012-903180-1

  Illustrations by: Lisa-Ann Carey

  This book is entirely fictional. All the characters, all the incidents, and all the dialogue are products of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the express written permission of the publisher.

  Publisher:

  CCB Publishing

  British Columbia, Canada

  www.ccbpublishing.com

  This book is dedicated to my precious mother Pamela

  and my special friend Larry.

  Awards

  Lisa-Ann Carey has won first prize of $1,500 in the Ponder Prose competition for Romance Number Four: Carey’s Classics Angelic Beauty.

  Lisa-Ann Carey has won first prize of $1,000 in the Books Ablaze Romance Writer’s competition for Carey’s Classics Angelic Beauty Romance Number Four.

  Lisa-Ann Carey’s Angelic Beauty has won Book Of The Year in the Luscious Love Stories competition for most outstanding literature about love.

  Reviews

  Carey’s Classics Angelic Beauty is a seductive, arousing and tantalizing love story filled with fabulous ways to tease and inspire your sex life.

  - Dean Smart, Architect

  Carey’s Classics Angelic Beauty is a real nipple teaser making my nipples twinge with excitement.

  - Tracy Patrick, Nurse

  Carey’s Classics Angelic Beauty is an extra special treat after a romantic meal.

  - Emma Frost, Chef

  About the Author

  Lisa-Ann Carey, author of part one of medical romance trilogy Retrospect, part two Lap of Luxury, part three Some Sleep to Remember, Some Sleep to Forget and Romance Number Four Angelic Beauty. She has accumulated countless fascinating experiences, settings, friends and acquaintances to formulate an extensive treasure trove of wonderful keepsakes to draw from in designing her romances.

  Lisa-Ann Carey

  Lisa-Ann Carey of Carey’s Classics Books of Australia began writing her first series in 1998 on the shelly shores of Lamb Island in peaceful Moreton Bay, Queensland, Australia and has begun numerous other romances available in the not too distant future.

  Rams and Ewes spice up your dreamy love lives with a collection of my dirty-sweet romances set on luscious Lamb Island and proudly brought to you by the slipperiest sexpert in Australia, the explosive Carey’s Classics fictional storyteller Lisa-Ann Carey. Explore my cute collection of classic love stories between kissing and caressing the one you just cannot bear to be without, then gently ease back into a reflection of my raunchy read until you climax the night away. Carey’s Classics novels of great colour will colour your life!

  About the Story

  Eighteen-year-old French girl Angea-Lea Siffleur fresh out of school meets thirty-year-old Australian Veterinarian Malachi Castle with golden hair and eyes of beaten bronze. Angea-Lea has golden hair and grape green eyes with a face like Audrey Hepburn. Malachi has something no other man has ever possessed. Angea-Lea is no ordinary young lady. During a love-making session the seed of life is sown. Will her stern father have his way and blow their relationship apart? Can a wealthy admirer from her childhood days steal her heart or does Malachi’s special gift keep her satisfied between the sheets for the rest of her life?

  Read about the naughties she has in the beds of five of Switzerland’s best bachelor babes after her studies at Ticino’s Floral Artistry School where her father sends her to try to separate her from the one she loves the most. Someone carries her off into the Swiss wilderness and forces his love on her then she is saved by another. Two of the most adorable orphans and an angel baby come into their lives and their lives are richer.

  Happy Reading!

  Sexy Snippet

  In a swift second she had crawled on to his lap like an excited toddler, she could feel a slimy substance ooozzz through her lacy panties onto his covered crotch. He gently tugged on her plump little earlobes then sucked on them, Antaeus snoozing loudly in the corner, Malachi’s hornbag and cocky plumpin’ up somethin’ shockin’. Pretty soon she was doin’ a spready-legged handstand with her palms gripping his upper thigh fronts as his bulky body sat bolt upright on the firm couch, her pleated skirt bunching to her babe-shaped waist, his eyes of fire poppin’ at her steamy plump puddin’ behind her see-through knickys, her perspiring flaps bulging either side of her gooey gusset he smooched sloppily, awakening her Pa from his powerful dream of clit-lickin’ and flap-fondlin’ nudies and rudies all his own. The nudies – the chicks, the rudies – the chappy ol’ chaps at the bi-sissy bar.

  MALACHI’S MOTTO:

  LIVE YOUR LIFE AND LIVE IT LIVELY.

  Major Characters

  Malachi Castle

  Angea-Lea Siffleur

  Junré Siffleur

  Antaeus Siffleur

  Alison Castle

  Aaron Castle

  Anthonee Flair

  Jiminez Pedro

  Milli Visconti

  Spring-Loaded Lauterbrunnen

  Ebner Woodst

  Diorn Hyberum

  Grennediere Bloostarkenn

  Conrado Chur

  Manuel Châteaux

  Devrae Moniet

  Baby Malachi

  Chapter One

  ‘Twas the season of merry-making, family reunions and gift-giving. The festival of the Messiah’s birth marked the beginning of the winter holidays for eighteen year old Angea-Lea Siffleur, she had sat for her final exams and matriculated at year twelve with flying french colours.

  This
was her first day working as a paid assistant in floral design at her father’s florist shop in the heart of Paris. All morning she’d been busy arranging with care a giant wedding posy referring to her father’s hand written steps and sketch of what the final piece should look like. “Father, I think the King Of Flowers would make a handsome central crown rather than the Pin Cushions you suggested.”

  “You are just a fledgling. What would a young inexperienced person like yourself know about floral arrangements? The Peonies to the outside edge and the Pin Cushions at the centre, get it right Angea-Lea!” her father bellowed in his melodic french accent from the back room of the florist shop.

  It was hard for her to ignore his cruel comments and promptly finished the posy, refrigerating the masterpiece after a close inspection by the boss.

  “Here, help me add the finishing touches to this sign.” The can of silver-frosted pink paint and a fine paintbrush were pushed towards her as she sat cross-legged at the escritoire. In ancient romantic script she completed painting the words Fleur de Siffleur. It was the name her mother had chosen for their new store.

  “Just leave it to dry on that shelf. Your mother is expecting you home in twenty minutes, hurry, clean yourself up and leave as soon as you can,” he bullied her.

  The sour expression on her face revealed a hidden temper of bitterness within. She cleansed her pale, plumpish hands under running water with a small sea sponge.

  Her father set about cleaning empty terracotta pots ready for their first coat of sealer which was still yet to be purchased along with the acrylic varnish, but that would occur after celebrations of Noëlle.

  “How about red, green and violet glazes for the decoration of the pots Papa?”

  “Very well, I shall order them next week along with the other necessities. Go home child your day is complete,” he commanded.

  Twigs of pussy willow filled the deep wicker willow basket she held in one hand, a weaved bag embroided with brightly coloured flowers in the other. She blew her father a kiss and headed for the door.

  The reflection of the white lustrous moon danced in lively motion across the shimmering surface of the meandering river. She raced through the busy streets of Paris and stopped for a quiet time to admire the majestic scene from a pretty park.

  “Send me an angel, right now!” echoed a strange voice from behind her. “Do ya get much snow around ere?” The accent was unfamiliar to her. A cold dry wind made her body shiver. The voice was spine-tingling.

  She turned around to face him.

  “It snows for about seventeen days this month on average, but it is late in falling this year,” she replied.

  “I see. You have an attractive french accent, it highlights your attractive french features.”

  A smile like a rainbow lit up her face. “What a lovely compliment, where are you from?”

  He sat down beside her on the park bench with arms crossed against the light fawn-coloured suede jacket that covered his muscular chest.

  “Just outside of Brisbane, the capital of Queensland – the glorious Sunshine State on the Great South East of the Land Down Under,” he explained admiring her glossy plum coloured lips.

  “You are Australian, no?”

  “Yeah, Brisbane is the city – Queensland is the State.”

  “You are a tourist here in France?”

  “That’s right.”

  She stared at his sandy-coloured curly hair, his golden rugged face, she noticed, lack gentleness, perhaps it was the effects of a rough, dry climate, she thought, remembering her school studies from a text called The Harsh Australian Climate in geography. His inner character did not reflect his seemingly unfeeling appearance. She stole a glance at her forest green festive pin timepiece that delicately hung by a thread of crystal beads on her crimson velvet coat, it read five minutes past the hour of six.

  “Time has mysteriously slipped away, please excuse me, I must depart, goodbye,” she sighed, her heart filled to the brim and overflowing with diplomacy. All that remained was her lingering fragrance as it slowly passed through the cool night air.

  He had forgotten to ask her her name and quickly decided to chase her for it.

  Darting over opaque stepping stones that rose slightly out of the surface of the clear shallow water that filled the large pond adjacent to the park bench, they frightened away seven swimming swans that were illumined under the glow of a lamplight. Tiny shimmering six-sided ice crystals began to form as water vapour in the clouds froze. An eeriness hung in the air just before inch thick snowflakes clung together to form snow pellets that pelted dangerously close to their eyes. Finally the chase ended when she climbed the roughly tiled steps that led to her family’s flatette on the other side of the river. Her parents owned the entire block of six flatettes.

  He hid behind a turquoise painted trellis that was smothered with a snowball vine, when suddenly the strong scent of vanilla made him sneeze loudly.

  This little birdie he had tried to capture as she flew through the streets and boulevardes of Paris had suddenly spun around on the spot, the pussywillows flying from the basket to the cobblestoned sidewalk below the steps, completely taken aback with the trumpet-like sound from his nasal passage.

  “Who is there behind the trellis? Come out now,” she bellowed astonishingly.

  He made a brief appearance, then hid behind the vine once again.

  “It’s just me Malachi Castle, we met a little earlier on, do you recall?” His answer ended with a question in equal astonishment at being discovered.

  Her well-rested and rich, velvety-grape eyes all of a sudden looked very stressed. “I most certainly do, but why did you follow me?” she asked in a curt voice.

  “Because you didn’t give me your name.” He came out from behind the vine to support his answer, a little worried she would gobble him up and spit out his useless bones.

  She trod furiously down the steps before ending the descension abruptly, when her white high-heeled soft leather boots slipped on the slippery surface twisting her ankle severely.

  He walked quickly to her side. She bellowed again, this time in absolute agony. “Would you mind picking up the pussywillows and place them neatly in the basket please. Oh, and ring the bell for my mother and carry me inside, thankyou,” she ordered in a less painful tone.

  “Certainly.” He bent down and picked each flower up with care, popped them into the basket and handed it to her, then placed his largish hands around the plump cheeks of her posterior, her inner thighs brushing against either side of his merchandise as he lifted her up, open-legged to his waist nervously pressing the doorbell button. It chimed a bar from the hit Parisian musical Sunrise and a Summer Breeze.

  Six seconds later the door slowly opened and soon they were inside out of the cool. He carried her to the striped sofa that faced the lit fire in the living quarters and sat her on it. There was a certain kind of natural freshness that filled the room, he had noticed it was coming from a glowing lemon-scented golden round candle on the mantle above the fireplace.

  Malachi was overwhelmed by the many hard covered books that lined the shelves of the mahogany glass-doored bookcase that stood to the right of the fireplace.

  Her mother followed his eyes as they scanned the display.

  “Books inform,” she simply stated.

  “Books transform,” was Malachi’s answer of equal worth.

  Angea-Lea interrupted, “Before you continue your conversation may I introduce you to my mother Junré Siffleur. Mother meet Malachi Castle, he is Australian, a tourist in our country.”

  “We welcome you. Angea-Lea’s father Antaeus should not be too far away now.” Junré stretched out her hands clasping them in his and drawing them close to her bosom.

  “Angea-Lea, what a gorgeous name,” his warm words trickled like runny honey from his ruddy lips.

  Her glowing eyes glared shyly at his mouth, she thanked him for another enriching compliment enrapturing her heart in an indescribably special m
anner.

  The rumble of Antaeus’s classique Bugatti attracted the attention of his wife and her daughter’s guest, but not her daughter. She was bored with the same old music probably due to over-familiarity of her father’s ‘baby’ machine, his pride and joy she was forced to listen to during his weekend work-overs.

  Both sides of the front door were as elegantly and intricately carved as a Nigerian alterpiece. Junré hurried towards the door gripping the tips of her slim fingers around the small brass knob. It twisted easily. She pulled the door ever so slowly so as not to startle him. He shook the snowflakes off his long grey garbadine trenchcoat after carefully easing his way out of it.

  “Let me take your coat my love,” asked Junré with a sense of wonderment in her inflection. He tidied his thick bushy eyebrows that matched his droopy moustache. It was a regular ritual in preparation for the equally ritualistic romp of romance he enjoyed with his wife every night at ten.

  His stout physique collided with the rock hard heroic form of his daughter’s admirer as he crossed the living room. Malachi’s mighty half-hidden exhibit, he felt, had disappeared. But, in fact, after he inspected the section a second time, he realised it had shrunk to such a teensy weensy dimension, he believed he had lost it completely, this was most unusual.