Peter Michaels, Hollywood stuntman and sword fight choreographer, harbors a secret—he’s the real Peter Pan, the boy who in fact grew up. Far from Neverland and forced to hide his secret, he distances himself from others for fear of being rejected for who he truly is. That is, until he meets Vivien Kelly.
Viv, A-list Hollywood royalty, is determined to branch out into directing, but her steampunk version of Peter Pan is doomed. If bratty kids and demanding studio executives weren’t bad enough, and Peter’s generous nature and easygoing attitude is distracting her from her work.
Soon Peter starts to melt her heart and Viv fantasizes about a fairy tale ending of her own. But will Peter’s secret tear them apart? Will he leave her for a world of fairies and pixie dust when Peter knows that saying goodbye means going away, and going away means forgetting each other forever?
“Jack, I’ll clean up here. Why don’t you head out early for the night? Go take your girlfriend out somewhere nice. It’s a Friday night.” Peter’s voice boomed around the studio as he walked out of the supply closet, his scabbard buckled back into place. He walked past Viv, his stare focused on his office door where Jack emerged. He hadn’t seen her.
“You sure?” Jack’s voice echoed back.
“Yeah, I’ll meet you on set Monday. And bring your cup. Erin’s a sadistic little brat. She’d take a hard poke at your balls and call it an accident.”
Viv bit her cheek, trying not to laugh. The little girl would do something exactly like that. And with her big, blue eyes, everyone would believe it really was just an accident.
Jack laughed. “All right, man. See you Monday. Have a good weekend,” he said as he walked out of the studio, the door closing behind him.
Peter watched Jack shut the door before he slipped a longsword from a scabbard mounted along the wall, the silver metal gleaming opal in the light. This was no pirate swashbuckler sword. This was one of hard medieval lines, belonging to a knight or a king.
The tip of the sword rose above Peter’s head, the hilt trapped between his strong hands. He wielded it with such grace and ease. Silent. Powerful. Each swish and thrust into the open air part of a deadly dance.
His movements flowed, like water ran through his veins. These movements were different from his sword fight with Jack. These were slow, almost delicate. The blade sliced in perfect precision, as if Peter battled an invisible ghost.
Viv’s heart thudded in her chest, the only sound she heard besides the whooshing of Peter’s weapon. She stepped forward, mesmerized by the sword’s dance.
“I was wondering when you’d come out of hiding.” Peter’s voice broke the spell. His sword continued to split the air around him, his gaze focused on the blade rather than her.
Viv jerked back to reality. In her trance, she’d stepped onto the mat, a dozen feet away from Peter. Her blush pricked at the back of her neck, disappearing somewhere below her ponytail. “Sorry, I was just leaving.”
“No, you weren’t. Pick up the sword over there.” Peter pointed somewhere across the room, his eyes still focused on his invisible opponent.
Viv walked around the mat and saw another sword, similar in fashion but with different details. Long. Thin. Her hand wrapped around the hilt and lifted it.
She grasped the hilt with both hands and struggled to raise the metal sword upright. How did he wield this like it was as light a feather?
“Now come out onto the mat.” He lowered his blade and turned to watch her, their gazes locking as Viv moved.
Her arm muscles cried out in protest as the weight of the sword wobbled from one hand to the other. “You make it look easy.”
She let the weight of the sword tug her arm down, the tip thumping against the foam mat as it hung useless in her hand.
“Hold on.” Peter held out his hand to take her sword. “I have a better idea.”
Viv offered the sword to him, the tip still on the ground. He picked the sword up from her grip and held both longswords in one hand, raising them and resting the dulled edges on his shoulders before smirking and walking back to the storage room.
“Showoff,” she said, her voice bouncing around her.
Peter’s laugh echoed like deep chamber music. “I’ll be right back.” He disappeared into the tiny room. A minute later, he returned with two long fencing rapiers. “These should be easier.” He tossed one to her.
She caught the edge of the handle, but it bounced off her hand and clattered onto the mat beside her. She blushed again as she lifted the sword by the hilt. Thin. Flexible. And much more lightweight. She lifted it with ease, raising it in front of her.
Peter circled around her, his own sword in hand.
Her body honed in on his every movement. Every shift of his feet. Every tilt of the sword. Every flicker of his eyes. His gaze burned into her, stripping her bare as she stood rooted to the floor. She couldn’t move if she wanted to. His piercing stare locked her in place. Her heart thumped hard in her chest and she wondered if he could hear it too. Butterflies yawned and woke in her belly, tickling her from the inside.
“You’re ready for me,” he smirked, stopping in front of her before taking two steps back. He raised his sword, the thin blade blazing orange in the setting sunlight.
Viv raised the blade to match his. She lunged.
He struck her blade with his, moving it out of the way with no effort. His smile twitched into a wicked smirk. He lunged for her.
Viv flung her sword upward, the blades catching on one another. The light caught in the middle of the swords, a large metal X locking over them. Peter stepped closer, pressing more of his strength into the blade.
Viv’s grip slipped a bit, but she pushed her arms forward to keep the blades pressed together.
“Clever girl,” Peter growled before his sword sliced through the air and cut his words. He stepped back, eyeing her. Waiting for her next move.
Viv slid to the side, but Peter’s sword blocked her blow with ease, his smile teasing her. She knew this was child’s play for him. She wanted to make it a bit more difficult. “Don’t go so easy on me,” she panted. Her lungs burned from the exertion and her muscles hummed like a bow playing over violin strings.
“Darling, I’m only just getting started on you.”
About the author:
Wendy writes the three “S”s: Smart, Sassy, and Sexy. Her sensual stories leave readers with fluttering hearts and wet panties.
When she’s not home enjoying a Ménage à Trois (the wine not the act), Wendy likes long walks through her gritty neighborhood in the heart of Philly or blasting heavy rock music in her house. Her readers love her, but her neighbors do not.