She shook her head, her smile puzzled. “I thought we were there.”
“This is just the starting-off point.” He ran a finger down the vest she wore over a mannish shirt. “A tropical island? A—what do you call it?—mountain chalet? We could be snowed in. A castle, maybe.” He brushed his lips over her brow. “Let’s pretend.”
“Fantasizing is often a—”
His lips slid down to hers. “Let’s pretend. A long, empty beach, white sand, palm trees. Smell the flowers.” Gently he kissed her eyes closed. “Hear the surf. Let’s go there. I love the way your skin looks in the moonlight.” He nibbled at her lips as he slipped the vest aside and slowly, so slowly, undid the buttons of her shirt. “There’s moonlight on the water, on you. Pretty Rebecca.” Lightly he cupped her breasts. “Come away with me.”
“Anywhere,” she murmured, and let him take her.
“There’s no one but us.” He drew off his shirt, always keeping contact with his mouth, on her lips, her cheek, the curve of her ear. “And nothing to do but make love. I want to make love with you, Rebecca. Only you, Rebecca. Day and night.”
The words were seducing her. Words were powerful, she knew, and his were captivating her. His skin was under her hands now, wonderfully smooth and warm. His heart beat slow and thick against hers. She would have sworn she heard the waves hiss and rise on the sand.
“In the surf,” she said dreamily as those wonderful hands glided over her. “With the water flowing up, then away.”
“That’s right. Your skin’s wet and cool. Slick,” he said as he continued to undress them both. “And it tastes of salt.” Still murmuring, he lowered her to the bed. “There’s starlight in your eyes.” He could see it, though the last rays of the sun slanted through the windows. “Silver sparkling in the gold. We can stay as long as you like. As long as you want.”
His mouth slid over hers, coaxing, giving, taking just a little more when her lips softened on a sigh. Beneath his, her body was soft, yielding, surrendering. She was with him now, he knew. Pulse to pulse. He wanted to show her what it was to be cherished.
So his hands were gentle, his lips tender, and each move, each shift, was fluid and patient. Loving. He lingered where he knew it pleased her most, going quietly, easily, sinking a little deeper with each stroke of his hands into the fantasy he’d created for her.
She was floating. It could have been water sliding over her, so sensitive were his hands. And the gift he brought to her was a liquid yearning as much of the soul as of the body.
She dreamed there was sand beneath them, wet and smooth. And the wind at the windows was the musical murmur of surf. The dim light seemed to be rich and silver with the full, rising moon. The exotic perfume of island flowers, the midnight sea that stretched forever, the romantic song of tropical birds.
And her lover was there, holding her.
“Where are you, Rebecca?”
“With you.”
“Stay with me.”
She wrapped her arms around him.
He loved her endlessly, building the pace, letting the current take her up, over. When she tumbled down, he was there to catch her, to begin the journey all over again. Knowing she was lost in him, in them, was the most exciting thing he’d ever experienced. Each sigh, each moan, each catch of her breath, poured through him like wine.
Whispering her name, he drew her up until they were torso to torso and the pace had to quicken or he would go mad. He found her breasts, drawing them hard into his mouth when she arched back. When she cried out his name, it was like music,
with a driving beat that burned in the blood.
He had shown her she was cherished. Now he would show her she was craved.
All she could think was that the storm was coming.
Now it was wild, windy, and the waves lashed against her, threatening to drag her under, into the swirling dark. And she would go, willingly, as long as she could stay with him. So, she clung to him, her mouth desperate on his, her body straining toward each shattering fall. She plunged her hands into his hair, took greedy handfuls of it when he lifted her up to race lips and teeth down her body.
She was drowning, and glorying in it. From some dim corner of her mind, she heard her own voice begging him for more.
The moonlight was gone. Now there was only the flash of lightning, the bellow of thunder. Still he held her up, assaulting her system, destroying her nerves. She could feel the muscles in his arms quiver when he shifted. And he was under her.
“Look at me.” His voice was rough, raw, his fingers dug deep in her hips. “Look at me. I want to see your eyes.”
She opened them, and through her wavering vision saw his face. It was tensed, strained. Beautiful. “Come inside me. Now, for God’s sake, Shane. I need you.”
“Who are you?”
“Yours,” she said, then cried out when he lowered her onto him.