the darkened study where the night sky reflected the few lit lamps. “Of course you can, but not fast enough. I’m going to catch you tonight.”
Anticipation ticked with his heartbeat as he lay down to sleep. Tonight, he’d lead the dream and find her.
* * * *
Sian sank into the bath and let the heat soothe her tired muscles. She’d spent the whole day on the computer, worked until her shoulders ached. Even though she’d gotten up two or three times, the long list detailing every tiny movement on a running order for Richard and the others, for the band and the girls who’d appear in the film, had taken a heavy toll. And she was sick of Gothic. Laying her head on a comfortable bath pillow, she tilted her neck from side to side and closed her eyes. “Give me a beach to laze on,” she murmured. “Ohh.”
The beach stretched out for miles, pale sands smoothed up to gray cliffs where breaking waves pounded. The setting sun spilled rose highlights over the waves, golden splashes of color smeared into the end of day sky, where above, in brilliant, deepening azure, the first stars shone like pearls. To her left was a mass of tropical forest, and Count Johansson bounded from the luscious greenery. She gulped. Mr. Magnus Johansson. Six-foot-three, dark haired, muscular and nearly naked but for a pair of cut-off jeans, Count Johansson strode with the power of a hunting panther across the beach.
“Magnus?” she whispered the unfamiliar word, but couldn’t tear her gaze from his approach. His fast stride, long and purposeful, covered yards of the distance between them in a short snap of her rapid heartbeats, and when she took in the yellow flecks in his determined dark eyes, savage, raw energy gripped her.
She breathed out with a nervy squeak. If she stood here, there would be no way to stop what would happen next. There’d be sex, lots of it. The thick bulge of his erection imprisoned in the cut offs left her in no doubt. The immediate pulse of response between her thighs, insistent and demanding, made a silent plea.
Teeth gritted, she fought off the swell of desire and the sheer physical need for him. He’d find out she was no easy lay. Pivoting away, she dug her toes into the sand and thrust off, running fast. The lure of him called her back. A powerful enticement, but she ignored it. Pumping her thighs, she zigzagged over the sand, breathing fast. Could he catch her, a high school sprint champion?
He wanted her, but she’d outrun him. Grinning, she glanced over her shoulder. Eyes glittering, he ran, less than an arm’s length away.
Too close.
Magnus reached out for her, which stole a fraction from his pace, and she surged ahead. Desperate to win, she welcomed the flash of adrenaline through her muscles. A tingling explosion of power brought the swaying palm trees a lot closer and left the sound of his breathing behind.
Panting hard, she looked for him, but he’d gone. Crouched, on her hands and knees, she puffed and sucked in air. She ought to find the time to train more often. A fresh warmth rose in her chest. No doubt shamed in defeat, Count Johansson had gone back to his Gothic mausoleum. Disappointment stung her, but she squashed it. She’d not really wanted him to capture her. Heck, why would she want something that crazy? He’d get the message and figure out he couldn’t mess with her. “I’m not so easy to catch,” she said. “Ohh!”
“But you can’t run quick enough for long enough, can you?” he said, breath hot on the back of her neck. The fresh, citrus cologne he used surrounded her. He yanked her toward him with one muscular arm that gripped tight around her midriff. A swift haul in, and her feet dangled for a second. Excitement rushed down her spine and a flush of desire pooled in her loins. The male scent of him filled her, drove her heartbeat to a rare wild rhythm and set her nipples throbbing into hot rigid tips, so anxious was she for his first touch on her breasts. A soft, blissful groan stole from her at the warmth of his open mouth pressed against her throat. He sucked, hard.
“Oh God. Yes,” she said. Her knees buckled as he stroked his wide palm over her breasts, smoothed down to her hip over the flimsy sarong and licked up to her ear. She twisted in his embrace, turned to face him, lifted her arms around his neck, and hanging on tight, she pressed her body against his. Each place of contact was a flashpoint of sensation and the thick bulge in his cut-offs throbbed against her, a promise of everything she’d ever dreamed sex could be.
He held her so she must look up at him. Angling his head ready to kiss her, he wove his fingers through her hair and she opened her mouth to his, sucked his hot, probing tongue deep. Shudders of sensation poured through her.
More.
Unable to articulate the need, she moved her arm, enjoying the touch of his smooth chest beneath her fingers before she tugged at the button on the cut-off jeans, impatient to discover all of him.
Oh yes. Her thighs trembled in readiness for him to part them.
The scrap of sarong vanished at his insistent yank. Skin to heated skin against him, she whimpered in pleasure. Never had anything felt this right. He raked his hands through her hair, down her neck over her shoulders, stroked his strong palms firmly over her skin, raising goose bumps, and cupped her buttocks.
Groaning, he urged her closer still, so she ground herself against him, enticing him to find her center, the place his thick heat belonged. She’d won their race but wanted him to claim the prize, and clung, arms around his neck. Aching nipples pressed against his chest, she rolled her tongue around his, sucked him in deeper still as they kissed, wanting all of him.
Now. Be my love, be my man. Give it to me now.
Sand, gritty like sugar, welcomed her, and relaxing back, she hooked her thigh over his as he lay beside her. His moan encouraged her explorations. Smoothing her palm over the rigid length of his erection, she licked her lips, anticipating this solid velvet heat inside her. “Don’t wait,” she gasped, circling the tip of him, and sighed in relief at his touch between her legs.
He parted her folds, dipped two fingers deep inside her and rubbed her slickness against her needy clitoris until she cried out incoherent pleas for him.
“Yes, I need you,” he growled against her jaw as he rolled between her thighs. “I want you.”
“Now!”
“Forever.” The word bruised her cheek as he entered her and the remorseless surge of his blissful heat filled her. She latched her thighs high around his and matched him thrust for thrust, reveling in the power of him.
Biting his shoulder, tasting the salt of his sweat, she cried out in gasped, joyful moans. Orgasm built with each plunge he made inside her, provoking her senses to blistering pleasure. She buried her nails deep in his flesh as she crashed over the edge and dissolved in pulsing waves of delight.
“Yes!” he shouted, his cry of conquest shaking through her chest. His final shove buried him deep inside her and his hot flow soothed the trembles of her need.
* * * *
“Holy shit,” she groaned, and opened her eyes. The coolness of the water around her bathed the rage of heat between her thighs. “What the hell?”
White tiles and gleaming taps above the bath replaced tall cliffs and shimmering ocean. A choke started at the back of her throat, and she coughed it out as tears swelled. Tears of release, of confusion and rage spilled down her cheeks. Fantasies were one thing, she’d had some, but nothing like the archaic level of desire and sheer satisfaction she’d just experienced.
How could he?
