the dark shadows to their corners.
She moaned, grinding against him, running her hands down his back to skim the taut swell of his derrière, holding back the words that ached to break free. For she was afraid that truth would shatter the mood. Make him think. Doubt.
Her fingers dug into his taut arms as she arched against him, gasping as he shifted and his hot sex moved between her legs.
Yes, she thought, squirming, clutching his back, his ribs, his buttocks. The gentle breeze kissed her through the netting, but she burned with a sensual fever that could only be broken with completion. Only with him.
She panted with need, her senses consumed by him, her heart ensnared as well. The hammock rocked and shimmied, the ropes biting into her bare back. If he didn’t make love to her soon she’d die.
His hips rocked forward, his sex pushing inside her. She gasped and smiled, clinging to him, welcoming him home, wanting more, wanting all of him.
He shifted again, pulling from her. “Mon Dieu, you’re tight. Perfect.”
She moaned, frustrated by the torture and the insatiable need for him that raged within her. He was large, powerful, and driving her mad with want.
“You are taking too long,” she said, clutching at him.
He pushed into her before the last word left her mouth, filling her completely, touching her heart, her soul. The heat of his unsheathed sex sinking into her pulsing core ripped a gasp of wonder from her. She hadn’t remembered this feeling from before, coming at the end of a long night of passion.
This time it felt new. A beginning. Giving birth to a hope she harbored in the secret recesses of her heart. Could it be?
The power and carnal promise in each thrust lifted her higher toward the sun, burning her with his desire, with his need. His brand of absolute possession seared her soul.
She was his. Now. Always. She accepted it. Embraced it. For she knew she’d never find this oneness with another man.
His movements came faster, deeper, keener, stealing her ability to think. He’d pushed her past reason to a shimmering aura where she could only feel, into a spray of glorious rainbows that blinded her.
She clung to him, trembling with the force of her climax, welcoming his release. Nothing she’d experienced came close to this wonderful feeling of unity.
He held her so tightly she thought they’d become one, was sure there no longer existed a place where he ended and she began.
“Mon amour,” he said, nearly chewing out the words.
She smiled and blinked back tears, for he’d whispered the only French she knew, the only words she’d ached to hear.
My love.
Yes, she was, she admitted, gliding her hands down his sweat-slicked back and marveling at the steely strength rippling beneath her fingers.
She could’ve lain there the rest of the day, but she felt him pulling away from her. Knew this ideal had come to an end.
It was too soon. She wanted more. She wanted forever.
The hammock shimmied beneath her. She stilled and grabbed his arms, the muscles taut. He gave a swift jerk, his body bowing and pulling her flush with his.
Her breath caught in her lungs as the hammock shuddered and flipped. She yelped and clung to André.
Her world turned upside down, air whispering over her bare body, the weight of him on her removed. She sprawled on him, breast to broad chest, stomach to corded belly.
She felt his arms tremble with the strain of holding on to the hammock as he became a new cradle for her.
“Relax, ma chérie. The best is yet to come.”
She stared into his handsome face, his tension gone and his smile positively lascivious. The impeccable island tycoon garbed in tailored French suits had been replaced by a wild-eyed pirate with seduction oozing from his pores.
Naked and free. And hers.
“Show me,” she said.
His smile widened as he let go of the ropes. He dropped, taking her with him, his arms cradling her long before he slammed into the sand.
She straddled him, glorying in the shift of position, of power. The admission was shocking, for she’d never dreamed she’d have sex with a man in the middle of the day on a beach and feel no shame. That she’d revel in being on top.
“The appetizer was wonderful.” She dropped a quick kiss on his gorgeous mouth. “What’s the entrée?”
“Amour sous le beau ciel.”
“I hope that’s not fried squid or eyeballs boiled in seaweed.”
He threw his head back and laughed, the sound rich and sensual. “Not at all. It means love under the beautiful sky.”
“I like that.” Especially the love part. For without a doubt, despite everything, she’d fallen hard and fast for André.
She glided her palms up his taut belly, her thumbs tracing the line of black hair that widened over his pectorals. He treated her to much the same torment, sliding his palms up her ribs to cup her breasts.
Their gazes locked, their breaths labored. She stared into eyes that had gone nearly black again. Her fingers danced in an erotic melody over his tanned skin, kneading, marveling at the play of muscle.
She grazed his nipples with her thumbs, dragging a moan from him. Before she could savor her feminine power his hands cupped her breasts, then shifted to tug and roll her nipples between his fingers.
Her mouth opened on a soundless sigh of pleasure, her head tossed back, her world reduced to this moment. This man who knew her body better than she knew it herself.
“About that love under the beautiful sky…” she said, dropping a kiss on his chin, his brow, his nose.
“But of course,” he said, between plucking kisses, his voice deep and ragged and oh, so sexy. “Whatever the lady wants.”
His heart, she thought. To love and be loved. Now. Forever.
Was that too much to ask? She knew the answer. Knew that it was impossible with him.
His hands shifted to her back, gliding from her behind to her shoulders, kneading the taut muscles in both with such erotic precision she moaned with pleasure and awakened need. Live for the moment, she thought. That was all she could do—all she wanted to do right now.
“I want you,” she said, her mouth lowering to his.
She got a fleeting glimpse of longing in his eyes before he jerked his gaze toward the sea. Before she could register that something was wrong, he pushed her down and lunged across her body.
“Sacre bleu! Paparazzi.”
André yanked a
