Before she could say anything…or do anything except admit to herself she had a need for him…he put her hand in his and drew her along behind him, down the stairs to the cabin below.
She allowed him to lead her, all at once feeling this was meant to be. She could no more stop this from happening than stop the tide from turning. She didn’t want to stop it now. Deep down she’d known that all along.
And then they were beside the bed and Damien stood looking at her, the lights from the deck filtering in through the windows, giving their world a pearly glow.
A sense of intimacy swirled around them as his fingers feathered up her arm, igniting little sparks where they touched her skin…up over the curve of her shoulder…along her collarbone…under her hair at her nape, admiring the blond strands cascading over his fingers.
“My blond beauty,” he murmured, and brought her mouth to his once more, this time capturing it in a slow and sensuous possession.
She dissolved against him, loving the way his sinewy body embraced hers, his needing her as much as she needed him. And she was lost. As lost as any woman had a right to be when in the arms of a man she’d once loved.
Moments crept by before he eased away from mouth. “It’s been a long time for us,” he said, placing his lips against the column of her throat.
Ahh! She tingled at his touch, every pore in her body recognizing him, acknowledging him. It was five years since he’d made love to her like this. In her dreams it had sometimes seemed like yesterday. In her nightmares it had been forever.
“Say it, Gabrielle. Say you missed this, too.”
She stretched her neck back allowing him access to the base of her throat. “Yes,” she whispered. “I missed this.”
His grunt of approval made her head spin as his hands slipped around to her back and slowly lowered the zip of her dress. The material fell to her waist and she stood in her lacy black bra, her nipples swelling in anticipation, her pulse rioting with need. She wanted to feel his mouth against her breasts.
“Mine,” he said, his voice rough with need, arching her up for his indulgence, his eyes darkening as he took what was so willingly offered.
“Yes,” she murmured, then gasped at the touch of his lips closing around a nipple.
He sucked hard, the lace emphasizing the abrasive action of his tongue, and she clutched at his shoulders as he moved to the other breast and repeated the rhythm, creating wonderful little bursts of ecstasy within the very core of her.
Then he undid her bra and it fell to the floor. Her breasts spilled into his hands and she moaned aloud with sheer pleasure when he began to fondle them. Oh my, did he know what he was doing to her?
Then those hands…those superb male hands…slipped over her rib cage, his firm fingers kneading her skin. Her dress began to slip downward, over her hips, her stomach… and all at once she was conscious of what he would find, and she stiffened, preparing herself for the moment he felt her scar. It didn’t take long.
His fingers stopped on the flat skin of her stomach. “What the hell!” He put her away from him, twisting her toward the light shining in through the window to get a better look.
A flush seared her cheeks. “I’m sorry, I—”
“What happened?” he demanded, holding her hips firm, a muscle jerking in his cheek, an angry look exploding in his eyes. Angry and…pained.
She tried to pull away but he wouldn’t let her. “A car accident. I know it looks horrible but—”
“No,” he growled. “It doesn’t.” And he fell on one knee to place his lips against the two-inch jagged scar radiating downward from her belly button.
She shuddered helplessly. Of all the things she expected, it wasn’t that he would touch her with such sensitivity. In a strange way it made her proud of him. Proud to be his woman, if only in a physical way.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
“No need,” he muttered, and placed his lips against her scar one more time. Then his hands left her hips and cupped her bottom, pulling her forward and pressing his face against the very intimate part of her.
Her heart stopped for a long moment as he held her like that, as if discovering her scent again and reveling in it. She grasped his shoulders before her legs buckled beneath her.
He took a deep breath and moved back to slowly peel her panties down her legs. Leaning on him, she stepped out of them, but he stayed where he was, just looking at her.
Suddenly she felt self-conscious. Damien had been her only lover. And it had been five years since he’d seen her naked body like this. She went to cover herself, but he made a sound low in his throat and pushed her hands away, then began kissing his way upward, his lips like silk along her thighs, over the blond curls hiding her femininity, skimming up over the sensitized skin of her breasts before anointing each nipple again, then moving up further and settling on her mouth.
His tongue danced with hers as he pulled her against him, his hardened body straining the material of his pants, sending a flash of heat through her. She was ready for him. More than ready.
“I want to feel you against me,” he rasped, and stepped back, stripping the clothes from his body so fast he made her head spin. She wanted to say “take your time, let me look,” but a more-eager part of her had a need low in her stomach at the sight of his obvious arousal.
He sank down on the bed behind him, drawing her close, positioning her so she stood between his legs. His mouth began to tease her nipples and she closed her eyes, welcoming his touch, winding her fingers through his hair, holding his head tight between her hands.
Just when she thought she could no longer stand, when a cry of pleasure was about to burst from her lips, he lay back on the bed and slowly stretched her out alongside him, so they were facing each other.
She moaned, and buried her face against his throat, savoring the touch of every inch of masculine skin lining hers. Dear heaven, she only had to guide him inside her and they would be one.
For several long seconds they lay there, as if he too, were soaking up the feel of skin against skin, the rocking of the boat giving a lulling sensation to their lovemaking.
Then he leaned up on his elbow and slowly began to trace a fingertip over the top of her breasts, his finger scorching everywhere he touched, down her cleavage pressed tight by the angle of her body.
“Look,” he ordered thickly, his gaze descending between them. Her limbs quivered as she looked down to where their bodies touched. All the way down.
Man against woman.
“A perfect fit,” he said, his eyes now locked on hers.
She swallowed tremulously. “Yes,” she said, growing warm and welcoming, a wantonness forming in her lower limbs.
All at once he rose up over her toward the bedside table and took a condom out of the top drawer. “Here,” he said, handing it to her, a pulse beating in his neck.
The
