turned and looked back at the house and across the sand, across the shrubs that separated the beach from his house, their eyes met. Even at a distance she could see and feel his desire for her, knew that hers was in her heated eyes, on her face, in every gesture she made.
She couldn’t run away anymore so she ran to him, into that other hurricane rapidly bearing down on her, one that was even scarier than the one approaching from the sea.
She couldn’t wait another second, another minute. Her resistance had petered out. Her need for him was greater than her desire to protect herself. This was it, this was now...
Rory picked up the trailing ends of her sarong and pulled the fabric up above her knees and belted across the sand. The wind tossed her hair into her eyes and she grabbed the strands blowing in her face, holding them out of her eyes so she could watch Mac, watch for that moment when he realized she wasn’t running away from the storm but running to him, running into the tempest she knew she’d find in his touch.
He wasn’t an idiot so he caught on pretty quickly. She knew it by the way he straightened, the way his appreciative glance became predatory, anticipatory. But he just stood on the balcony, waiting for her to fly to him. She knew he was waiting for her to change her mind, like she’d been doing, to avoid the steps that led from the path directly to where he was standing. He was expecting her to veer off and enter the house, access her room via the second set of stairs farther along.
She wanted to yell at him that she wouldn’t change her mind, that she wanted him intensely, crazily, without thought. She hurtled up the steps and bolted onto the balcony, skidding to a stop when he leaned his hip against the railing and jammed his hand into the pocket of his expensive khaki shorts.
What if she’d read the situation wrong? What if he’d changed his mind? Rory flushed with embarrassment and dropped her gaze, looking at her cherry-red toes. She’d picked the color because she thought it was vibrant, sexy, because she could imagine him taking her baby toe, exquisitely sensitive and tipped with red, into his hot mouth...
Rory let out a small moan and closed her eyes.
“You okay?” Mac asked, and when she heard the amusement in his voice she flushed again. God, she must look like an idiot. She was an idiot.
“Fine.”
Mac’s penetrating gaze met hers. “On the beach, you made a decision.”
She rocked on her heels. “Yep.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yep.”
He didn’t move toward her. Was he waiting for her to make the first move? Unsure, it had been so damn long since she’d danced this dance, she looked around for a temporary distraction because she had no idea what to do, to say. “Storm is on its way.”
Mac’s eyes didn’t leave her face. “I know. Are you scared?”
Of this? Of liking you too much? Of making a mistake? Absolutely terrified.
“I’m a hurricane virgin,” she admitted, trying for a light tone but hearing only her croaky voice.
“I have a plan to distract you,” Mac softly stated, moving so he stood so close to her that his chest brushed her cotton shirt. He pushed his thigh between her legs as he placed his wineglass on the table next to him. “But in order for the distraction to work we have to practice, often.”
Rory closed her eyes in relief and smiled. “Really? It’ll have to be very good to distract me from the storm.”
“That’s why we have to practice.” Mac placed his hand on her hip, sliding it under the fabric of her sarong, his hand making contact with the bare skin at her waist. Rory looked at his mouth and stood on her toes, reaching up so her lips met his. His mouth softened, his eyes closed and his long lashes became smudges on his cheeks. She felt him holding back, felt the tension as his mouth rested on hers, as if he were savoring the moment, taking stock. She placed her hand on his waist and flicked her tongue out to trace his lips, to encourage him to let go, to come out and play.
Mac exploded. His good arm went around her back and she was pulled flush against him as his mouth plundered hers in a kiss that was all heat and passion and pent-up frustration. His tongue twisted around hers and his hand pushed the fabric of her sarong down her hips. The knot in the fabric impeded his progress. He pulled back and hissed in frustration.
“You’re going to have to help me, honey,” he said, his voice rough and growly. He swore. “I want to rip everything off you but that’s not gonna happen. Get naked, please?”
Rory, her hands now linked around his neck, dropped her head back so she could look into his frustrated face. Against her stomach she felt the hard, long line of his erection and she noticed the fine tremors skittering under his skin. He was half insane with wanting her and she liked him like that. Maybe she could drive him a little crazier...
It would be fun to try. “I think you need to get naked first,” she said, stepping back.
“Uh, no.” Mac gripped the hand that started to undo the buttons on his shirt. “If that happens then this is going to be over a lot sooner than we’d like.”
Rory placed a kiss on the V just below his throat. “I’m not going to let that happen. I intend to go very, very slowly.” She carried on with separating the buttons from their holes and then she pushed the sides of his shirt apart and placed her hands on his pecs, his flat nipples underneath her palms. Mac’s hand reached between them to echo her movement by placing his hand on her breast.
“No bare skin,” he complained.
Rory reached for her thin cotton shirt and pulled it over her head to reveal her strapless bikini top. Allowing him a moment to look, she pushed his shirt off his shoulder and gently maneuvered the shirt down his hurt arm, dropping kisses on the still-bruised skin. “You sure you can do this?” she murmured, her mouth against his biceps.
“My arm hurts, not the rest of me. Well, another part of me is aching, too, but in the best way possible.” He tugged at the edge of her tangerine bikini top, looking impatient. “Take this off. Take it all off.”
Rory reached behind her with one hand and undid the snap. The top fell forward and Mac pulled the fabric down, and she allowed it to drop to the ground as she watched him peruse her. His fingers drifted over her already puckered nipples and she sucked in a breath when he dropped his head so that his lips closed over her in a deep, seductive kiss.
She could feel her nipple on the roof of his mouth and shuddered as his tongue swept over her, once, twice. She was supposed to be making him crazy, she thought, yet he was the one pushing her. Dropping her head back, she threaded one hand into his hair to hold him in place as he put one knee on the daybed next to him to align his mouth perfectly with her chest. Moving away, he dropped a hot kiss onto her sternum before turning his mouth to the neglected nipple on her other breast. Rory pulled the knot of her sarong apart and pushed her bikini bottoms down her hips, forgetting about them as they fell to the floor.
She felt Mac stiffen as he looked down. What would he see? A flat stomach with a faded appendix scar, a narrow landing strip and short legs? She’d far prefer he touch rather than look.
“Mac,” she groaned. God, she’d waited ten long years for him to touch her there yet he kept his forehead between her breasts, huffing
