Instead of dipping into the pool after he left Elizabeth on the dock, Jacob walked out onto the beach, naked. He needed something to help him exorcise his brain of Harper, and a tepid pool wouldn’t do the trick. The alpine lake was frigid, as usual. The round rocks interspersed with sand hurt his feet as he waded into the water. He was glad. It kept his focus from settling on anything but his discomfort.

He swam out far past the dock, his brain gratifyingly shocked into numbness by the cold water. By the time he surfaced beneath a midnight dome of stars, he’d warmed from the exercise, however.

He was once again subject to the unruliness of his mind and body.

He treaded water as the memory of Harper’s body pressed against him, of her sweet, responsive mouth, swamped his consciousness. Again, he experienced that wild need to possess her . . . sink into her scent, drive into her body fast and furious. Just the thought of penetrating her—of even taking her in a simple missionary position—of her mouth beneath his, of his cock high and hard inside her . . .

It made him uncontrollably aroused. He stiffened with the vigor of a teenage boy.

It surprised him, because the simple fact was, he hardly ever bothered with simple, traditional sex anymore. Maybe he was depraved. He’d never really thought about it before, because his partners were in total agreement with his desire. He required a healthy dose of kink to stimulate him, nowadays. It was one of the downfalls of wealth. Women were willing to give him almost anything he wanted sexually.

At that moment, treading water beneath a spectacular midnight sky, he longed for something different, though. He wished he could again touch a woman like it was the first time, with the wondrous lust of a teenage boy.

He wished it wasn’t just Harper McFadden that inspired that longing in him.

Besides . . . it wasn’t as if he wouldn’t enjoy the hell out of doing some grittier things to her as well: tying her up, pleasuring her . . . maybe taking her places she’d never been before, watching her as ecstasy tightened her beautiful face and she surrendered to him.

He couldn’t do those things to Harper, though, as much as the idea tore through him and left stinging hunger in its wake. Not with his past, he couldn’t. Not with Harper’s. If others considered his sexual preferences sick, he could tolerate that. He never hurt a woman, and had enough experience to know that his partners were very well satisfied.

But exposing his sexual bent to Harper would also expose his vulnerability. With others, his preference for sexual domination had no history. No basis. It just was: an in-the-moment heat, a consensual hunger with no roots.

It’d be different with Harper. It’d be messy. It wouldn’t be just a release of sexual tension, pleasure, and good-bye.

Would it?

The recalled sensation of how her breasts had felt crushed against him, the nipples defined and hard, rushed into his consciousness and tugged at his cock. She was larger than she had been when she was a girl, of course. To him, her breasts were perfect: large enough to make a man want to lose himself in them for hours, yet high and firm enough to accentuate her elegant, slender figure.

He plunged face-first into the cold water. Maybe it wouldn’t be easy or simple to have her. But God, it’d be so fucking good. Besides, why was he so worried about his effect on her, his demands on her sexually? What had she done to deserve so much consideration on his part? She’d left him.

More importantly, she’d forgotten him.

A few minutes later, he gave up the fight. He submitted to his hunger, even if only in the safety of his mind. He stood beneath the hot spray of the poolside shower, his cock in his hand, his eyes clamped shut.

In his fantasy, they were in the forest, not another human being for tens of miles in any direction. There was no one to interfere, no one that had the power to stop them, to threaten their lives.

To separate them.

There was only Harper and him, and their need.

She looked up at him from where she lay on her back on a blanket, her blue-green eyes wide with anxiety, but also heat. And trust.

She was bound with rope, the black silk, twined strands a jolting erotic contrast to her pale, naked skin. He’d restrained her like he wanted her, so that her beauty was fully exposed to him. Nothing hidden. Nothing denied. Her feet were raised off the blanket, her knees bent in the direction of her chest, her legs spread wide. He’d restrained her so that her calves pressed tight against the back of her thighs. Her wrists had been bound to the outside of her thighs, displaying his strong, elegant rope work. He’d opened her to him completely.

The hair covering her sex was a dark copper, a few of the curls dampened from her arousal. The color of it was such a striking, erotic contrast to her white thighs. The vision of it drove him mad. He knelt and dipped his thumb into her cleft, rubbing her clit in a tight circle. She was wet and warm. He heard her whimpering in pleasure, but couldn’t pull his gaze off the sight of her pussy.

Enthralled, he drew closer and fisted his heavy erection. He rubbed the swollen crown between her sex lips, wetting himself with her. This time, her groan made him look up at her face. She slicked the tip of her tongue along the seam of lips that were as lush and pink as her glossy, fully exposed sex.

“Please,” she whispered. “Fill me up.”

Unbearably aroused, his fantasy flashed forward to driving into the soft, tight clasp of her body and staring down at her as her cheeks flushed red and her lips formed his name.

“Is it enough for you?” he snarled. He was on fire, enraptured by the jolt of her firm breasts as he thrust into her furiously, entranced by her eyes. “Is my cock enough for your little pussy?”

“Yes. It’s more than enough . . . it’s so good,” she managed, because in the fantasy, he took her harder. Faster, and her bound body rocked beneath him. She was his.

His for the taking. His to liberate . . . when he was ready.

In reality, his body flexed and strained as he jacked his cock with savage abandon. God, he needed this after seeing her tonight. Smelling her. Tasting her. As always, she was so close, and yet so far from him.

But not in his fantasy.

“You’re mine. Mine to do with as I please.”

“Yes,” she moaned feverishly.

“I’m going to come. I can’t stop it.” He grimaced, deep in the grip of the graphic fantasy. “I’m going to come on your beautiful pussy and then rub myself on you until you’re shaking right along with me.” Because of course, in his fantasy, there was no condom to separate them. Not even that thin barrier was allowed between Harper and him in the fires of his mind. “Would you like that, Harper?”

“Yes,” she moaned. But instead of sounding crazed and on the verge of climax, her acquiescence came out like a distressed whimper.

It stopped him dead in his tracks, ripping him out of his lurid fantasy.

His head jerked to the side. He saw the unmistakable, real-life form of Harper McFadden standing there, her body rimmed with moonlight. It’d been her whimper. Shit. He was held so fast in the grip of arousal that, for a moment, he wondered if his lust had somehow bidden her to him. The thought faded completely when he made out how pale and tense her face looked in the dim light . . . how stiff her posture was. Her gaze flickered downward over his body, and he became hyperaware of his throbbing cock squeezed tightly in his hand.

“I’m so sorry. I forgot my purse.”

He hardly registered her words. Instead, he heard the tremor in her voice. He knew what it meant. It was Harper, after all. They’d always been connected. Perhaps his out-of-control lust hadn’t called her here, but it did affect her now. Slowly, he released his erection and removed his hand from the wall. He turned away from the warmth of the shower toward her.

“You forget a lot of things. Or maybe you just want to forget.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Do you mean I forgot my purse on purpose?” she asked, sounding a little offended. She also sounded breathless. And she wasn’t avoiding looking at him. All of him. He could feel her stare on his cock.

“No.”

Fuck logic. It was as if in that moment, there was only one possible direction to take when it came to Harper, and it had nothing to do with rationality. He took a step toward her. He sensed her unease as he took another step, but her feet remained planted.

“I mean just what I said. I mean that you want to forget so many things. I can help you forget, Harper. You can help me forget some things, too. Maybe that’s why you came back.”

He honestly wasn’t sure if it was just bold, wishful thinking on his part, or an accurate guess at Harper’s intent. He didn’t have his true answer until he held out his hand, and she slowly walked toward him as if in a trance.

She was out of her mind. She knew it, but it didn’t stop her from walking toward the naked, moonlit form of Jacob Latimer. Nor did it halt her from lifting her hand to meet his.

His fingers felt long and warm and wet enfolding her. The shower water must have been hot. She had the electrifying thought that he grasped her with the same hand that had pumped his cock so furiously a moment ago. A tremor of mixed arousal, anxiety, and amazement went through her. She touched his damp face, moved by something she sensed in him.

“Why are you so . . .”

“What?”

She blinked at his tense query. Sad. Intense. Lonely? She thought those things, but she didn’t say them. How could she, when he was practically a stranger to her? Those weren’t things someone thought about a stranger, let alone said.

He doesn’t seem like a stranger. Mysterious, exciting, forbidden . . . yes. But not a stranger. She shook her head, bewildered.

“Shhh,” he murmured, obviously feeling her shudder. He pulled her against him, his arms surrounding her. His heavy cockhead bumped against her belly, but he pulled her closer still. It slid up further against her stomach, the rigid column of the shaft sandwiched between them. His flesh steamed into her. He was so hard. So large. Everywhere. She pressed her lips against a damp, dense pectoral muscle. Without telling herself to do so, she slicked her tongue against his warm skin, gathering water droplets. He grunted softly and clasped the back of her head, his fingers burrowing into her upswept hair.

“That’s right. Put your mouth on me,” he whispered darkly from above her.

She encircled his waist with her arms and licked him again.

“Come here,” he said, and he sounded almost angry, he was so tense. So primed. His hands cupped her chin from below, and he was lifting her for his consumption. His mouth covered hers, and she felt that rush of heat she’d felt earlier from his kiss. He must have felt that spike of electrical excitement, too, because his cock jumped between them.

He held her in place while his tongue pierced and stroked and discovered her. He drank from her with a fierce focus. Harper moaned shakily as she reciprocated, overwhelmed with flooding lust. She shivered and pressed closer to his heat. How could a man possibly taste so good?

“God, you taste good,” he muttered against her upturned mouth a moment later, and she wondered dazedly if he’d read her mind. He plucked at her lips. “I’m going to taste you everywhere.” Another shiver tore through her at his grim promise. One of his hands coasted down her spine, amplifying her quaking. “But right now, you’re cold. We should warm you up.”

“I’m not cold,” she insisted, craning her neck to pluck at his firm mouth with her lips. How could she possibly be cold, standing next to him?

“Yes, you are,” he growled, because she’d just gently scraped at his succulent lower lip with her teeth. He accepted her challenge, dipping his head and piercing her mouth again with his tongue. His kiss was firm. Forceful. Addictive. Their tongues tangled, and another shudder of purest arousal went through her. He broke their kiss and began to lift her shirt.

“I’m getting you wet. It’s chilly out. Let’s get under the shower. It’s nice and hot.”

He drew her long-sleeved cotton shirt over her head and tossed it to a dry part of the stone terrace.

“But will anyone see—”

“No,” he cut her off. She looked up at his absolute answer. His face was shadowed as he looked down at her. His hands were at her back. Her bra snapped open. He stepped away from her slightly. His erection continued to jut forward, only the mushroom-shaped, fat cockhead pressing into her belly. With her shirt off, she could feel him more intimately, sense the soft skin stretched so tightly against the stony flesh beneath. His cockhead was the size of a small, firm plum. The place on her skin where it rested seemed to burn.

“No one is going to see you but me,” he said as he drew the bra off her shoulders. He threw it in the direction of her shirt. “No one is going to interfere.”

No one would dare.

He didn’t say it, but she heard those words, anyway. His authority was absolute. His focus on her was total. His gaze never left her face. She stared up at him, enraptured as his big, warm hands cupped her breasts from below. His thumbs whisked over her nipples, tightening them. She bit her lip to keep from crying out as pleasure snaked through her. “Such a beautiful shape. So soft. I wish I could see you better.”

His voice hypnotized her as he continued to play with her sensitive breasts, molding her flesh to his, rubbing and lightly pinching her nipples. “But feeling you is enough for now. It’ll have to be, since I don’t have the time or patience to take you to bed. Take off your shoes.” Harper blinked. His tone had been clipped. A little harsh. Instead of being offended, her arousal mounted. She liked seeing the evidence of his need displayed large.

Kneeling, she untied her tennis shoes, removed them, and then stripped off her bootie socks. She stood and began to peel her yoga pants off, but Latimer came closer. He stepped between her feet, wedging her thighs apart with his leg, and jerked down on her pants. For some reason, the dominant stance he took, the way he parted her legs with his and pressed her mons against his thigh, sent a rush of warm wetness through her. He lowered both her underwear and pants below her ass. Then his hands were back, cupping her buttocks, molding them to his palms. She moaned shakily, because he was pressing her pussy against his hard thigh while he fondled her. It felt so good, she couldn’t stop herself from circling her hips, getting friction on her clit. His response was to squeeze her flesh more forcefully.

“God you’re gorgeous,” he growled, and again, he sounded tense. Angry? Harper realized he was a little angry at that moment. Not at her, any more than she was at him. Angry that he couldn’t control himself.

Any more than she could.

He grasped her buttocks, grinding her sex against his thigh for a thrilling moment. Then he muttered a curse, and bent, yanking down her pants all the way. She’d barely acknowledged him throwing the garments aside, then he was lifting her in his arms. Harper gasped in surprise at his abrupt move. He held her beneath her ass. Her clutching hands coasted up rock-hard, bulging biceps. Her arms instinctively circled his neck, her legs tightening around his waist.

He took several steps, and hot water was coursing down her back. She had been cold, and just didn’t realize it while under the spell of Latimer’s hands and mouth. Her skin roughened at the contrast of the hot water against her chilled skin. Her throat vibrated in pleasure. Latimer caught her open mouth with his, capturing her cry. And again, she was drowning in him.

A moment later, he set her feet on the ground.

“I can’t think straight when you kiss me,” she mumbled distractedly, because he was still doing it, his mouth moving hungrily along her neck.

“I can’t think straight when I kiss you, either.”

“Why did you really ask me here tonight?” Her fingers delved into his damp, thick hair in a clawing gesture when he planted a hot kiss on her shoulder.

“I didn’t ask you,” he mumbled. “You came, like some kind of dream.”

“No, I mean to the party.”

“I don’t know,” he said against her skin. He gently bit at her shoulder muscle. She gasped and moved closer to him, pressing her breasts against his ribs. Water coursed around their bodies. His cockhead prodded her hip bone. He opened one hand at her back and stroked the length of her spine at the same moment he cradled a breast. His thumb found her nipple. She shivered. He rubbed her with the lubrication of the hot water. “Because of this,” he said gruffly. He swept his open hand from neck to upper thigh, pausing to cup her ass. “This,” he breathed against her upturned mouth.

She moved back slightly and found his cock with her hand. She closed around the rigid shaft. “This,” she agreed, stroking his length. He didn’t reply, but she’d felt the tension that leapt into his body at her touch. His face was shadowed as she stared up at him. Her lungs burned as her hand moved up and down on his wet cock. He felt wonderful in her hand, so hard. So vital. Maybe he was right. Here was a comprehensible truth, an amazing one: stark desire pulsing right in her hand. She slid down his rigid shaft and cupped his firm, shaved balls. She whimpered softly. Jesus. His masculinity was flagrant, even while the man himself was a shrouded enigma.

“Who are you?” she whispered dazedly, stroking his shaft to the succulent cockhead again, squeezing him firmly.

“Jacob Latimer. And that’s all you need to know,” he growled, and then was grabbing her wrist, pulling her hand off his cock. His demanding mouth silenced her sound of protest. He pushed his hand against her tailbone and kissed her deep, leaning over her so that her back bowed to accommodate his tall frame. He slid his hand over her ass, swooshing rivulets of water from her skin. He molded a cheek to his palm. Long fingers delved between her thighs. She started and moaned into his mouth when he surely found her slit and penetrated her with his forefinger. His rough groan twined with hers as he plunged in and out of her body. All the while, his kiss was deep, his taste delicious and dark.

Like she had earlier that evening when he kissed her, Harper recognized she was spinning. Slipping. Now . . .

. . . Free-falling.

This time, she was too far gone to save herself.

He hated to be out of control of himself. Despised it, in fact. But as he sunk his tongue into the taste of Harper McFadden and his finger into her warm, creamy clasp, he acknowledged that he was. Possessing her meant more than remaining safe.

His mind went blank with lust. His need rode him, goaded him, lashing at him. He’d almost come with her hand pumping and squeezing him. It was embarrassing. Humiliating.

It was like he was a stupid, fumbling teenage boy all over again.

He growled at the thought, angrily breaking the addictive kiss. He shifted his hand between their wet bodies, his fingers finding her cleft and her clit unerringly. She was gratifyingly creamy. At least he aroused her, even if she couldn’t possibly be as worked up as he was. She cried out shakily, and he felt her muscles tense. His hand pressed; his fingertips circled and tapped out a demand into her flesh.

“You’re going to have to come for me,” he said.

“I . . . what? Why do you say it like that?”

“Because I’m about to come,” he said, grim and bitter in his acceptance of the truth. She made a choking sound, and he knew that he’d confused her. But what else could he do, when he was as bewildered as she was? Despite it all, her hips gyrated firmly against his hand and she gasped in pleasure. There was so much to discover about her, so many things to relish. Yet here he was, bulldozing her into climax. As much as he hated the idea, he tensed with excitement at the prospect of feeling her shaking against him.

He lowered his head and brushed his mouth against her parted lips. Her soft moan enraptured him. Enraged him.

“You’re as wet and warm and sweet as I imagined you’d be while I was jacking off a minute ago.”

Her body trembled against him. Her hard, wet nipples poking against his ribs were a cruel reminder of all he was missing.

“You’re not going to try to convince me you thought of me,” she insisted shakily. He continued to agitate her clit while he plunged his middle finger into her pussy. She cried out sharply. He grasped a taut ass cheek and used it to apply a firm pressure for a counterstroke against his finger. “Oh God. Oh God, that feels good,” she moaned, sounding incredulous.

He snarled in triumph when he felt the tension in her break. Warmth rushed around his finger. She tightened around him, shuddering against him. It was too much. He released her ass and clutched at his cock, stepping back to give himself room.

Everything went black as he pumped himself. Pleasure ripped through him, trumping everything else for a blessed moment: Logic. Mastery.

Shame.

When he came back to himself, it was to the sound of the water beating on the stone terrace and her soft gasps. One of his hands was buried between her thighs, his finger still high inside her. His other squeezed his cock furiously.

Moonlight and distant outdoor lighting allowed him to see her upturned face and her dawning expression of disbelief. Wonder? He jerked viciously at his cock one more time. More semen streamed onto her smooth, glistening belly.

This is what it all had come to. Jacob Latimer was back to the beginning, once again no better than that helpless boy, bewildered and laid bare with a need he couldn’t comprehend, but which owned him, nevertheless.

He’d been dragged back against his will, back to those days and nights in the West Virginia wilderness, of moments of innocence and sweetness, of camaraderie and abiding trust, of the first knowledge of sexual hunger and jarring betrayal . . .

Of Emmitt Tharp. Of casual cruelty, and blinding fear.

Now he was going to have to make sure Harper continued to forget, even while he remembered with painful clarity.