She eyed another sports car, perhaps swept away by the uncustomary feeling of euphoria she’d experienced on that other brief ride with him. She pointed hopefully at a fierce, fast-looking, dark red car. His small smile and raised brows seemed to say “nice choice,” which only enhanced her feeling of giddiness. The whole scenario took on the feeling of a waking dream when he opened the passenger door for her.

He slid into the seat next to her. The little car hummed to life, and as before, an unidentifiable thrill went through her. She had the strangest feeling when she was with him that anything could happen.

Anything would.

And that it could be heaven . . . or scary as hell.

He lowered the convertible top. Emma glanced cautiously sideways, admiring the virile, powerful image he made; the long, bent legs and strong, jean-covered thighs.

“How have you been doing?” he asked quietly once they had started down the dark drive. She thought he was referring to Colin.

“I’m fine,” she assured. “I had a talk with Colin. It’s over.”

He gave her a flickering sideways glance. “So you didn’t . . . I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Go ballistic on your boyfriend?”

She laughed and shook her head.

“Is that normal for you?” he asked. “To be so even-tempered?”

“No,” Emma replied honestly. “Maybe that’s how I know for certain that we weren’t meant to be together. I’m not mad at him. I’m not jealous. I hate to admit it, but I’m actually relieved.”

“You seem awfully certain.”

“I am,” she said. “About that, anyway.”

She hadn’t told him she’d found Colin with her sister. The inevitable shift in her relationship with Amanda was a source of vulnerability. She was too uncertain of Montand, unsure of his interest in her, to open up about that. She didn’t completely understand her own motivations concerning him, either. It was as if part of her understood the unprecedented, intense attraction to him all too well. Another part of her seemed clueless in her motivations. No . . . not clueless, necessarily, but her intentions seemed murky. Clouded.

“Colin and I were just too comfortable with each other,” she continued thoughtfully. “There was no . . .”

He paused at the turnoff to the country road. Her cheeks felt warm and she knew he looked at her.

“. . . spark,” she finished quietly. The word seemed to hang in the area between them for a second, vibrating, charging the atmosphere.

He swung the little car onto the road.

“What does he do for a living?” Montand asked gruffly after a moment.

“Colin? He’s a computer programmer—a forensic science technician. He’s very, very smart. Most of what he says goes right over my head. Between him, my sister, and me, I’m definitely considered the slow one. Oh.”

He’d accelerated. The wind whipped her short hair against her cheeks and swirled around her body, giving her a weightless sensation.

She’d worried a little he’d drive superfast on the dark country road. Wasn’t he the scion of a car dynasty with roots in racing? Wasn’t it inevitable he’d speed? She realized, however, that while he drove faster than the speed limit, it wasn’t by a large amount. It was the sheer power of the car that had thrilled her. It couldn’t have been more obvious that he had complete control.

“Faster?” he asked her quietly after a moment, and she realized he’d been accustoming her to the sensation of forceful, precise acceleration.

“Yes,” she said, her voice vibrating with excitement.

The car accelerated smoothly. There was no sense of hurtling chaotically through space. Instead they glided. Zoomed. She felt like she flew along the road in a tight, fluid flight. The car responded to his slightest touch, as if all he had to do was to think a command and it followed his bidding, like machine and man were one. She realized after a moment that she was grinning broadly.

“Is it the car, or you . . . your driving, I mean?” she asked a few minutes later. Which is it that’s causing this feeling inside me?

He kept his eyes trained on the road.

“The car,” he replied shortly, but she wasn’t sure she believed him. His mastery over the machine was singular. He downshifted and they rounded a curve. She saw the lights of the city on the horizon.

“Where did you grow up?” he asked.

“In the city,” she said, nodding toward Chicago. “On the north side, the Rogers Park neighborhood. My mother was a nurse at an Edgewater nursing home.”

“Is that how you got interested in nursing?”

“We spent a lot of time at the nursing home after school. My mom worked the evening shift, and it was really the only time we could see her while school was in session.”

“They didn’t care about having little kids there?” he asked, his brows bunching slightly in consternation as he stared at the road. “The managers or administrators of the nursing home?”

“No. We made ourselves useful. We played games with the residents. Read to them. Visited with them. It wasn’t a wealthy nursing home,” she explained, familiar with the fact that many people thought it odd that children spent so much time in such a facility. “The residents were mostly low-income people. A lot of the time, they didn’t have family. None who visited, anyway.”

“So you and your sister became their family,” he stated rather than asked.

Emma shrugged. “For some of them.”

“They must have lit up every time they saw you,” he said thoughtfully after a pause. “It certainly sounds like a unique way to grow up.”

“That’s a pretty good way to describe it, yeah,” she said with a laugh.

He glanced at her. She saw his small, grim smile in the glow of the dashboard lights. “I guess I shouldn’t expect anything less.”

“Why’s that?” she asked.

“It had to be some unique circumstances. To make you,” he added, his gaze trained on the road again.

It was like a precise, electrical caress in the darkness.

She was so giddy with speed, so caught up in the promise of being with him on that country road as the warm, fragrant summer air rushed around them and the little car ate up the asphalt, that she momentarily forgot their tense parting last Friday night. She was so fascinated by the vision of his hands on the leather wheel that it took her a moment to register they’d come to a halt. She turned to him. He wore a small smile as he watched her unsuccessfully trying to smooth her windblown hair out of her eyes and cheeks. His thick, waving hair looked artlessly sexy, like it’d been fashioned to be caressed and whipped by the wind.

“That was amazing,” she told him. “You’re an excellent driver. How did you get so good?”

He shrugged, his hands still loosely holding the wheel. “My dad loved cars almost as much as I do.”

“Was he a mechanic as well?”

“Yes. And an engineer, although he was never formally trained as one. He put me behind the wheel when I was only six.”

“Six?” she repeated, shocked.

His quick, flashing grin made something leap deep inside her. “He’d put me in his lap to prop me up.”

They laughed. His low chuckle struck her as delicious in the warm, still air, his smile impossibly beautiful on such a typically aloof man. It was like a crack opened up on his cold surface and a bright light shone through. A tightness grew in her chest.

She realized she could see him because of several overhead lights. She blinked, recognizing the parking lot belatedly.

“Lookout Beach,” she said, giving up on her mussed hair and looking around. “My mother used to bring Amanda and me here when we were little.”

“Amanda? The sister you live with?”

Emma nodded.

“Is she a nurse, too?”

“No. She’s going to be a doctor. She starts medical school this fall.”

He studied her for a moment and then abruptly glanced toward the lake, the patrician, cool man returning. “Do you want to walk down? I want to talk to you about something.”

She nodded, too anxious and anticipatory to speak.

A minute later they stood at the rocky bluff overlooking the lake, he to the left of her and several feet away. The sound of the waves rhythmically hitting the shore lulled her a little. They both watched the black lake rippling in the distance. He seemed so lost in his thoughts, so intent, she started a little when he finally spoke.

“How come you didn’t go to medical school?” he asked.

“I didn’t want to. I wanted to be a nurse.”

“The kind of nurse that you are now?” he asked, perhaps a little delicately.

She glanced over at him and saw the slight puzzlement on his face. “Yes. A hospice nurse. That’s what I wanted from the first. I didn’t just fall into it by accident,” she said amusedly.

He frowned. “I didn’t mean to be offensive.”

She broke into soft laughter. “No, it’s not that. It’s just I’ve seen that expression a time or two—or a hundred—when I tell people what I do for a living.” She saw his slanting brows. “That puzzled expression you wore a second ago,” she clarified. “When people understand I actually chose to be a hospice nurse, that I don’t do it just because I couldn’t get another nursing job, they seem confused. Trust me, it’s a pretty good way to clear a room at a party, saying you’re a hospice nurse.”

“I know what that’s like.”

“You know what it’s like to clear a room when you say what you do for a living?”

“No. To have people decide everything about you before they know you. But in your case, it’s the idea of death that makes people prejudge you.”

“Yeah. It does,” she said quietly. “But just because death makes people uncomfortable doesn’t mean that it should be uncomfortable.”

“It’s not uncomfortable for you?” he asked.

She sighed and looked out at the black water. “No. Not anymore. It can be sad at times. Poignant. Full of meaning. But no, not uncomfortable.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t agree with you. Death is random and cruel.”

She blinked at the harsh finality of his tone.

“You’ve known a lot of it?” she asked softly.

“So much so that I wonder at times if life isn’t playing some kind of sick joke on me,” he said, his lip curling. He was trying to be funny, and failing.

“Death is a natural part of life.” He gave her a burning, sardonic glance. “Sounds like an empty platitude to you, does it? It does for lots of people,” she mused thoughtfully, looking at the lake, not at all put off because they didn’t agree.

She looked around when he gave a dry laugh. “What?” she asked, her gaze caught by the flash of white teeth against tanned skin.

He shook his head while a breeze ruffled his hair. He peered at her as if he wanted to bring her into better focus.

“Why are you so confident talking about death?” he demanded. She hesitated, but then shrugged. “I died before,” she said simply. She gave a small smile when she saw his blank expression segue into one of incredulity.

“What?”

She didn’t know why she’d told him. Given people’s reactions to such a declaration, she’d learned early on to avoid the topic at all costs. She sighed.

“I was born with a condition called alpha thalassemia. My body had a hard time making hemoglobin, so I was always mildly anemic as a kid. It wasn’t bad enough to cause any severe symptoms except occasional fatigue, but when I was nine, something happened. My iron count plunged and my organs weren’t getting enough oxygen. I had a heart attack.” She noticed his stiff expression. “Don’t look so worried. I hardly remember any of it. Long story short, when I recovered, I had a profound certainty that death was nothing to fear. Also . . .” She repressed a smile because she was sure he wouldn’t believe her. “I was cured.”

“You were cured,” he repeated in flat disbelief, stepping closer.

She laughed, even though she was set off balance by his nearness. The streetlamps in the parking lot reflected in his eyes, making them gleam in his shadowed face as he studied her intently. She just nodded. “I’m very healthy. My cells now synthesize perfectly normal hemoglobin. The doctors ramble on about how maybe the crisis I went through somehow reset my cells, but technically speaking—”

“You’re a medical miracle.”

She shrugged, hearing the thread of disbelief and amusement in his tone. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me. Very few people do, except for the staff at the hospital, my mother, my sister, and the physician who researched the case.”

“And you.”

“No. I don’t believe. I know.”

He shook his head slightly, looking puzzled and a little amazed. “I’d almost believe it of you. You’re very . . . odd.”

“I’ve heard that before,” she muttered.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said, and even though he hadn’t been sharp, exactly, her heartbeat began to thrum in her ears.

“You didn’t mean that I’m a freak?” she clarified, trying to keep things light.

“No. I meant that you’re rare. Different. Even a little otherworldly at times,” he said quietly. He reached up and touched the charm where it rested at the base of her throat. Her pulse leapt just inches from his pressing fingers. So much for keeping things light. She stared up at him, her glib comment melting on her tongue.

“I know I was harsh last week in the garage,” he said.

She swallowed thickly. What had occurred in the backseat of that car had become a hovering three-ton elephant for her, and yet he mentioned it so casually. She stared up at his face, spellbound. His fingertips moved, stroking her throat lightly, and then her jaw, holding her stare the whole time. Her flesh lit up beneath his touch, sending a cascade of sensation through her body, making the hair on her nape stand on end. She couldn’t unglue her gaze from his mouth. It’d gotten closer somehow as she looked up at him, although she’d never seen him lean down. His fingers caressed her temple. When they sunk into her hair, it was with a greedier, more forceful gesture. She couldn’t prevent shuddering at the sensation of his fingertips skimming her scalp.

“I wasn’t preoccupied while I was in France because I was thinking about Cristina,” he said, his mouth slanting into a frown as he stared down at her. “I was distracted from my business because I kept thinking about you.”

“Oh,” she said thickly.

“I’m not telling you that I was wrong the other night. Everything I said was true. I take what I want. I am selfish.”

“Then why did you walk away that night?” Emma challenged quietly.

He fisted her hair. He looked quite fierce. “I’m not walking away now, so don’t imagine that I’m something I’m not. And never be so stupid as to think I’m noble. Do you understand me?”

“I . . . I think so. You want to have an affair with me? Or a one-night stand, is that what you want?”

His gaze traveled over her face. She found herself wondering what he saw there.

“As much as I want you, it’s going to take more than just one night,” he stated grimly. “You’ve done something to me. I can’t take it anymore. I can’t sleep. I’m having trouble eating,” he said, his gaze narrowing as her lips parted in wonder.

Michael Montand wanted her so much that he couldn’t rest. It struck her as strange. Surreal.

“I’m aware that I’m not what you deserve,” he continued. “But I don’t do long-term relationships, Emma. I’m sorry for that, in your case, more than I ever have been in my life. But I don’t want to lie to you. Plus, I have to travel a lot—lately nearly every week, with a big racing event I’ve sponsored happening very soon. Do you want me enough to take the risk, knowing all those things?”

“Yes, I think I do.”

He studied her closely. “I’m not used to doing this. I know that you’re young and vulnerable, though, so I’m trying.”

“I’m not vulnerable. And I’m not that young.”

“I disagree. But it doesn’t matter anymore. If this keeps up . . .” he looked bewildered, even a little wild. “I don’t know what’ll happen. As long as I know you exist out there somewhere, I’ll want you. The only possible thing that would stop me is if you told me no. Are you sure you want to agree to this?”

She nodded.

“Why?” he demanded, stepping closer to her. “Why are you sure?”

“Because you’re beautiful,” she said, trapped in a spell of honesty, ensnared by his eyes. “And because I can’t stop thinking about you, either. And . . .”

“What?” he said, cradling her head in the palm of his hand, the gesture striking her as both tender and possessive. His head lowered toward hers.

“Because it’s something I’ve never had before. The sparks,” she whispered.

He swooped down and captured her mouth, the force and heat of him thrilling her. His other hand rose to her jaw, holding her in place. Her entire focus narrowed to the feeling of him. He parted her lips with his tongue, and her world became his taste. It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was a conquering one, a claiming without caution or apology. Yet the way he held her head and dipped his tongue between her lips made her feel precious somehow, like she was a treat he wanted to savor before he devoured her. He held her firmly, his clear, fixed intent to take his fill arousing her deeply. Her flesh softened in a way she’d never experienced, went warm and liquid and ready for him in seconds.

He lifted his head a moment later.

“As long as you understand,” he said, taking her hand in his. “I see no reason to prolong this. I won’t wait a minute longer.”

“Where are we going?” she asked in confusion when he led her down the stairs to the lake a moment later, her hand in his, the sound of waves hitting the beach growing louder in her ears.

“To the beach. You’re flushed. You must be warm. You could use a swim,” he said briskly.

“I wasn’t flushed because of the heat,” she muttered under her breath. She hadn’t meant for him to hear her, but knew he had when he squeezed her hand. She heard his soft laugh. His amused understanding helped steady her in the face of what was to come.

A nearly full moon reflected off the white sand beach, lighting up the night to a surprising degree. He led her off the deserted public beach, however, toward the rocky shoreline to the north. Visibility was poorer here without the white expanse of sand, but her eyes had accustomed to the glowing moon and starlight. The lake was relatively calm tonight, the waves caressing the shore in a hushed, silken rhythm. She could make out the shape of piled rocks to the left and Montand’s dark, compelling form walking next to her. Neither of them spoke, the sense of anticipation building to an almost smothering degree.

He paused next to a black pile of rock and moved behind her.

His dark, solid shadow lowered. She realized he’d sat down. She plopped down next to him when he pulled on her hand, a surprised laugh popping out of her throat. They sat on the relatively flat surface of a rock, facing the lake.

Her thigh and hip were pressed very tight against his solid length. His arm encircled her, pulling her even tighter. She looked up, all amusement vanished, knowing she’d find him in the darkness. His mouth closed over hers. She abandoned herself to the moment, to the rushing, cool wind and his hot kiss. She felt herself heating even more, softening against his solid length.

He broke the kiss, but she craned toward him, a bee to honey.

“How about a swim?” he asked her gruffly, nibbling and plucking at her mouth in a highly distracting manner.

“What?” she mumbled, her lips sliding against his, shaping them hungrily to her own. She couldn’t get enough of his scent. His taste. His texture. Her fingers sunk into his hair, stroking and then fisting the thick waves greedily. Was this what people meant when they talked about a grand passion? No wonder they were known to do crazy things for love. Or lust, in her case. Under this mesmerizing influence, loved ones were sacrificed, kingdoms fell, pride and honor were forsaken. Yes, she could almost believe it while she was under the spell of his kiss. Having never experienced this dizzying rush of heat and need, Emma had always been a little skeptical it existed until now.

He stroked the skin of her bare arm, and she shivered.

It existed, all right. In spades.

“Do you want to take a swim?” he repeated patiently, his long fingers touching the edge of her blouse, and then burrowing beneath it, sliding against the skin of her shoulder. It was a relatively innocent caress, but the way he did it made her become even more warm and damp between her thighs.

“Um . . . okay,” she replied breathlessly. She wasn’t exactly sure what was expected of her. She’d never taken a midnight swim with a man like him before, a swim that was the prelude to sex. She’d never done something so impulsive and sexy, period.

He stood, pulling her up next to him. The side of his hand brushed her breast, and her breath caught. He began to unbutton her blouse. His hands moving against her skin as he deftly undressed her sent the swooping butterflies in her stomach into frantic mode. He paused just below her belly button as if he’d actually felt them fluttering frantically.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his warm breath brushing her hairline.

“Yes,” she said hastily. He remained still. “I’ve just . . . never done this before.”

She felt him stiffen. “Never done what?” he asked, and she heard tension harden his tone.

“Gone swimming in the lake naked?” The silence made her a little desperate. “With . . . with someone like you?”

“Someone like me?” His fingers resumed their journey downward, and she sighed in relief.

“Someone so . . .” She gulped when he swept back both sides of her blouse and the lake breeze hit her bare skin. “Wait . . . are you looking for a compliment?”

His low, rich laughter was delicious.

“Maybe. It might be nice, hearing one from you,” he said.

“I complimented you up there. On the bluff,” she reminded him distractedly. The warm fingers of one hand had slid beneath the back of her bra strap, making a ripple of pleasure go through her. Her nipples pulled tight. Her bra seemed to snap open as if by magic at his mere touch.

“You’re very good at that,” she said doubtfully, referring to his bra maneuvering.

“That wasn’t the compliment I was aiming for. Besides, from your tone, it might have been an insult,” he said as he drew the straps off her shoulders and down her arms, his light touch on her skin making her shiver. It took her a moment to register the wry humor in his tone.

“It wasn’t an insult,” she said as the cups of her bra evaporated into the darkness and the light breeze licked and swirled against her sensitive bare breasts. “But as for my tone, it sort of gets to the point.”

His large hands settled on her bare shoulders, his touch warm and reassuring, and somehow forbidden and electrically exciting at once. “Speak English, Emma,” he said, sounding less amused this time as his hands swept down her arms and back up again, as if he experimented with the feeling of her. She firmed her resolve, as difficult as it was to do with his warm, strong hands moving over her naked skin.

“I don’t have all that much experience, and it seems like you do.”

His hands paused in their exploration on her shoulder blades.

“Experience could mean a lot of different things,” he finally said warily.

“I know. Just forget it. It’s only . . . I wanted you to know I don’t usually fool around with men I’ve known for a week. In fact, I’ve only ever been with . . . you know,” she muttered, her cheeks starting to boil. Thank goodness for the darkness. She didn’t want to say Colin’s name out loud. She was already ruining the spontaneity of the moment as it was.

“And you were with Colin for two years,” he said, understanding and something that sounded like relief seeping into his tone.

“And it was never sex on the beach,” Emma admitted, wondering if he’d intuit the manifold meaning behind the words sex on the beach. It’d never been crazy or raunchy or a spur-of-the-moment impulse. Sex had never been extremely bad or mind-blowingly good for her. It’d been nice sometimes, a little trying others.

It’d never been scary or beautiful or heart-pounding-in-your-ears wild.

It’d never been this.

Why had she brought it up at all? Nerves. The bane of her existence when it came to sex. That’s what Colin used to say, anyway. Maybe Montand would end up telling her the same thing—

His arms came around her, sending her thoughts scattering. Instinctively, she embraced him back, her arms looping around his waist. With one open hand, he caressed the side of her from hip to just under her upraised arm, his palm skimming the side of her bare breast. She trembled.

“Do you feel that?” he asked quietly, his mouth very close to her ear. His hand moved ever so slightly, and she shivered again.

“Yes,” she breathed out against his chest.

His hand lowered and joined its mate just below her waist. He dipped his knees and aligned her against him. She felt him throbbing, full and vibrant, next to her lower belly.

“And that?” His dark tone sent another shudder of excitement through her.

“Yes,” she whispered, her hands clutching at his taut waist. She strained against him, feeling his shape through their clothing. A lump formed in her throat. He felt so good. So exciting.

“That’s all that matters. What happens when we’re together. No one else. Nothing else,” he rasped before he kissed her ear persuasively, and she shuddered in mounting excitement.

His hands cupped her ass. She suppressed a whimper when he pushed her against him, clearly as eager to feel her shape as she was to feel his.

“It doesn’t matter how much experience either one of us has,” he continued hoarsely as he kissed her temple. “All that matters is you and me, and what feels right. What feels good.” His hands swept up over her naked back and sides again, his manner more forceful, kneading her muscles, his hunger clearly mounting. “The way you feel is new to me.”

“It . . . it is?” she asked in amazement.

“You make me almost feel new, too. Almost . . .”

She suppressed a whimper, stunned, moved by the quiet intensity of his tone. She wanted to thank him for the unusual compliment, but his mouth covered hers. Her returned kiss spoke for her. Or at least she hoped it did.

Their hands moved while they tasted each other, unbuttoning, undressing, pausing every once in a while out of necessity to remove jeans and shoes and socks.

Finally Emma was completely naked, her bare feet sinking into the cool sand, her arms empty. He knelt before her, removing his final remnants of clothing, but then he rose, a large, solid mass in front of her. Her heart jumped against her breastbone when he spread his hand at her waist.

“Come here,” he said gruffly. She went to him at that arousing, increasingly familiar bidding.

She closed her eyes, wonder and need sweeping through her when she felt his hard, naked body press against her in the darkness. He swept back her hair with one hand and cradled her head in that claiming manner that always made her breathless. His fingers fisting her hair, he pulled gently and her chin went back. He pressed his hot, open mouth to her pulse, tasting her, his lips moving sensually on her skin. She arched against a wall of solid, ridged muscle, her breasts crushing against his lower chest. His cock leapt against her lower belly and hip like a living thing, the size and weight of him thrilling. Intimidating.

But it was only pure disappointment she felt when he brushed his fingers down her arm, his hot mouth still against her neck, and took her hand in his. He stepped away.

“Let’s get in,” he said.

She followed his slow pace. “Careful,” he directed as they made their way to the water, and she knew why he’d warned her. The sand from the city beach had blown here, but small rocks intermixed with it. His hold on her was steady, though, even when the surf swept across her feet and she started.

“Oh my God, it’s so cold!” she blurted out.

He chuckled. “It’s Lake Michigan. It’s always cold. You’ll get used to it.”

His hand tightened around hers and she followed him unerringly. She could barely see anything. Her skin actually hurt from the goose bumps covering it, and there was an uncomfortable pressure growing in her stomach as her body protested against the rising cold and the eerie blackness in front of her. She instinctively followed him, however, trusting the feeling of his firm, warm grip even more than her body’s primal urging for warmth and safety.

A wave lapped against her belly. She shrieked at the unpleasant jolting sensation, and then snorted with laughter. Impulsively she let go of his hand and plunged into the darkness. Cold encapsulated her, the tingling sensation in her flesh blending with her bubbling excitement. She swam blindly for a few moments, then surfaced.

“It feels fantastic!” she called out breathlessly. Her feet searched for the bottom. She’d swum out farther than she’d thought. She began to tread water automatically.

“Emma, come back here.”

She blinked, her euphoria slightly dimmed by the tension in his deep voice. Maybe he was right. She was an okay swimmer, but nothing great—

“Emma?”

She swam toward the sound of his voice. “Here I am.”

Her outstretched hands brushed against the round, dense muscles of his shoulders, and suddenly he was hauling her against him. He caught her around the waist and propelled them toward the shore with a powerful kick in the water. Her feet floundered for the bottom, but she still couldn’t reach it.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you,” he said, and she realized he now stood, the water up around his neck, and was holding her above the waterline. She gave a nervous laugh. Her heart raced like mad. She didn’t know why. Her skittishness about what was happening with him had made her imagine his sudden anxiety.

Her hands slid across slick, hard flesh as if of their own volition. He felt amazing. She felt the tension in his muscles yield slightly. Her fingers skimmed across the hair on his chest. The velvety head of his cock flicked next to her thigh. Arousal spiked through her, a hot needle through her chilled flesh. She gripped his shoulders and he brought her closer. His cock wasn’t as erect as it had been when they stood on the beach, but it still felt formidable and beyond exciting feeling him pressed next to her skin.

“You’re so warm,” she said, seeking him out instinctively with every inch of her skin.

The contrast of his heat and the cold water was wonderful. His hand lowered to her ass, his fingers flexing in her upper thigh. She followed his nonverbal command without thought, understanding him even in the silent darkness. She raised her legs, gripping his hips with them. He lowered his other hand to her ass and lifted her higher against him, their skin sliding together in a sweet, frictionless glide, their faces coming closer.

“You’re so soft,” he murmured, his lips brushing against hers, his big hands moving on her ass.

“Is that a polite way of saying I need to get to the gym?” she joked, looping her arms around his neck and sinking her fingers into his damp hair.

“No. Are you fishing for compliments now?” he asked when she pulled gently on his hair and he tilted his face back for her kiss.

“No,” she replied, nibbling at his damp mouth . . . such succulent, firm male lips. She could never get enough of them. “But it might be nice, hearing one from you right now,” she said, echoing what he’d said earlier.

“Okay.” He squeezed her ass cheeks into his palms gently before he stroked her thighs, and then cupped her bottom again. “When I look at you from the back, I lose all sense of reason, so I try not to as much as possible,” he said, his quiet, deep voice pitched just above the sound of the surf in the distance. He swept one hand along the side of a buttock up her hip to her waist. “This curve? This one right here,” he said thickly as he swept it back down to cup her ass again, “makes me lose all sense of logic.”

Emma had stopped nipping playfully at his lips and gone still in his arms. A frisson of excitement had rippled through her at his honesty. “It does?” she asked weakly.

“I’m here, even though I know I shouldn’t be. What more proof do you need?” he said with a low growl, his mouth closing briefly on hers. “Everything is just as bad from the front, mind you.” He swept one hand along her sensitive side. She shivered at his warm touch in the cool water.

“Oh,” she exhaled when his hand closed over her breast. He shaped her to him gently.

“So soft here,” he said. His fingers caressed her nipple. “So hard here. Such pretty little breasts,” he murmured thickly. He pinched lightly at the erect flesh. Emma gripped his waist tighter with her legs and pressed her sex against his hard midriff, desperate to alleviate the pressure growing there. He pushed against her with his hand on her ass, at once helping her find relief and mounting her excitement higher. “I wondered how responsive you’d be. When I found out the other night, that was the end of restful sleep. I can’t remember how many times I jacked off over the weekend thinking about how your nipples felt against my tongue.”

“Oh God,” she exhaled raggedly and pressed her lips against his neck, intensely aroused by his sexual honesty. Her hands slicked across his muscular back, absorbing the sensation of his stark male strength.

He nuzzled the back of her head with his nose and chin, and then spoke gruffly near her ear. “But as much as I might lech over your gorgeous ass and perfect breasts and pretty face, it’s not those things that make me the most crazy. It’s your kindness. Your freshness. Your eyes—”

“Don’t say that,” she said, halting her feverish kisses. Men who offered nothing but a sexual affair shouldn’t say things like that. Her fingernails dug into his back, her hips flexed against him hard. She didn’t know why she suddenly felt so desperate. Shouldn’t she have protested over his dirty talk rather than his sweetness? But it was the intensity of his tone just now that had felt so wonderful and unbearable at once.

“Shh,” he soothed, as if he knew what was happening inside her, knew how wild she felt, how overwhelmed. But how could he? His mouth covered hers, and it was like he’d thrown a life preserver into a boiling sea. His kiss enflamed her as always, but it also steadied her somehow, his taste and mastery a familiar touchstone. He really knew how to use his mouth, she realized dazedly. Sensual and giving, yet so firm. So demanding. She experienced the slight suction he applied to her mouth at the very core of her body. It took her a moment or two to realize he walked toward shore. Only when gravity took hold as he lifted her out of the water did she start to sag against him, and their kiss broke.

“Hold on,” he instructed.

She firmed her hold on his shoulders and gripped his waist as tightly as she could with her legs. His muscles tautened beneath her fingers as he took her full weight, both hands on her ass.

“You can put me down,” she said shakily.

“Hold on,” he repeated in that tone that didn’t invite argument.

He carried her out of the water and onto the shore. He let go of her with one hand, the other keeping her in place, his supple strength and balance amazing her. She realized when he bent slightly that he was arranging some of their clothing on the flat rock. He turned so that her back faced the water.

“I’m sitting,” he informed her, firming his hold on her with both hands.

A little puff of air flew past her hips when he sat, bringing her with him. She plopped into his lap, her ass falling back onto his hard thighs and the thick, engorged column of his cock.

“Oh my,” flew out of her throat.

“Are you okay?” he demanded.

“Yes,” she said quickly. He throbbed against her ass. His grip on her hips tightened. He flexed his arms, pulsing her against him. She gasped.

“That?” he asked, still referring to why she’d exclaimed so emphatically.

“Yes,” she whispered, understanding him perfectly.

“I can feel you, too. You’re warm and soft and wet. It’s going to feel so fucking good inside you,” he rasped, naked longing ringing in his hoarse voice. With her legs opened, her pussy pressed snuggly against his lower belly. “I can’t wait anymore, Emma. I couldn’t even wait for how long it’d take to drive back home and take you in my bed,” he said, his lips fluttering against the pulse at her neck. “Are you ready for me?”

She arched her back and pressed the erect tips of her breasts against his chest, craving his hardness and heat.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Please.”