One brush of my fingers against his lips.

That was all.

That was all it took to silence his protests. His eyes blazed with cold fire and silent thunder. Even though I was only touching one infinitesimally small patch of skin, I could feel his whole body tense under my touch - a granite predator, ready to spring. The water droplets clinging to his skin quivered as his chest heaved, sucking in a harsh breath. Slowly, very slowly, my finger travelled down from his lips, over his throat and down to the great, smooth expanse of his chest. There was power in this hard stone marvel. Leashed power, tight and controlled, just waiting to be released. I could feel it, pulsing just under his stony skin. What if I were to step forward? What if I were to unlock that power and-

A hand shot up, catching my finger in mid-movement. My eyes flicked up from a stone statue’s bare chest to meet the very alive eyes of Mr Rikkard Ambrose. There was no compromise in them. No room for doubt or hesitation. Only desire, and the power to get what he desired - no matter what!

‘I told you to be careful!’ he growled. ‘You wouldn’t listen!’

In a flash his arms were around me. I felt myself being hauled up out of the water and then I was suddenly pressed against a bare granite chest, and we were under the waterfall, in a world of flying diamonds and shining dreams. Good God! Was this really happening?

My common sense said no. My inner feminist said no. But his dark, deep, unfathomable eyes screamed yes with a thousand silent shouts. His hands slid up underneath my chemise, and his skin against mine was hot and cold and scolding and icy all at once, making me burn with a need for this solitary iceberg of a man that was so intense I could almost taste it.

Almost?

Scratch that!

His lips came crashing down on mine and they were sweet, sweeter than any solid chocolate ever produced by man. Now I could taste my need, and what’s more, I could taste his. It was there, on his lips devouring mine, on his tongue claiming my mouth for his own. My mouth was fighting back, wanting not to be conquered but to conquer, to take possession of this man and never let go. My hands swept greedily over him, bared to me by the luckiest of chances. Who knew when I’d have an opportunity like this again? I needed to take advantage of it now! Or better yet, I needed to take advantage of him!

I mashed myself more tightly against him, and through the sheer material of my chemise I could feel every hard line of his body. My hands started roaming over his smooth, powerful torso, claiming every inch for my own. But it still wasn’t enough! Breaking our kiss, my lips slid from his and raced down over his throat, towards his shoulder.

‘Aar!’ The groan he let out as my teeth sank into his muscled shoulder was sweet music to me. ‘Mr Linton! What the hell are you doing?’

Licking my lips, I grinned up at him. Bending to his shoulder again, I placed a soft, gentle kiss on the place where the bite mark, my mark, was beginning to form.

‘Mine,’ I whispered.

I didn’t think it required any more explanation.

A ravenous growl erupted from his throat, and he hauled me up against him, claiming my mouth once more.

‘My little Ifrit!’ he whispered against my lips.

‘Really? I thought ifrits were supposed to have fiery wings. We’re under a waterfall.’

‘Doesn’t matter!’ His voice was harsh and chopped, his breathing unusually heavy. ‘You burn hot enough to light an ocean on fire!’

‘So, my wings are still there?’ Smirking, I captured his lower lip between my teeth, just for a moment. ‘I can still fly?’

‘Yes!’

‘Then come fly with me!’

His answer was lost in an animalistic sound out of the back of his throat. His hands on my back travelled up and further up, until they were clutching my neck, securing my lips to his, making escape impossible. As if I wanted to! My chemise was pushed up dangerously, deliriously high now. I could feel bare skin on mine where I had never felt it before, where no young unmarried lady should ever feel it.

‘Come!’ he demanded.

I tightened my grip on him. ‘Need you!’

We were only able to speak in monosyllables now. Anything else got lost in our short, hot, panting breaths. The thrill shooting through me nearly set my head on fire. Despite all my carefully laid plans, my decision not to lose my head, I was going to do something forbidden. And I was going to do it with Mr Rikkard Ambrose!

‘Closer!’ he ordered again.

‘C-closer?’

‘Now!’

It wasn’t a question - but I answered anyway.

‘Yes!’

We were so tightly pressed against each other now, you couldn’t have fit a knife blade in between. We didn’t fit together perfectly - not at all! I was soft, and he was hard. I was curvy, and he was flat as a washboard. It would have been hard to find two people who fit together less well. But who the hell cared? Even as a child, I’d had the most fun hammering rectangular toy blocks through round holes! And right now, I wanted nothing so much as to hammer him good and proper!

‘Not here!’ he growled.

‘What?’ I was so delirious now, I could barely understand single words.

‘Out of sight! Behind rock!’

‘No! Now! I need-’

My words ended in a squeal when, in a move too fast for me to blink, his hands slid down behind my thighs. He lifted me out of the water as if I were just another little fish caught with his spear, and we were off. In a moment we were behind the rock, effectively hidden from the eyes of the world. He continued until we were standing in the centre of the waterfall, the spray of water less than gentle here. I frowned. Was it stronger than before? Or was that just my imagination, feeling everything stronger in this whirling, glittering whirlpool of lust?

‘Why here?’ I whispered. ‘Still feel the need to wash, do you?’

‘No!’ His answer was raw. His hands still had hold of my thighs and didn’t seem to want to let go. ‘If I don’t cool off a little, I’m going to do something I’ll regret.’

Cool off? As in…he felt hot? Mr Rikkard Ambrose?

My fingers skimmed over his wet skin. It was true. His voice was cold, his eyes were cold - but his body with burning. Burning for me.

‘Do it!’ I demanded. ‘No regrets!’

‘But-’

I stretched until my lips were at his ear, caressing his earlobe. ‘Do it!’

His eyes found mine. Even through the downpour all around us, I could see their swirling depths, calling me, demanding all of me.

‘Hold on!’ he commanded.

I clenched my legs around his hips, clinging to him like a little lovesick monkey. Removing one hand from under my thighs, he reached for the buckle of his belt. A cheap-looking, tarnished old thing that no London tailor in his right mind would put on for sale. But right then and there, I didn’t care how cheap his belt buckle was. I only cared that it would be opened pronto!

Torturously slowly, he slid one finger underneath the strap and started to pull. Inch by inch, it pulled back, taking the buckle with it.

‘Get a move on!’ I growled. His hand under my thigh was like a living, breathing brand burning into my skin. His fingers flexed, sliding up my thigh, and I couldn’t keep a small moan from escaping my throat. To hell with it! There was no way he could have heard over the roar of the waterfall.

‘Getting impatient, are we?’ his cool, composed voice whispered into my ear.

He’d heard! How the hell had he heard?

‘No!’ I denied.

He flexed his fingers again, and I sucked in a breath.

‘Indeed? I do believe you’re misreading the situation, Mr Linton.’

‘Get that blasted buckle open!’ I groaned. ‘And stop calling me Mister!’

His hand slid further up my thigh. ‘Hm…we might just come to an agreement on the latter point. A modification of terminology seems appropriate.’

Good God! His words set my body on fire, burning me up from tip to toe. I heard, from very far away, like a distant echo, the click of metal on metal. The belt buckle!

I glanced down, trying to see if it was open yet - but I could hardly see anything. For a moment I thought a haze of passion was clouding my eyes - but a haze of passion would be red, right? Or maybe a nice shade of purple. But certainly not brown! No self-respecting haze of passion would be brown, right?

I opened my mouth to ask what was going on - and got a mouthful of water in reply. Muddy water. Good God, the waterfall really had started spouting like crazy for some reason. And it wasn’t quite as clear and wonderful anymore as a few minutes ago.

Still, I’d be damned if I let a few drops of water keep me from my goal! My hand reached out and grabbed Mr Ambrose’s hair, directing his attention down towards the belt buckle.

‘Get on with it!’

His dark eyes met mine. Or at least I thought they did. It was a bit hard to tell through the increasing shower of mud. ‘I intend to Mr Linton. I-’

He was abruptly interrupted when a great bucketload full of dirty water hit him straight in the face.

‘Pfft! Brrz! Rg!’

His hand abruptly let go of my thigh and suddenly I was falling. Something hit the back of my head, and then everything was blue and brown and green and I couldn’t breathe anymore. A fish darted past me, casually waving its fins at me. I didn’t really feel like being courteous and waving back.

‘Bfft!’ Resurfacing, I spat water and mud, and probably a few smaller fishes. ‘What the hell…?’

But nobody heard my words. They were drowned out by the roar of the waterfall and the background music of a torrential downpour. With a speed only a rainforest can offer its guests, it had started pouring. Water hammered down on the little pool, turning its surface into a turbulent, liquid drumhead. The waterfall was quickly turning from a sprinkly little fountain into a sledgehammer made of water.

No! No, we’re not giving up! Not for a bit of bloody water!

Not waiting for his opinion on the matter, I grabbed Mr Ambrose’s belt buckle and pulled. Damn, those things were difficult to operate! How did men ever get them open?

I had just one second for wistful thoughts of my corset laces before a pair of strong hands grabbed me and pulled me up, away from the buckle. Mr Ambrose claimed my mouth with need, desire, and dirty water on his lips. Somehow, he still managed to taste delicious.

‘Get that damn buckle open!’ I demanded against his lips. ‘I want to-ppft!’

I gagged on a mouthful of mud.

‘Yes!’ he growled! ‘One second and I’ll-Rrrg!’

Bloody hell! It was getting increasingly difficult to whisper sweet, hot nothings at each other without getting a mouthful of fertiliser.

Mr Ambrose’s fingers released me, fumbling at the buckle.

‘Do it!’ I commanded. ‘I want you so badl-mmpf! Grk!’

Damn! How come heroines in romance novels never had to deal with this kind of stuff?

‘Doing…best…I…can! I am-ppft!’

‘What’s the - mfff! - matter?’

‘Damn…slippery thing…won’t…opmpff! Grks!’

‘Do you need a - pfft! - manual?’

‘Mind your - Grk! Mpf! - language!’

Exasperated, I rolled my eyes upward - which was why I was the first to see the piece of driftwood tipping over the edge of the waterfall and hurtling down towards us.

‘Look out!’

I shoved Mr Ambrose in the chest - which had about as much effect as a chick shoving a Rottweiler. I catapulted myself back, landing hard against the rock.

‘What is the meaning of this, Mr Linton?’ Mr Ambrose demanded, regarding me through the downpour with narrowed eyes. ‘Have you lost your mi-’

That was when the piece of driftwood hit his head with a dull thunk.

‘Oh my God, Sir! Are you all right, Sir?’

‘Ng…!’ he said - and collapsed into the pool.