“What are you smiling about while you dream, mon petit ange?”

Emma’s eyes sprung open at the sound of his deep, resonant voice in her head.

Vanni looked down at her from where he sat at the edge of the bed. He wore a blue-and-white striped shirt and cobalt blue tie along with a pair of gray pants. The bangs of his brown hair had fallen forward, parenthesizing his sea-colored eyes. She’d never been so glad to see anything in her whole life than she was his face in that moment.

She reached up and touched the scruff on his lean jaw, assuring herself he was there.

“You,” she replied with sleepy honesty.

The small smile faded from his firm lips. He leaned down and kissed her, his slow, patient cadence quickly turning faster and more forceful. His hand trailed down her side and cupped her hip, rolling her closer to him. She moaned into his mouth and delved her fingers into his hair, losing herself in his taste.

“I don’t appreciate you depriving me of this,” he firmed his hand on her hip and plucked at her lips, “for four whole nights.”

“I was . . . mad at . . . you,” she reminded him, kissing him back hungrily.

“Are you still?” he murmured, biting gently at her lower lip. Emma shivered in delight, and he pulled her closer into his arms.

The truth was, it was nearly impossible to stay mad with him nibbling at her mouth and his scent filling her nose, especially when she hadn’t seen him for days. “Sort of,” she mumbled, returning the favor and scraping her teeth along his lower lip, her actions completely at odds with her words. He gave a low groan and swept his hand along her waist and ribs, stopping next to her breast. He cupped her side. “I don’t like being manipulated, Vanni.”

“I wasn’t manipulating you,” he said, glancing up to meet her stare. “I only have you for so long, Emma. Do you really blame me for wanting you every minute I possibly can? I was trying to ensure that by calling Mrs. Ring in advance. You say I did it for myself, and maybe I did. I told you I was selfish from the beginning.”

For a moment, she didn’t speak. She understood he wasn’t used to being in relationships. He handled her like he would any other task in his busy world.

“I’m not something to check off your work list,” she said quietly. “But I do understand that you were doing it with good intentions. It’s just that my work is . . .”

“Your domain. I understand,” he said soberly. “I won’t do anything like that again. But I can’t regret it this time,” he said pointedly, his nostrils flaring slightly as he looked down at her. His hand slid down to her ass. He cupped a buttock and kneaded it with his large hand, making her thoughts scatter. “I wanted you here.”

“And whatever Vanni wants, Vanni gets?” she asked dryly, although she knew full well it was the absolute truth most of the time.

“Obviously not, or you would have been here sooner. But yes, I was willing to do whatever was necessary to make it happen. It didn’t happen as quickly as I would have wanted, but you’re here now,” he said, his gaze narrowing on her face as he squeezed her buttock and stroked the slope of her hip, his manner intent and thrillingly possessive. “I’m too happy about it to apologize.”

“Congratulations on the Montand car winning the time trials today. Marco told me,” she said softly.

“Luck came with you,” he said, leaning down to capture her mouth with his. By the time he lifted his head from their kiss a moment later, her flesh had gone warm and tingly, her sex soft and liquid.

“I do regret one thing about my protest, now that I’m here,” she said, scraping her fingernails along his neck and feeling the slight shudder that went through him. It was intoxicating, knowing how her touch affected him. She saw his dark brows go up in a query when he noticed her anxious expression.

“Mrs. Denis told me about the dinner tonight,” she explained. “You said not to bring anything in the message you sent through Amanda. Is the wardrobe you bought me here in France?”

“You said you wanted me to return it all, so I did,” he said, his expression deadpan. Her heart seemed to plummet into her belly. She hadn’t actually expected him to say that. She’d never regretted her angry outburst more. “Isn’t that what you told me you wanted?” he prodded quietly.

She nodded, trying to look happy about his decision. She couldn’t be both miffed at his heavy-handedness and desirous of his gifts at once. But she didn’t want the glamorous clothing for herself, she wanted them because she didn’t want to embarrass him . . . or herself, she added fairly in the privacy of her mind. His handsome mouth quirked slightly in amusement.

“You don’t really think I’d leave you without resources after insisting that you attend the race with me, do you?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, confused. “Did you return the clothes, or not?”

“I did,” he said briskly, straightening. He took her hand. “But I had Marco go to the Breakers and get something else for you there. My aunt Michelle—Dean’s wife—helped me arrange it. And this something I’m referring to truly is yours. You won’t have to worry about accepting anything from me.”

“What?”

“Come here,” he said, tugging on her hand when she just stared up at him in amazement. She followed him across the room to the trunk Marco had taken off the plane. He flipped it on its side and opened it. Inside, there were several garment bags that had been folded once, one on top of another. He drew some keys out of his pant pocket and grabbed several of the garment bags.

“Follow me,” he said, turning. She trailed him to a door. He used a key to unlock it and swung it open. He flipped on a light, and Emma followed him into a large walk-in closet. Very quickly and efficiently, Vanni unzipped the two garment bags, scooted aside some of his neatly hung suits, and placed what appeared to be dresses upon dresses on the rack.

“Oh, they’re gorgeous,” Emma whispered, stepping forward to touch a stunning, gold evening gown, then a showstopping black textured gown with a fitted white bodice and cutout back, followed by a darling red day dress . . . they went on and on. She looked up at Vanni in confusion.

“Did you return the ones you bought me and buy different ones?” she asked.

“No. These are yours. Bequeathed to you by Cristina.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Apparently, she contacted her lawyer in the last days before she died and altered her will, leaving you her entire wardrobe, shoes, accessories . . . everything. It’s no small thing,” Vanni said, his lips tilting in dark amusement. “Cristina was a real clothes hound, and was often named one of the best-dressed women on the planet. Most of these dresses have never even been worn.”

“She and I did discuss her love of fashion,” Emma said numbly, her mind trying to make sense of what Vanni was saying. She couldn’t believe this was happening. Part of her was stunned, part of her deeply moved by Cristina’s gesture. “She and I talked about her shop and she actually . . .”

“What?” Vanni asked when she faded off.

“She said she wanted me to have all her clothes. I didn’t take her seriously, though. I only knew her for a little over a week.”

“I told you she liked you,” he said quietly.

His eyes looked shrouded in the dim light of the closet, but she saw the glint in them as he stared at her. Emma touched the dresses in a mixture of awe and sadness. “I probably shouldn’t accept them . . . but I will,” she said with breathless resolution. Cristina had wanted her to have them, for whatever reason. Emma thought enough of her not to refuse such a lavish, thoughtful gift. Cristina hadn’t done it randomly, she just knew that somehow.

“It was a very personal gift,” Vanni said.

“I know. Clothes meant so much to her,” Emma agreed in a hushed tone.

She looked over her shoulder and met his stare, seeing the hunger gleaming in his eyes as he watched her. Her pulse began to leap at her throat.

“Come here,” he said.

She swallowed, a thread in his tone making her skin prickle with awareness. Something caught her attention to the left of him as she walked into his arms.

“Oh my,” she mumbled, craning to see what hung on the wall behind him. A rush of excitement went through her, hot and forbidden, something akin to what she’d felt that night in the armoire, but this time more intense.

“You know I always feel like you’re out of my reach,” he said quietly, ignoring her anxious stare over his shoulder.

She looked up at him slowly when he caught her chin, her fingers clutching instinctively on his hard, muscular biceps. “I’m right here,” she whispered.

“Yes. But you deprived me of your presence for four days,” he said, a hard glimmer of challenge and dark amusement in his eyes. An electrical shiver ran through her. “So I’m going to give you a little punishment.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong,” she said, giving him a glare for good measure.

“That’s not what this is about. It would give me pleasure to have you at my mercy. I need it, after what you did. I believe it will give you excitement and pleasure as well. That’s all. Now I want you to go and choose one,” he hitched his chin in the direction behind him, and Emma knew very well he’d known exactly what she was looking at the whole time.

She again looked past him. There was a built-in chest of drawers, but above, instruments of sexy punishment were hanging on the wall. She saw several leather floggers and what appeared to be a riding crop. There were several sizes of paddles—long and thin, medium and wide, short and round.

The idea of being the one to choose her method of sexual punishment amplified the forbidden thrill of the dark room, Vanni’s hot eyes, and her own breathless excitement. She dropped her hands from his arms and walked past him, approaching the wall slowly. For a moment, she studied all the instruments, highly aware of his eyes on her backside. She fingered first one polished hardwood paddle and then a leather-covered one, then one with holes drilled into the wood, which looked like it would hurt. Her clit tingled with excitement. She’d didn’t relish the idea of pain. The idea of being at Vanni’s mercy was what excited her. Her fingers ran over the thin crop and the square slapper at the end. She touched the leather lashes on the flogger, but her hand dropped quickly away. It reminded her too much of that night she watched him and Astrid. The idea of him doing something similar to her left her feeling almost unbearably sexually excited, but also intimidated, because she’d felt so cast out at sea on that night, like she was a novice watching two professionals in gaping wonder and confusion.

But she was learning a few things . . .

She reached, removing the polished, long wood paddle that was about two and a half feet long and four inches wide. Heat scalded her cheeks when she saw Vanni’s small smile as she handed it to him. Was that a glint of triumph in his eyes? It suddenly felt impossible to meet his stare.

“You’ll have to take your strokes on a paddling bench with that large of a paddle,” he said gently. “Is that all right?”

“What’s a paddling bench?”

“It’s a padded bench that you kneel on to receive the punishment. I could have you bend over with that paddle, but I’d prefer the bench today. You will be completely exposed to me, but you’ll be comfortable.” He seemed to notice her hesitation. “You can choose another paddle if you prefer. With a shorter one, I could paddle you across my knee.”

She shook her head, her throat too constricted to speak.

“Go out into the bedroom then, and get undressed. I’ll join you in a moment.” He reached up and swept his forefinger along her cheek and jaw, his actions striking her as very tender. She walked past him, not taking a full breath until she stood by the bed. A shadow was cast on the balcony outside the French doors now, leaving the room cool and comfortable. In the distance, the Mediterranean sparkled like a jewel in the bright sunshine.

The sea breeze tickled her sensitive nipples and the skin of her belly and thighs a moment later when she removed her panties—the last item of clothing she wore. She swept her hand along a buttock, imagining how hot it would soon be from the paddle. She dropped it guiltily to her side when she heard Vanni’s step, and turned to face him. Her eyes widened when she saw him carrying a wooden bench in one hand, and the paddle in the other. The wooden stool was about two and a half or three feet tall. It was unique, with a long leather center cushion at the top to lie on and a cushioned ledge on either side, where the knees and hands would rest. She would be spread if she took that position, her bottom at the edge of the bench, an easy target . . .

“We’ll make this very simple,” he said quietly, his gaze lowering over her as he came closer, making her already tingling skin prickle in awareness. He set down the bench. She realized he held more than the paddle in his other hand. She glanced down nervously and saw he held the dual vibrator he always used on her. Her clit twanged with excitement, her body having become conditioned to the pleasure that would follow the vision of the little device.

“I’m going to put this in you,” he said, holding up the vibrator. “I enjoy giving you little punishments, but I only want them to arouse you. Do you need lubrication?”

His question mortified her. True, she’d gone soft and wet for him when he’d kissed and touched her earlier, but it’d been choosing that paddle while he’d watched her with that hawklike gaze of his that had truly got her ready. She shook her head, staring at his tie.

“I’ve told you that’s a good thing, Emma,” he chided quietly. “It pleases me, that choosing your mode of punishment excited you.”

She gave him a dry glance and rolled her eyes to diminish her embarrassment. His smiled widened as he went to set the paddle on the table.

He held up the vibrator expectantly as he returned, and she recalled what he’d told her to do whenever he did that. She parted her thighs, her heart starting to pound in her ears. He stepped closer and reached between her legs, the vibrator in his hand. “Look at me so I can read your expression,” he murmured when she continued to stare blindly at his shirtfront and tie. She looked up and felt his fingertip touch her entry. His jaw went hard. “Yes, nice and wet.” He pushed the vibrator into her several inches, wedging the other end against her clit. “Okay?” he asked, reaching up to touch her shoulder. The feeling of his fingertips skimming across naked skin caused her skin to roughen in excitement.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“Then come over to the bench,” he instructed. “Kneel here,” he said, indicating the two padded ledges on either side of the raised center portion. He guided her down, but upon seeing the bench Emma had instinctively understood the position required. When she settled, she straddled the raised cushion, belly and breasts and cheek resting on the elevated portion while her knees and hands were at the outer, lower ledges. Her ass was at the very edge.

“How does it feel?” Vanni asked, bending down and reaching under her hips. She realized he was adjusting the vibrator, making sure the clitoral end was in place.

She assessed what she was feeling, spread like that on the bench, her bare ass in the air. “Very . . . vulnerable,” she admitted breathlessly.

“Yes,” he mused. She turned her chin, trying to see what he was doing, and saw him reach into his pant pocket. He withdrew the remote control for the vibrator and pushed a button. She moaned softly in excitement. He’d put it to a medium setting, she’d guess. Instinctively, she pressed down with her hips, grinding her pussy and the vibrator against the cushion. “What else are you feeling?” he asked her.

“Excited. But I’m nervous, too,” she said in a muffled voice.

“I’m not going to hurt you, you know that. It’ll just sting and burn a little,” he said, walking across the room. He picked up the paddle from the table and walked toward her. He looked very tall and large from her position on the paddling bench. She couldn’t pull her eyes off the vision of him holding the paddle and the bulge in the front of his trousers. “Too much nervousness will ruin your pleasure. But just the right amount will give your pleasure an extra edge.”

He came around the back of her to the opposite side. She couldn’t see him anymore and started to turn her head.

“No,” he said sharply. “Keep your eyes turned away.”

“Why?” she asked, anticipation and excitement making her voice shaky.

“This will excite me very much,” he said thickly. Her eyes went wide and her heart seemed to stop when she felt him press the end of the paddle against her ass. “You’re very beautiful. If you look at me, I might find myself taking you before I turn your sweet ass pink. But I’m determined to give you fifteen good strokes. I want to know that when we’re out together tonight that your ass is sensitive under your new dress. I want your pussy to be, too. I want you to feel it when you’re sitting down next to me or if we see each other from across the room. I want you to remember being at my mercy. I want you to remember me.”

She moaned softly, aroused by his words and the persistent buzzing on her sex caused by the vibrator. He lifted the paddle.

“Mrs. Denis has gone to a racing celebration in the village. You needn’t worry about anyone overhearing. The villa is empty except for us,” he said.

Emma found herself hugging the center portion of the stool in almost unbearable excitement.

Smack.

He’d paddled her. She jumped slightly, not because it was terribly painful, but because she’d been so tense in anticipation, not knowing what to expect. His hand was immediately there, soothing the sting, shaping her flesh to his. “Such a sweet ass,” he said. “You picked the exact paddle I’ve fantasized about using on you.”

“I did?” she asked shakily, highly distracted by his massaging, molding hand on her ass and the increasing burn on her clit. She ground her hips down instinctively against the bench. She couldn’t seem to help it—

“Yes,” he said, and his hand fell away. “But that doesn’t surprise me. Almost everything you do seems predesigned to drive me crazy.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her entire focus on the sensation of him pressing the paddle against her ass again and circling it slightly. She wished she could see him.

“No, you’re not,” he said in a hard tone. “You love having me at your mercy as much as I love having you that way.” The paddle was gone and she knew it was swinging. She braced herself, but a small oh popped out of her throat when it landed with a thwack. It stung, but she’d managed not to jump this time. Then the paddle was gone again and she gripped the bench with knees and elbows. Smack. She suppressed a whimper.

“If it’s too much, you have to say so,” Vanni said, his hand on her ass, rubbing the stinging flesh.

“It’s not too much,” she insisted in a high-pitched, choked voice. His soothing hand paused. Spreading his hand on the crack of her ass, he lifted and spread her buttocks. She almost felt his gaze scorching her sex. She squirmed in excitement. Suddenly his hand was gone. He swatted her again.

“Keep your ass still for the paddle,” he warned. His voice sounded strained. Was he as excited as she was? She doubted it, considering the wicked little dual vibrator that was turning her to a bundle of sizzling nerves. A breeze from the open French doors wafted into the room, tickling her burning bottom and clit, the contrast of sensation pricking her senses even more. “Take one more and we’ll pause a moment,” she heard him say.

He landed the paddle with a popping noise. She moaned, the heat and sting from her ass transferring somehow to her clit.

“You’re doing very well,” he said from behind her, and she realized from the direction of his voice that he’d knelt behind her. She felt his hand between her spread thighs, reaching. He moved aside the end of the vibrator on her clit and pushed a blunt fingertip between her labia. She moaned uncontrollably as he pressed and circled the sensitive piece of flesh until she sizzled and her feet flexed as she started to crest. Then his hand was gone and she sensed he stood again. “You’re extremely wet,” he said in a hard tone. “But you’re doing very well by keeping still.” He stroked her ass. “You’re getting nice and warm. Can you take ten more?”

“Yes.”

“I thought so,” he said, and she heard the warmth in his tone. She gritted her teeth in anticipation, and the paddle fell again and again. He paused after three strokes. She jumped slightly when she felt the hard wood of the paddle rub against the sole of one of her feet.

“You’re curling up your feet. Do they burn?” he asked.

“Yes,” she gasped. How had he known how sympathetic the nerves on her feet were to her sex? He tapped very lightly with the tip of her paddle on her heel. She didn’t know why, but arousal shot through her. Her toes curled inward. She couldn’t stop grinding her hips down on the bench in order to get more friction on her sex. He cursed softly, and suddenly the power on the vibrator diminished. He’d put it on a lower setting.

“You have to have the most sensitive little body in existence,” he said, and she suddenly pictured the slant of his handsome mouth and the sharp glitter of arousal in his eyes as he took position behind her again and swung back the paddle.

“Ooh,” she breathed as he gave her two more brisk swats, the exciting sound of polished wood against skin reverberating around the room and echoing in her head when he’d paused.

“Are you going to remember this tonight?” he asked her, reaching between her thighs. Moving aside the vibrator, he stimulated her again with his finger. She cried out, unable to stop herself. He was so much more precise than the vibrator, applying an eye-crossing pressure and succinct glide against her lubricated flesh.

“Yes.” Always, she added in her lust-heavy brain.

“Would you like to come now, or would you prefer to wait until my cock is inside you?” he grated out. She clamped her eyes shut and scrunched her face tight, her body so tight and hungry for release.

“Emma?” he prodded, still rubbing her clit in a bull’s-eye fashion.

He removed his hand suddenly and used it to part her thighs several inches. She sensed his gaze on her like a touch. Had he lowered behind her? she wondered, her heart racing madly. Her inner thighs were damp, more than likely glistening from her juices. She gave an agonized moan, knowing he was a close witness to her blatant arousal. A thrill went through her at the low, growling sound that emitted from his throat.

She shrieked when his mouth was suddenly on her, licking and sucking away the juices from her pussy.

“Oh God, Vanni . . . no . . . yes,” she moaned, not even sure what she was saying. Then his mouth was gone, and her whole body was straining tight for him.

“God you’re sweet. Answer me,” he grated out. “Do you want to come now, or would you prefer to wait until my cock is inside you?”

“Wait for your cock,” she whispered, the effort of restraint ripping at her. “Or try to?” she added on a high-pitched note.

“Good girl,” he snarled, and suddenly his hand was gone and the paddle was landing on her ass. He rubbed a buttock, squeezing the burning flesh lewdly into his palm. “Nice and hot and pink,” he muttered. “Keep trying, baby. This is killing me, too,” he said almost desperately.

He smacked her once lightly with his palm. She moaned, undone by the tense eroticism of the moment and his stark declaration of need. She had a wild urge to touch her ass, to feel what he was feeling. He peeled back her prickling cheeks suddenly. Emma whimpered in suspense in the tense seconds that followed. She felt completely exposed to him, her asshole and sex tingling beneath his stare. He made that low, growling noise deep in his throat, menacing and thrilling at once. Then he released her. Her panting breath paused when she heard the unmistakable sound of a belt buckle jingling, then a zipper lowering.

“Can . . . Can I please see what you’re doing?” she asked him shakily.

“Not yet,” he said. He paddled her again. She cried out, trying to stop herself from grinding her pussy against the vibrator and the bench, but only partially succeeding.

“Three more,” he said. “Keep still.”

She gritted her teeth to stop herself from writhing. It was very difficult. He’d known what he was doing by inserting the vibrator. The combination of burning pleasure on her sex and the sting of her bottom was unbearably exciting. The paddle landed with a crack. She whimpered. He hadn’t paddled her harder, but her ass was growing more tender and sensitive with each stroke.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, and she could tell that he’d knelt behind her.

“A little,” she admitted, even though the pain was already fading to a hot burn as he rubbed her ass with his hand. Again, he peeled back her cheeks. Again, Emma held her breath in the weighty silence that followed. He cursed quietly, and then the vibrator was sliding out of her. She gasped at the deprivation of the stimulation. “Oh,” she cried out when he inserted a thick finger into her pussy and plunged it back and forth.

“I couldn’t resist, even though you’ve got two more coming,” he said. “You’re so juicy . . . so warm. God, it’s going to be so good to explode inside you.”

She almost begged him to just take her then. The suspense was killing her, and she wanted him so much. He withdrew his finger and rubbed her clit. Her eyes sprung and she gripped the bench tighter, every muscle in her body bunching tight. “You’re on the edge, aren’t you? Yet you remain so quiet. Why?”

“Why what?” she gasped.

“Why do you always stop yourself from screaming?” he asked, sounding almost angry.

“Because I thought that’s what you wanted.”

His circling finger slowed on her clit.

“Why would you think that?” he asked tautly.

She ground her hips against his hand. She couldn’t stop herself. “That’s what you told Astrid that night. You said you didn’t like her hysterics,” she said, too aroused to be anything but completely honest at that moment.

“Emma,” he said, his tone almost angry even though she didn’t really think he was. He began rubbing her clit again. She moaned in agonized pleasure. “I wish I could erase that memory from your brain. It has nothing to do with you and me. Do you understand me?”

She blinked her eyes open at his hard tone.

“Yes,” she managed, biting her lip because his circling fingertip was keeping her skating right on the edge.

“Tell me what you want me to do now, Emma,” he rasped, and she heard his rabid arousal as easily as she heard his voice. She clenched her eyes tight. What she wanted to do was come.

But she also wanted to please him.

“I want two more,” she said, her entire body trembling with the effort it took for her not to come against his hand.

His rubbing finger stilled, and then fell away. She bit her lip to stop from moaning in agony. The bench under her still provided a source of pressure, however, and she found herself squirming against it.

“You’re so incredible,” he said thickly, and Emma could tell from the sound of his voice he’d stood. “And after I give you your punishment and sink my cock inside you, what are you going to do for me?”

“Scream?” she replied shakily.

“That’s right,” he said darkly. “Don’t ever think I won’t want to hear you scream in pleasure for me.” He placed the end of the paddle on her ass and circled it slightly, getting her attention. “Raise your bottom off the bench for the last two,” he said. “It will help you to keep still. And I do want you to stay completely still.”

She pushed off slightly with her hands and knees, raising her ass several inches off the end of the bench.

“That’s right. Such a good girl,” he murmured. The paddle fell, biting at her ass. She choked off a cry. He gave a rough moan. The urge to look at him overwhelmed her. She turned her head and opened her eyes. He held the paddle in his right hand and fisted his enormous erection in the other. His fiery stare met hers. He was the very image of primal sex in that moment, a leashed storm straining to break. Her lips parted in awed arousal.

Her gaze lowered to his cock and pumping fist. His pants and underwear were bunched below his jutting erection and balls. He was furiously erect; the fat, tapered crown of his cock was flushed dark pink . . . so delicious looking. “I’m not that good, Vanni,” she whispered heatedly, the tip of her tongue brushing the inside of her lower lip. He groaned and pumped his cock harder.

“Yes, you are,” he grated out. “And because of it, you’ll get another stroke.”

She watched him as he cracked off the last two. The image of him was so powerful, she barely noticed the sting of her ass. He held her stare as he leaned the paddle against the bench near her hand.

“You can lower your ass to the bench again.” The last glimpse she had of him, he was walking behind her, cupping his erection from below. A thrill of anticipation went through her when she sensed him lower behind her and he put his hands on her burning ass. “Brace yourself,” he said. “I’m going to fuck you. Hard.”

She bit her lip, waiting . . . burning. He didn’t make her wait long. The hard crown of his cock parted her channel. He tightened his hold on her bottom and thrust. She dropped her forehead to the bench and screamed. It was a good thing she was so wet, because he clearly wasn’t in the mood to wait. His growl was rough and feral as he immediately began to fuck her. The evidence of his rabid need only fueled her arousal. She hugged the bench, keeping herself steady for his onslaught, pushing back even, wanting more of him . . . craving all of him. His pounding cock was merciless. She felt herself cresting.

“Scream for me,” he rasped behind her. “Scream again for me, Emma.”

She wasn’t sure if she screamed or not. All thought left her as she finally succumbed to the burn, igniting gloriously. She came back to herself at the sensation of an almost uncomfortable pressure. She glanced around and whimpered. He’d come up on to his feet and had lifted her hips, serving her pussy to his cock in a relentless frenzy of need. He was so beautiful, it felt like something was going to burst inside her. She put her cheek back on the bench, helpless in the clutches of the storm. Her fingers brushed across the paddle he’d leaned there and she gripped it tight, the smooth wood grounding her for some reason. He cursed. She grimaced at the sensation of him swelling huge inside her. His low growl amplified to a roar.

He began to pour himself into her. She stared blindly, her mouth hanging open at the amazing sensation . . . the sacred one. He kept coming for what felt like an unprecedented period of time, sinking his cock again and again into her depths while he gasped and grunted.

His fucking motions eventually slowed, until he just held her fast against him, and the only sounds in the room were their erratic panting and in the distance, the sound of the sea breaking against the shore far below.

He lifted her and carried her over to the mussed bed. While she snuggled into the softness, he stripped off the rest of his clothes. When he lay on his back a moment later with Emma’s head on his chest and the cool breeze drifting across his heated skin, he experienced a rare, profound sense of peace. He trailed his hand up Emma’s supple back and along her arm, relishing in her shape and the silkiness of her skin.

Her presence.

“Thank you for coming,” he said.

She lifted her head off his chest and looked at him. Her hair was a mess of gilded waves. Her cheeks and lips were still stained pink. She was adorable. Sexy as hell. He didn’t used to think those two things could go hand in hand so perfectly until he’d met Emma.

“You’re welcome,” she said, her soft brown eyes moving over his face.

His gaze narrowed. “There’s nine of them,” he said distractedly.

She raised her eyebrows in a query.

“Nine freckles on your nose,” he clarified.

“I hate every one of them,” she said, rolling her eyes and covering her nose with her hand.

He sat up partially, turning her in his arms so that she lay pinned beneath him. Her hand fell away in her surprise at his abrupt action. “I love every one,” he growled ominously. He kissed her nose repeatedly, stilling her wriggling, the sound of her laughter making him smile. “One kiss for each adorable freckle,” he said before he leaned down and tasted her lips. She was so sweet. Everywhere, he thought as his tongue dipped into her mouth. He’d like to kiss her like that in the soft bed forever, with the refreshing breeze cooling him, desire banked but glowing inside him like a warm ember that would leap back into a flame at any moment. When he lifted his head a moment later, her liquid brown eyes had gone sober as she looked up at him.

“I know what you meant now,” she whispered breathlessly. “When you said once that you could do exactly what you did to Astrid to me, and it would be completely different.”

A pain went through him at the idea of her still thinking about what she’d seen in that armoire. He meant what he’d said earlier. If only he could erase that night from her memory. If only he could eradicate it from his. He realized he was so caught up in his shame about what she’d seen that perhaps he hadn’t fully understood her.

“What do you mean?” he asked, his fingers brushing against the delicate line of her jaw. “Don’t tell me you thought that”—he glanced in the direction of the bench—“was remotely like what you saw that night.”

“No. It wasn’t. That’s my point,” she said softly. “I mean, some of the actions might have been similar, but . . .” She faded off, seeming to struggle with finding the right words.

“I was making love to you, Emma,” he said starkly, exposing himself in an uncommon way because he hated to see her uncertainty. “I know I told you I wasn’t cut out for the long term, and then you set the time limit on our time together. Maybe you think that means that what we do together doesn’t matter, in any lasting sense . . . that it’s just sex. Just gratification. I disagree. I could be doing the kinkiest thing in the world to you, and I’d still be making love to you,” he said, trailing his finger over her flushed cheek. He saw amazement creep across her expression and raised his eyebrows. “Do you understand?” he asked, stroking her temple and the shell of her ear and relishing her tiny shiver.

“Yes,” she whispered before she touched his cheek, her simple caress and the expression in her eyes sweeter to him than anything he could ever recall in his life.