“Damn her!” he muttered, his fear increasing. He looked up at a sudden fall of light. The moon had been up, big and full already, even while the last vestiges of day remained. It had been hidden by a dark cloud, which now had drifted away.
He saw her at last.
She was there, just staring out to sea. Tall, slim, alone, her chin high, her shoulders straight, her back to him.
It was how she had looked that last night. So determined to stand against him.
And just as he had wanted to touch her that night, he wanted to touch her now.
No. Just as he had wanted her that night, he wanted her now.
Fool … to think he had left all that behind.
He found himself walking silently down to her, pausing for a moment just behind her as the breeze lifted her hair.
He stepped closer. Her shirt left her shoulders bare, and his left hand settled on her upper arm, while his right hand lifted the wealth of golden hair from her nape. He pressed his lips to the flesh he’d bared, breathing in the sweet scent of her.
She stiffened slightly. Shoulders so square, back so straight. She was probaby going to spin around and slap him any second.…
But she didn’t. His kiss moved from her nape over her shoulder, the tip of his tongue searing her flesh.
He felt the hunger in him. Felt the slight trembling that had begun in her …
“Roc,” she murmured softly, starting to shift.
“No,” he murmured, not willing to listen to any protest. His fingers caught the elastic of her borrowed shirt, and he tugged it downward, baring her breasts. Arms laced around her from behind, he cupped her breasts with his hand, callused flesh rounding over her nipples. She moaned softly as he continued to caress her. Kiss her. Slowly, so slowly. Savoring each sweet, erotic brush of his roughened hands over her silken skin.
He eased the shirt down farther. Over her midriff, still touching, still stroking. He found the waistband of her navy shorts, the button, the zipper. He opened both, his hand sliding down against her belly, then farther still, fingers brushing over the soft golden triangle there.
A strangled sound escaped her. He pressed closer against her back, his kiss finding her ear, her throat.
“Don’t deny me!” he whispered harshly, feeling again the tempest of her trembling. Feeling the rise of his own hunger, the burning …
“The others—”
“They won’t follow, I promise.”
She was silent as he tugged on the shirt, her shorts, the panties beneath them. Slid them downward until they fell to the beach. She slipped her feet gracefully from the puddle of clothing, one at a time, then stood very still, the moonlight beaming down upon her shoulders.
At last she turned into his arms. Facing him. Naked once again.
“This is a mistake …” she began gravely, aquamarine eyes a tempest of confused longing.
“I’ve made lots of mistakes,” he assured her, then reached for her once again, sweeping her into his arms to lay her down upon the cool welcoming sand. His arms around her, he kissed her lips passionately, fully, tasting, exploring, demanding, fueling the blaze within him.
His lips left hers, and she stared into his eyes, her lips still slightly open, damp, her breath coming too quickly, the rise of her breasts incredibly seductive in the ethereal glow.
“Now you’re supposed to walk away!” she charged him.
He shook his head slowly, eyes roaming over the length of her, from the perfect beauty of her face to the exquisite shape of her hips.
“No,” he said hoarsely.
“Maybe I’m supposed to walk away this time,” she suggested softly.
Again he shook his head.
“No way—wife. No way.”
And then his lips touched hers again.
Chapter 7
She’d felt him behind her, of course, long before he had touched her. His footsteps on the sand had been nearly silent, but she had heard him, sensed him. She had known he was there, standing behind her, watching her, waiting. Thinking.
Thinking what?
That she had come back into his life in a fishnet to spy on him?
No, not at that moment.
At that moment she’d felt the tension, the heat, the electricity. She’d known that they weren’t going to argue. That he was going to come closer.
And she hadn’t moved.
Somehow she had known that he would touch her again. And some inner voice had shouted, warning her not to trust him.
But she had ached for his touch for too long to be denied now.
No matter what bitterness lay between them, no matter what anger, what distrust … No matter what, when his hands fell upon her flesh, when his lips pressed against her nape, there was something infinitely tender about his touch, as if he were awakening her from some deep sleep. As if she had been waiting all these years.
Perhaps she had been.
Odd, how the sand was suddenly so cool beneath her, hard packed, endlessly white and clean. She saw his eyes above hers, as passionate and determined as his voice had been, their color cobalt in the moonlight, dark with intensity. A great shivering suddenly seized her. The sand was actually cold, the air cool, yet her flesh felt as if it had suddenly caught fire.…
Then she felt his lips again. He seemed to kiss her forever, only his mouth touching hers, leaving the rest of her body cold once more, like the sand, waiting, aching, needing more.
Suddenly his lips broke from hers. She was more aware than ever of the chill of the sand beneath her body, and she could hear the surf pounding relentlessly against the beach. She opened her eyes and saw the moon, wondering fleetingly if he hadn’t left her again after all, if his anger and bitterness weren’t so great that even now he could walk away. An awful anguish filled her, an aching that brought tears to glisten suddenly in her eyes.
Then, without warning, she wasn’t cold or empty anymore. He had left her merely to shed his clothes. Now the feel of his hot flesh brought a startling heat and fulfillment as he settled over her, his fingers entwining with hers, his eyes searing hers with dark cobalt fire once again.
“Damn, but it’s been a long time,” he whispered, the words husky. “A long, long time …”
Eons, she might have whispered. Far too long a time …
But she didn’t dare. She didn’t dare speak at all, and even if she had wished to, no sound would have come to her lips. She closed her eyes again, aware now of the rough texture of his legs, his chest. Aware of his sex, so hard against her flesh …
He shifted, his knee parting her thighs. Her eyes flew open again, and she saw that he was poised over her, waiting.
Her eyes met his, and then suddenly, shatteringly, he was inside her. Sound at last left her lips, a soft, startled cry that seemed to give him pause until she dug her fingers into his shoulders, arching swiftly against him, taking, wanting, giving, needing to love and to be loved.
The moon seemed to burst, a sudden gleaming splash of color against the dark sky.
Her memory had failed to recall just how wonderful this could be. His touch, his strength, his tenderness. The sheer ecstasy of feeling him gloved within her, moving, igniting a burning, racing fire, a magical heat that filled her and tore through her, spiraling deep to reach her core …
No, memory could never serve.
He kissed her lips, her breasts, caressed her, held her. And all the while he moved within her, each thrust bringing her closer and closer to cataclysmic wonder. His hand curved over her buttocks, pressing her even closer to him, driving his thrusts even deeper inside her, touching her within and without. Even in the breeze they both glistened, the sheen of passion gleaming on their bodies, echoing the warmth that burned inside. She scarcely breathed, yet she gasped for breath. She closed her eyes to feel the intensity of the moment, then opened them again and saw the tension in his face, corded in his neck, rippling in his arms. His lips bore down on hers once again; then he stiffened, thrusting so deeply into h
er that she thought she would die. But she didn’t die. Sweet deliciousness seemed to sweep throughout her as fulfillment, wild, volatile and shattering, burst upon her at last. For long moments she was only dimly aware of him, holding her tightly, then quivering with the power of one final thrust before falling to her side.
She shivered suddenly in the chill that raced through her with the warmth of his body gone.
He lay there, too, just breathing.
Then suddenly he sat up, arms clasped round his knees, staring out at the dark surf.
“Damn!” he muttered softly.
She gritted her teeth tightly together, fighting the new wave of hot moisture that rose to her eyes. Three years, then something so sweetly magnificent, and all he had to say was damn?
She started to rise. He had already gotten to his feet and reached for his shorts. Now he tossed her the checked midriff top and commanded roughly, “Get dressed.”
She caught the blouse, staring at him with a fury so great that she was able to blink away the tears.
“I’d fully intended to dress!” she assured him. “You’re the rudest man I’ve ever—”
The shirt fell to the sand as he suddenly jerked her to her feet. They were both naked in the moon glow, and she felt thoroughly chilled as his eyes bore down into hers.
“The rudest man you’ve ever what?” he demanded. “The rudest man you’ve ever slept with? Was that it? I imagine Eric is far more polite. Was he at your side like that when he politely suggested you dive in the ocean and find out what I knew about the Contessa? Did he suggest you go this far?”
“What?” she gasped, unable to believe what she had heard.
She jerked free with a sudden burst of power that surprised even him, then took a swing at him, but he was ready. Yet even as he caught her wrist and dragged her against him, she slammed his chest with her free hand, still struggling fiercely, pitting all her weight against him.
“Little witch,” he muttered fiercely, trying to catch her wildly swinging hand, stepping back, hitting a dune—and falling.
They both went tumbling over in the sand, rolling.
Melinda caught herself and tried to struggle up, but he was straddling her.
“Don’t you touch me—”
“Melinda—”
“I mean it!” The tears had risen to her eyes again; she couldn’t hope to blink them back now.
“Damn it, Melinda, I wish I could believe—”
“I don’t give a damn anymore what you believe. Get away from me. Leave me alone!”
He didn’t leave her alone. His eyes were as deep and furious as her own, and he didn’t budge from his intimate perch atop her.
“Would you like to tell me just what your relationship is with him?” he demanded fiercely.
“No, I would not!” she retorted furiously. “You’ve decided what it is—I have no intention of telling you a damn thing!”
He sat on his haunches, arms crossed over his chest. She tried to struggle up, but with his legs still locked around her hips, it was impossible.
“I’m going to scream any second,” she promised him. “Then I’m going to scratch your eyes out. Then I’m—”
“Longford,” he interrupted smoothly.
“I’m going to gouge your chest, and if that doesn’t move you, I’m going to bite.”
He arched a brow. “How hard and what?” he inquired politely.
“Oh!” She took a swing, but he caught her, leaned low against her.
She spoke through gritted teeth. “I’m really going to hurt you in a minute.”
“You really hurt me three years ago,” he said softly.
“You walked out.”
“You refused to come with me.”
She closed her eyes. “I’m going to knock your lights out in about thirty seconds.”
He leaned even closer, his chest hair teasing her naked breasts mercilessly. “Not a chance,” he assured her.
“Please move!” she grated.
“I want to know about Longford.”
“Are you going to believe what I say?” she demanded.
He sat back again, staring at her. She trembled slightly. It was so strange. Three years apart and less than twenty-four hours back together, and now they were arguing naked in the sand.
The naked part was all right.
The things he said were not.
“Look at me,” he said very softly. “Meet my eyes. I’ll believe anything you say.”
She hesitated. Her life really wasn’t any of his business. She certainly didn’t want to give him any power over her, and she was damn sure he hadn’t been living her ridiculously celibate life.
But he was determined. Relentless. And perhaps even passionate in his pursuit of what he wanted to know …
“There’s nothing between Eric Longford and me,” she told him, her eyes steady on his, “other than dinner now and then, a few diving trips, and conversation.”
He didn’t move. Not for the longest time. His black lashes fell for a moment; then his eyes were hard on hers once again.
“Really?”
“I just told you—”
“Sorry.”
“Now, if you’d please—”
“In a minute.”
“What?”
“What was that comment about?”
“What comment?” she cried, beginning to feel desperate.
“That I was the rudest man you’d ever slept with.”
Anger filled her again, and she gritted her teeth. “You’re the densest man I’ve ever met!” she exclaimed. “I never said that. Never! I didn’t say the word slept at all, and you never gave me a chance to finish the sentence. You’re the rudest man I’ve ever met. Met!”
He seemed unaffected by her anger, holding her still. “So who have you been seeing?” he demanded.
“None of your business. And if you don’t—”
“Who?” he persisted.
“Let me up!”
“Answer me.”
“In about two seconds, I will begin to scream!”
He shrugged. “You won’t get a whole lot of help if you do. I have a very loyal crew. Now tell me who, Melinda.”
She stared at him, aware of the hard sand beneath her, aware of the power of his thighs and the intimate way they rode her hips. She was aware of the cool air on her body, hardening her nipples, of the very naked way he was straddling her …
“No one,” she muttered.
“Who?”
“No one!” she lashed out more angrily. “Now will you please—”
“You mean to tell me you haven’t … dated seriously? In all this time?”
“If you mean, have I slept with anyone in all this time, the answer is no. Now, damn you, this is supposed to be a barbecue, not True Confessions! If you’ll please—”
He stood, reaching a hand down to her and drawing her to her feet. She tried to walk by him to retrieve her clothing, but he held onto her wrist, pulling her back.
“So just what were you doing out on the ocean with Longford?”
“Diving.”
“And he just left you stranded?”
She sighed. “Yes. I thought the Crystal Lee might be yours, and if not, she was someone looking for treasure, not a fishing boat.”
“What if she had been a drug runner? What if she hadn’t been mine? What if she had belonged to someone ready to slit your throat for getting in his way?”
“I can take care of myself.”
He groaned. “Right. Just dive into a fishing net. Age isn’t doing a damn thing for your common sense.”
“And it hasn’t improved your manners.”
“Your recklessness—”
“Isn’t your concern!”
“Actually, it is,” he said softly, releasing her at last as his eyes met hers with cool speculation. “It seems that until we manage to do something about it, you’re still my wife.”
“Don’t let it concern you.”
“But it does.” His eyes dropped to study the length of her, causing a rush of blood to bring a crimson tide to her flesh.
His eyes met hers again. “We’d really better get dressed. My crew may be around any minute now.”
“Would they follow their great leader if he’d given the impression he was out for privacy?” she mocked.
He shrugged. “By now, they may think the sharks have already eaten us both. Get your things on. Someone might be along any second.”
She turned away from him, quickly picking up the few pieces of her clothing and shimmying into them. She didn’t look his way.
When she did, he was clad in his shorts once again and walking the way he had come, calling over his shoulder, “I’m sure dinner is on. Let’s go back.”
“Maybe I’d rather go for a swim!” she retorted.
Then she made the mistake of turning away from him.
Footsteps came pounding toward her. He could run as fleetly as he could swim. She found herself gasping for breath as he swept her off her feet and into his arms. “No night swimming alone, you little idiot. Damn it. You are the most headstrong and reckless female I have ever—”
“Slept with?” she suggested.
He was silent for a second. Then a slow grin curved his lip. “I was going to say met!” he informed her.
He started walking back along the beach. For a moment Melinda let herself be carried. It was nice. So nice.
Then she looked up at him, determined. “So who are you sleeping with these days?” she asked, trying to keep her tone light.
He looked down at her, mischief burning in his eyes. “None of your business,” he said softly.
She stiffened. “You hairy son of a sea serpent!” she cried angrily, shoving at his chest until he half set her down, half dropped her.
“Hey!” He caught her arm when she would have run past him.
She faced him, her hands tightening into fists at her side. “You sat there and forced me to tell you all about my life, and now you tell me that yours is none of my business?”
He cocked his head, thinking for a moment. Then he shrugged. “That’s right,” he told her. And he was the one to walk away then.
She ran after him. “Roc, you bas—” she began, but his finger fell on her lips.
Between Roc and a Hard Place Page 9
