Lizzy's eyes fluttered open. The man who was kissing her had his eyes closed, a look of intense concentration on his face. As if he was learning everything he could about her. Cataloging her responses, figuring out her taste. What she liked. What made her move against him.
It was the man who'd washed ashore. A man whose name she didn't even know. But he was touching her as if he knew her.
She shifted against him and realized his thick, hard penis was between her thighs. Her slightly sore thighs. Her sore, damp...
They'd already had sex.
She remembered, although it felt like a dream. She'd been half-asleep. Hadn't been thinking. She'd touched him. He'd touched her. It had felt really, really good. At first she hadn't wanted to stop, then she hadn't been able to stop. She'd come so hard she'd almost passed out. Then, apparently, she'd fallen asleep on top of him.
Now they were kissing again. He was setting her whole body on fire, and she arched against him. This was...this was wrong. She needed to stop. But he put his hand between her legs and touched her clit, exactly the way she liked, and she gasped into his mouth.
"What...what are we doing?" she managed to ask.
He opened his eyes. Blue. Brilliant, bright blue. "I need you," he whispered. He touched her again, and she arched into him. "You need me, too."
He stroked his thumb over her again, slid two fingers inside her. "Do you want me to stop?"
She arched into him as he waited for her answer, his fingers moving inside her, his thumb pressed to her clit.
She should tell him to stop, to let her go. But she needed to say yes. Her blood pounded with desire. She ached to feel his cock inside her. "I don't want you to stop," she whispered.
She'd never done anything like this before. She didn't jump into bed with strange men. She didn't have one-night-stands. But she wanted this stranger. Felt as if she would die if she didn't have him.
"You sure?" he murmured.
"Yeah," she said, moving against his hand.
He kissed her again, his mouth feverish against hers. As if he needed to prove that they were both alive. Then he slid down and his mouth covered her nipple. He suckled gently, and someone whimpered.
It sounded like her. She barely recognized her voice.
She reached between their bodies and wrapped her fingers around his cock. He was hard and thick and hot.
He stilled when she touched his tip, trembled when she traced his length. "You need to stop," he said as he nipped at her neck. "Or this is going to be over way too soon."
His thumb circled her clit, and her breath stuttered as she bit his shoulder. "Same goes," she managed to say.
He lifted his head and smiled at her. "You like this?" His thumb moved again and she tightened her grip on him, her body clenching with her approaching climax. "Too much. It's too much."
He slid his fingers inside her and found that spot that made her eyes roll back in her head. He circled her clit again, then once more, and she came with a scream.
He held her through it, and as she came back to herself, he slid his cock inside her. She felt another climax building, and she wrapped her legs around his ass and surged against him.
She clenched around him and heard him groan. He held her tightly, as if he needed to anchor himself to her.
Her second climax went on and on and on as she rocked into him. Finally he came, stilling as he poured into her.
They clutched each other tightly as shudders racked both of them.
Lizzy was completely drained. Boneless, sprawled on top of him. His heart thumped beneath her ear, gradually slowing. Finally she opened her eyes and raised her head.
He stared down at her, his gaze unreadable, and she tried to slide off him. But his arms tightened around her. "Don't," he murmured. "Let me hold you."
She swallowed, her gaze sliding away from his. What was she supposed to say to him? They'd just had sex. Twice. She wanted to do it again.
And she didn't even know his name.
Chapter 6
What had she done?
She scrambled away from him so fast that she smashed her elbow into the floor. Grabbing for the blanket lying too close to the fire, she wrapped it around herself, clutching the ends in one hand. Then she gathered her courage and looked down at him.
He was watching her. And his eyes were blue. Like that was relevant. "Who are you? And what just happened?"
"Cormac Donovan." He offered his hand, but she didn't take it. There had been way too much touching already.
He shifted, studied her face and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "What's your name?"
"Liz...Beth. Gorham." God! She was so flustered that she almost slipped. Get your shit together, Lizzy.
"Lizbeth?"
"Yes. No! Just Beth."
He studied her face. "I like Lizbeth better."
"Pretty name. Not mine."
"Got it." He studied her for a long moment and she felt like a bug on a board, pinned into place. "Where are we? And how did I end up here, naked? With, ah, you."
"You mean how did we end up having sex?" Saying the words made it real. She'd slept with a stranger. How could she have been so stupid?
Not only stupid. Dangerous, too. Thank God she was on the pill. But pregnancy wasn't the only thing to worry about after sex.
She slid away from him and grabbed for the blanket lying too close to the fire. She dropped it over him, hiding his body. She couldn't think when all she wanted to do was curl into him and play with his cock. Guide his hand between her legs.
"You were hypothermic, and so was I. We both needed to get warm. Which is why we were naked." The sex was harder to explain. She couldn't say she didn't want it. The first time was still hazy. But the second time he'd asked her. Twice.
"And why were we hypothermic?"
She frowned. "You don't remember what happened?"
"I woke up naked, with you wrapped around me like a vine. You were naked, too, so I made the most logical assumption. That we'd had sex."
"But you couldn't remember." She scowled and clutched the blanket more tightly when he nodded. "And it was so unmemorable that you wanted to do it again."
His gaze was direct. Intimidating. "Second time was definitely memorable. And the third time was...amazing. Off the charts." She reddened, but he just continued to study her, his eyes half-lidded, his pupils huge. Finally he asked, "That explains the sex. But where are we and how did I get here?"
"You don't remember?"
"No." His voice was tight. "I remember a boat. Rain, wind, waves. Being scared shitless. That's it, until I woke up next to you."
She took a deep breath and his gaze dropped to her chest. Desire stirred, and she swallowed. She was wide awake. So what was her excuse?
"I found you washed up on the rocks outside my front door. Franny did, actually. No sign of a boat. You were hypothermic and barely alive. You had a gash on your head."
"Who's Franny?" He looked around.
"My dog." She snapped her fingers, and the Australian Shepherd came trotting over, wagging her stumpy tail. "She saved your life."
He stared at the dog as if he'd never seen one before, then put a tentative hand on her head. "Thank you, ah, Franny."
"Not a dog person, are you?" She slung her arm around Franny's neck, hugged her, then let her go.
"Never had one." He watched Franny trot back to the front window and lie down. "Why is she looking out the window?"
"Probably waiting for another fool to wash up on the rocks." Embarrassment made her tone too sharp.
His lips tightened. "There wasn't a boat when you found me?"
"Not that I saw, but it was raining like someone was trying to put out the fires of hell. I was focused on getting you inside."
He looked around the house. "Who helped you?"
She bristled. "I didn't need help. Which is a good thing, since there isn't anyone to help. If I hadn't been able to get you in here by myself, you'd be dead now. There's no one else
on this island."
His eyes narrowed as he studied her, and she scowled again. "Don't get any ideas. I sent an email to a friend, telling her about you." She hadn't, but she'd let Diane know about her unwelcome guest as soon as she could. "So don't think you can murder me and bury the body and get away with it."
"Really?" A tiny smile curved his mouth and made his eyes twinkle. "That's the first place your mind goes? That I fell out of a boat deliberately to get washed up on your island so I could murder you?"
Lizzy reddened. "Just saying."
"You like to make up stories." His smile disappeared.
"I'm alone on an island. I have to think like that." Why were his eyes so cool? So...assessing? "What were you doing out in that storm, anyway? I thought the rental places on Orcas knew better than to let a jackass take a boat out in a storm."
"It wasn't storming when I rented the boat," he said tightly.
"But you knew it was going to."
He stood up, and she let her gaze sweep over him. She wasn't going to back down. This was her house. If he wanted to stand naked in front of her, she wasn't going to act all maidenly.
Especially since she'd already done very unmaidenly things with him.
He paused. "I was looking for whales. Someone at home told me they surfaced more before a storm."
"Where's home?"
"Seattle."
She snorted. "Anyone in Seattle knows better than that. And anyone with a brain would know better than to take a boat out in this weather."
"Fine. We've established that I'm an idiot. Let's move on."
"Fine. What would you like to discuss?"
"Clothes. Do you have any that would fit me?" His gaze touched on the pile of wet clothes near the survival suit. "Can't wear those."
"I'll see if there's anything around." She walked past him, tossing him the blanket as she reached the door to her bedroom. "In the meantime, you need to stay warm."
She felt his gaze on her ass, but she refused to scurry into her room like she was ashamed of her body. When she got inside, she closed the door and began to pace the room, snatching underwear, socks, jeans and a sweater as she moved.
What was she going to do? She was stuck on this island with a stranger. A guy she'd just had sex with. Twice. And she'd almost blurted out her real name. Lizbeth. Huh. He'd better not start calling her that.
She'd have to make the best of it, because she couldn't get rid of him for awhile. Not until the storm blew over and the waves calmed down. If she was smart, she'd keep her distance from Cormac Donovan until she could get rid of him. Yeah, the sex had been amazing. So amazing that she'd lost her mind.
She remembered his hands on her body, his mouth on hers, and she wanted him again. Oh, God. This was bad.
It was bad enough that a stranger knew she was here. Now she wanted to jump his bones.
There could be no pillow talk. No exchanging confidences. No...
She was planning on having sex with him again.
She was out of her mind.
Based on the heat in his eyes as he'd studied her, he was, too.
Once she'd dressed and pulled her hair back into a pony tail, she opened the closet and scanned the contents. The island was a camp in the summer, and she knew Diane kept a stash of clothes that counselors left behind. She should be able to find him a pair of sweats and a sweatshirt.
Ten minutes later, armed with a Skipjack Island Language Camp hoodie and tee shirt, faded red, worn sweats and a pair of thick wool socks, she took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and opened the door.
Donovan was nowhere to be seen. When she heard the rumble of water filling the washing machine in the small room off the kitchen, she headed that way.
He stood in front of the machine, the blanket tied around his waist, leaving his back bare. His shoulders were wide, but he was lean rather than bulky, all sinewy strength and ropy muscles. His skin was golden, with a sprinkle of freckles. The freckles made him seem less intimidating. More human.
He turned to pick up his clothes and saw her watching him. Straightening slowly, he nodded at the clothing she was gripping too tightly. "Find something?"
He had a sprinkling of hair on his chest and washboard abs, a clearly defined six-pack. Either he had a really physical job, or he worked out regularly.
"Beth? Are those for me?"
She lifted her gaze from his chest and shoved the pile of clothes at him. "There's more if you need them."
He raised an eyebrow. "You have a lot of men who leave their clothes behind?"
"Hundreds of them. I should put in a revolving door." When his gaze narrowed, she rolled her eyes. "You're an ass. This island is a camp in the summer. The counselors leave stuff."
"Thank you," he said. He let the blanket drop and pulled on the sweats and the socks, then examined the tee before slipping it over his head. "'Skipjack Island Language Camp.' An intensive language program?"
"Pretty much."
"What language?"
"Always French and Spanish. Others, depending on what languages the counselors speak."
"So you're in charge of the place?"
She swallowed. "Yeah. I'm going to fix some tea. We both need liquids, and we need to stay warm."
His bedroom eyes appeared again. His hair was rumpled, and her hands began to reach for him.
"There's a better way to keep warm," he said, his voice a slide of silk against her skin.
"Wow." She snatched her hands back and shoved them into her pockets. "You almost died, and yet you can still think about sex."
"One of the reasons sex is on my brain. Almost dying makes you want to prove you're still alive." He smiled slowly and something fluttered deep in her abdomen. "Doesn't hurt that the last two times made the earth move."
"Isn't that supposed to be my line?"
His smile widened, and he skimmed a finger down her cheek. "Glad it was good for you, too."
One finger. He had one finger on her skin, and she was ready to go. "I'll go make the tea," she said, almost stumbling as she spun around.
"I'd prefer coffee."
"Sorry." She filled the kettle and it clattered against the burner as she set it on the stove. "Coffee is in the mess hall. Other side of the island."
"I don't like tea."
"Don't be a baby." She ignored the images of 'his way' that played in her brain. "You need to drink something warm. Tea is good for you." She reached out to pat his arm, snatched her hand back just in time. "I'll put honey in it. Honey's good for you, too."
"Thanks, Mom."
She narrowed her eyes. "You're welcome, Cormac."
"Mac."
"Huh?"
"I go by Mac."
"Fine."
Mac suited him, she thought in the kitchen as she waited for the water to boil. It was a no-nonsense name. Hard. Tough. To the point.
As she headed toward the kitchen, he said sharply, "Hold on."
"Stop arguing about the tea. Trust me, you'll survive."
"Not the tea. The place where I rented the boat. They'll worry when I don't come back."
"Yeah, they will." She'd learned that the people on the islands looked out for one another – Jerry had made a trip out to Skipjack this morning because he'd worried she wouldn't have enough food if the storm lasted a long time.
"I need to call them." He patted his side, as if looking for a phone he normally kept in a jacket pocket. "Damn it," he muttered when his fingers slid against the cotton hoodie.
She was already pulling the well-worn phonebook out of the drawer. "Do you remember who rented you the boat?"
He stared at the rain beating against the kitchen window, his gaze unfocused, then shook his head. "Everything's fuzzy. But I remember the place was near the ferry dock on Orcas."
She handed him the phonebook, her finger pointing to boat rentals. "There are three in Orcas Village. Any name look familiar?"
He studied the three entries, frowning in concentration. Finally he shook his h
ead. "None of them ring a bell. Where's your cell?"
"Cell phones don't work here. There's a land line."
"Give it to me. I need to call all these places and let them know I'm okay."
"No one's going to be in the office."
"Doesn't matter. I'll leave a message. I don't want anyone to risk their life for me."
"Okay," she said slowly. Maybe she was foolish to be suspicious about phone calls. He was right – he needed to make sure no one came looking for him. And as he'd pointed out, he hadn't intended to capsize and get washed up on Skipjack.
Still. Not being careful, not being suspicious, could get her killed.
She pointed to the phone on the wall and leaned against the counter. As he called the first boat rental business, she studied his face. Watched the way he gripped the phone until his knuckles were white.
Was he just worried? Concerned for the people who might go out searching for him? Or was there another reason for his nerves?
His lips thinned as he listened to a message, then he said, "This is Cormac Donovan. I might have rented a boat from you earlier today. I need to let you know that I'm okay. I'm on..." he looked down at the logo on the hoodie..."Skipjack Island with Beth. Don't, I repeat, don't, send anyone out looking for me."
He repeated the message twice more, his voice more emphatic each time. He was really worried that someone would get hurt, trying to find him.
That was...admirable.
He hung up the phone, didn't take his hand off the receiver. "Not sure that last answering machine was working – I heard some odd noises." He glanced at her. "Think I should leave another message?"
"Why not? Worst that can happen is two messages."
"Right." He pulled the phone book toward him, dialed again. Left the same message, hesitated for a beat too long before hanging up. "Think that last one was okay." He gestured at the phone book. "Sure there aren't anymore?"
"Not at the ferry dock." Why was something niggling at her brain? He was being conscientious. Thoughtful.
"Okay. Good." He closed the tattered phonebook and took a deep breath. "Damn it. I should have thought of this earlier."
"You were unconscious earlier."
"Should have thought of it as soon as I woke up. But I was...." He stared at her for a long moment, swallowed. Looked away. "It took me awhile to, ah, wake up, I guess. But it shouldn't have taken me this long."
Find Me (The Donovan Family Book 3) Page 6
