by Tracy Sumner
His breathing starting to escalate, he tugged her sleeve past her wrist, set his lips to her shoulder, his hand rising to cup her breast, heavy and warm in his palm as his thumb searched. She wore a corset, strangely enough. Stiff and unyielding, he pondered how to go about getting it off.
"Let me help you," she whispered, and turned her head, her mouth finding his, her tongue stroking, begging for entry. She tasted of apple, sweet and ripe. Knocking his hand away, she worked the ties on her corset, jerky movements that sent her elbow into his ribs.
He harbored no denial, only concerned with the quickest way to get inside her. There would be time for finesse and kind words later, time to remove every piece of clothing and pay homage to her body. Now, he needed her surrounding him, tight and moist and hot. Needed her badly. Her moans and sighs, delicious sounds of entreaty, convinced him rapidity would work for her as well.
He tore his mouth away and rolled her beneath him. Her thighs spread, and his hips slid into place, a consummate fit. "I'm sorry," he said, his lips pressed against the side of a freed breast and moving higher. "I want you too much to wait."
She laughed, which set her nipple quivering beneath his lips. "Wait? Merciful heaven, Professor, I don't want to wait. Hurry up and get your clothes off."
"Oh, sweet. A little clothing never hurt anyone." In impatient fistfuls, he drew her skirt to her waist, dismayed to find more than one layer. Her drawers were simpler, the matter of a knotted tassel or two. Promising to buy her new ones, he snapped the ties he could not easily undo.
Cooperative and eager, she went right to the heart of the problem, loosening the buttons on his trouser fly. Their lips met, their fingers trembling and slipping over buttonholes and ribbons. She removed fabric, grasping him, hand curled. Her teeth sank into his shoulder as she roamed the length of him... and back. Delirious with desire, he closed his eyes, his weight held on his elbows as he traced the curves of her body. Had he taught her to touch him in this fashion: a firm, assertive glide from tip to juncture? He must have, but he could not recall.
Right now, he could scarcely recall his own name.
Hand pressed to the small of her back, he angled her hips. Lowering his lips to her ear, he instructed her to wrap her legs around him and hold on.
With a sweep of her thumb over the rounded tip of his arousal, a daring stroke that came close to ruining his fine purpose, she let him go. His hand drifted between her thighs, found her moist, swollen, and warm. He dipped deep, plunged, preparing her. He wanted, no, he needed to see her need match his. She tipped her head, throat muscles jumping as she swallowed. He glanced at the door, closed, but who knew how much sound would travel through it?
In a sudden movement, she raised her hips, bumping against the heel of his hand. The moan started deep, threw her eyes wide, rendering them dark, dark green. Acting quickly, he captured her groan of pleasure with his lips and entered her in one smooth stroke.
She gasped and together they found a fast, sure rhythm. Her legs tensed, then tensed again, her nails digging into his back.
"I love you," he said, his mind shutting down. Pulling her close, he thrust once more, hip to hip, thigh to thigh, and uttered a hoarse cry, flooding her with everything in his heart and his body. Every muscle strained and snapped like a taut band, leaving him limp. He kissed her, weak and clumsy, not certain if she responded. Still clasping her to his chest, he rolled to his back, moisture slicking their skin, their harsh breaths filling the room.
Elle slumped across him, her arm a dead weight beneath. He stretched, found his trousers circling his knees, snarled and damp. His shirt hung off one shoulder. Rose petals matted his cheek. And, oh yes, he thought and shifted with a groan. Elle had clawed his back to ribbons.
"Juste Ciel. I'm dying," she said, her voice cracking. She plucked at her skirt. "Good heavens, I still have my clothes on."
He smiled, pressing a kiss to her brow. "Actually, I ripped your drawers off. Ruined them, I'm afraid. I'll buy you a new pair, I promise."
"Drawers? Who cares about drawers? I can't even feel my arm."
Noah laughed and lifted enough for her to pull her limb free. Not wanting to let her go, he gripped her waist, and brought her atop him. A dazed look ruled her face. Her lids slipped low as her head flopped forward. "Sleepy," she mumbled.
He tightened his hold, cherishing the secure weight of her. "It's all right. I'll be here."
"Love you," he thought he heard her whisper between a sigh and a yawn.
He checked the urge to kiss her. A stray tear he could not check streaked down his cheek. "I love you, too." Mere words did not even begin to describe what he felt. "Too much."
She hummed in response, a drowsy, sated vibration.
Footsteps echoed in the hallway; Elle tensed against him, lifted slightly. "Hush, sweet. I locked the door." He brushed his lips over her head, curls catching in his whiskers. "Besides, we're getting married. With this going on, I figure the sooner, the better."
She brought her hand to his chest, trailed her fingers through the hair she appeared to like so much. "When?"
He sank into the mattress, exhaled in relief. "How about this Saturday?"
"Saturday?"
"Preacher Ellis has been notified, the church in Pilot Isle reserved. Caroline's arriving on Friday afternoon. Christa's baking some kind of cake and throwing us a party or something. I bought our train tickets last week and—"
Elle reared, snatching a pillow from the bed and cuffing him in the face. "You planned all this, never even bothering to ask me first?"
He jerked his trousers to his waist and buttoned his fly. "Yes. I did. I told you I wasn't waiting any longer. Chrissakes, after this"—he gestured to the tangled sheets and scattered rose petals—"how can you argue? It's the only sensible option." Uh-oh. He realized after he said it that this would never be a good argument to present to Elle Beaumont.
"Why, you... oh!" She rolled to the floor and started pacing by the bed, hands fisted on her hips.
Noah rested against the rosewood headboard, beginning to enjoy this. The sight of her stomping around the room, bottom swinging beneath wrinkled satin, bosom bouncing beneath nothing at all, caused a miraculous erection to spring forth.
She glanced at him, glared actually, her gaze sliding down his body. She came to a sudden, shuddering halt. "Oh, no, Professor. Not again. Not as long as you're making all the decisions and not even asking me what I'd like to do. Stubborn, arrogant...."
He laughed and leaned over the side of the bed. Straining, he slipped his thumb inside the ribbon surrounding the box he'd hidden.
She raised her head from drawing her sleeves to her shoulders, her blouse still gaping, breasts rising on each furious breath. Her eyes widened when she saw what he had in his hands, her lashes fluttering. A flush of excitement crossed her cheeks as her fingers danced down her stomach to her waist. A rush of pleasure warmed him.
So, she'd liked his gifts.
Grinning like a lovesick fool, he nudged the tiny package toward the edge of the mattress. "This is the last one." He winked and crossed his ankles. "This week, anyway."
She took an eager step forward, a shy half step back. "You shouldn't have bought me all those gifts."
"I can return them, if you don't want them."
"No." Her cheeks reddened; her head lowered. "I mean, of course, I like them. I love them." She touched the flowing green ribbon circling the box. "It's just... I never... thank you."
"You're welcome." He shoved it beneath her hovering hand. "Go on, open it. Before I decide to pull you back into bed."
She looked at him then, dead in the eye. Her hunger caught him by surprise, and he reached for her.
Grabbing her gift, she skipped to the side. "Oh, no, you don't, Noah Garrett. Patience, you must have patience. Remember how you always used to preach the sacred value of patience?"
He flopped against the headboard, banging his shoulder on the rounded edge. "In the future, don't listen to me."
He knocked his head against the bedpost. "You're killing me."
She glanced down. A mischievous glint appeared as her gaze lifted. "Good," she said, and loosened the elegant bow. Sliding the ribbon free, she set it by her side with care. "This one is prettier than the others."
"Yes." He swallowed and struggled to breathe normally. "The store wrapped it."
She pushed the brown paper aside and stared at the silver jewelry box in silence. Wildflowers and roses embellished the casing. A touch of feminine nonsense, but he had guessed she would take pleasure from it. She outlined the ornate design, and he felt a moment's unease, a pang of uncertainty. Dammit, he wanted nothing more than to make her happy, to give her anything she desired.
She opened the box, a whisper of air slipping past her lips. "Oh, Noah."
He rocked forward, squinting to bring her expression into clear view. "Well?"
"Juste Ciel." She lifted the ring from its perch. The round emerald caught a ray of candlelight and threw a blazing spark to the coverlet. "Oh, my," she breathed, and slipped it on her finger, tilting her hand back and forth in the meager light.
"I looked and looked, searching for the perfect ring, one that felt right. But they were too fancy or too plain. Too big or too small. Too ugly." He shrugged, his cheeks heating. "Until I found this one. The stone is the exact color your eyes turned the first time we made love. After the night on Devil, it was burned into my mind. And... I knew, I thought, I mean, you would like it."
She launched herself at him with a cry of delight. "I love it. Oh, Noah. I love you." She hooked her arms around his neck, feathering kisses along his jaw. "I always have, as you and everyone else in Pilot Isle knew."
"Thank God." He tightened his hold.
She laughed, sending a rush of warm air across his face. "Did you ever doubt it?"
"Once or twice."
Her delight faded. "Do you have to go to Chicago soon? How will we... what will we—"
"Chicago? Good God, woman, what kind of marriage do you think this is going to be? I'm staying right here, in South Carolina. We'll decide where to move after you graduate. You're not getting away from me for one day. I rented a house large enough for a family of ten, just around the corner on Senate Street. Marty is thrilled beyond words to have me teach the next four terms. Coupled with a research project on population dynamics of planktonic systems and making love to you as much as I can handle, I'm going to be incredibly busy."
"Marty? A house? Planktonic systems?" Her voice lowered. "Making love?"
"Never mind that, sweet." He flipped her to her back and settled in to kiss her soundly. "Right now, I think we have more important issues to worry about. Issues on, what shall we say... the rise."
She nodded. "History thesis due in two days. Biology exam next Thursday."
Determined to win this round, he slanted his lips over hers, nibbling and licking until she moaned low in her throat. "I'm not sure I can help with the history thesis, but I am a fair science tutor."
"Are you certain, Professor?"
"Positive, ma chere fille."
And, as any good biologist would do, Noah set out to provide concrete proof.
* * *
The End
Author's Note
Readers familiar with the Outer Banks may recognize Pilot Isle as Beaufort, North Carolina. Indeed, I loosely based my setting there, thanks in large part to information provided by the kind ladies at the Beaufort Historical Society.
I incorporated artistic license in these areas, mostly calendar changes, which I hope the reader will forgive. In 1902, the second Federal fisheries laboratory in the United States was completed in Beaufort—still there to this day. Woods Hole, the first, was established in 1871, actually placing its construction before Noah's birth. But I know he would have wanted to take part, so he did. The scholarship Elle received I based on the ones given by the American Association of University Women, founded in 1882. They bestowed their first loan, much as I described it, in 1901, three years after Elle received it.
The lifesaving program is a marvelous part of the Outer Banks history and well worth further research. Also, the University of South Carolina, in 1898 called South Carolina College, did admit female students. As an alumna, I wanted Elle to be one, too!
Meet Tracy Sumner
* * *
Tracy's story telling career began when she picked up a copy of LaVyrle Spencer's Vows on a college beach trip. A journalism degree and a thousand romance novels later, she decided to try her hand at writing a southern version of the perfect love story. With a great deal of luck and more than a bit of perseverance, she sold her first novel to Kensington Publishing.
When not writing sensual stories featuring complex characters and lush settings, Tracy can be found reading romance, snowboarding, watching college football and figuring out how she can get to 100 countries before she kicks. She lives in the south, but after spending a few years in NYC, considers herself a New Yorker at heart.
Tracy has been awarded the National Reader's Choice, the Write Touch and the Beacon—with finalist nominations in the HOLT Medallion, Heart of Romance, Rising Stars and Reader's Choice. Her books have been translated into German, Dutch, Portuguese and Spanish. She loves hearing from readers about why she tends to pit her hero and heroine against each other from the very first page or that great romance she simply must order in five seconds on her Kindle.
Also by Tracy Sumner
Tides of Passion
To Seduce a Rogue
To Desire a Scoundrel: A Christmas Seduction
Praise for…
TIDES OF PASSION
Reader's Choice for Best Long Historical
Beacon for Best Historical
"A fresh voice in romantic fiction!"
~Affaire de Coeur
"Terrific dialogue... and hot loves scenes. If you haven't read Tracy Sumner before, Tides of Passion is a good place to start."
~All About Romance
"Delicious and amusing... witty dialogue, sparkling humor
and a snappy narrative. A must read!"
~thebestreviews.com
"This novel realizes with a great and witty gusto that independence isn't so much about being on your own
as it is about choosing to be together."
~Romantic Times
TIDES OF LOVE
"I picked up Tides of Love... just to give the book a quick peak. That quick peak turned into four hours of reading that didn't stop until I finished the book!"
~The Romance Reader
"Descriptive flair... give this one a try!"
~All About Romance
"A powerful relationship novel that explores
the heartache and triumph of love."
~Romantic Times
"A beautifully written romance! Sizzling love scenes."
~Reviewer Carol Carter
TO DESIRE A SCOUNDREL
A CHRISTMAS SEDUCTION
"A sexy tale filled with great verbal repartee."
~Romantic Times
"This story packs a lot of heat."
~Reviewer Jill Nicholson
"Sassy dialogue! A charming story."
~Readertoreader.com
"A bad boy... and a lively, independent woman.
An excellent sequel!"
~All Romance Bookstore Reviews
TO SEDUCE A ROGUE
Reader's Choice Finalist for Best Historical
Rising Stars Finalist for Best First Book
"The battle of the sexes heats up the pages of this fun and fresh romance by talented new writer Tracy Sumner."
~New York Times bestselling author Susan Wiggs
"Well-written, funny and very engaging."
~USA Today bestselling author Pamela Morsi
"Tracy Sumner has created endearing people and a
~Romantic Times
"As I began reading this book, I fell in love."
~Affaire de Coeur
