by Avery Aster
But then her eyes lifted, stayed on his, and she immediately knew.
Dear god, it was him.
The quivering began in her feet.
In an automatic gesture, Emma couldn’t have stopped herself if the barrel of a gun had been pressed to her skull, her hand very slowly reached out to touch the glistening bare chest of a warrior. His scent spun around her, making her dizzy. And there it was... chemistry. A chemistry that was so familiar swept over her skin, spearing through her body, sharp and terrifying. Her body was drawn to his and his to hers in a way that was so familiar, so right.
How could she have forgotten?
The oversensitive tips of her fingers seemed to burn as flesh touched flesh, as something like shock shot through her system.
She breathed his name,
“Oscar?”
When he reached out, took her small hand in his, the word spun.
Eyes glued to his, she couldn’t speak.
She couldn’t think.
How many times had she dreamed of a moment like this?
Too many.
How was it possible he was here, in Eden?
* * *
How was it possible she was here, in Eden?
Then Oscar remembered that the island was supposed to be place where dreams came true.
Hadn't Theodisius told him Eden was a mysterious place where miracles happened?
Maybe, Oscar decided on the spot, he shouldn't question it.
Maybe he should just go with the flow.
Oscar was afraid to blink in case Emma was a figment of his imagination.
He didn’t feel the breeze, didn’t hear the beat of the ocean, or the gull cry again, over the thunder of his heart. Every part of his being was focused on the woman who stood in front of him.
Her hand felt real, warm, soft and smooth.
It was trembling in his.
"Is it you? Is it really you?" he whispered.
A dimple flashed at the side of her soft mouth.
"It is me. It's really me."
Her chest was rising and falling too fast. And his eyes were glued to the rabbiting pulse in her neck. He took her small hand to his mouth. Her whole body trembled in a convulsive shudder. Oscar knew the feeling. How could he have forgotten how beautiful she was? She’d changed. The slick, jaw-length, espresso-brown hair had grown. Now it was slicked back in a high ponytail. It suited her, letting her fidgety black eyebrows take centre stage. Beneath them were those eyes, luminous green pools. Pools that stared up at him, in shocked disbelief, into his. Then the shock slid away as those eyes grew hungry, as they filled with desire, as they stared unblinkingly on his mouth.
She wanted him.
Oscar didn’t stop to think.
He stepped into her.
Action, after all, spoke a hell of a lot louder than words.
Strong hands, gentle fingers, cupped her face to tip her head back.
How could he have forgotten those incredible eyes? So clear, so emerald a green they were almost translucent.
“You’re trembling,” he said with something like amazement.
She took a shaky breath.
“Nerves,” she said softly.
“You’ve never been nervous with me before.”
All he could think was what an incredible conversation to be having with a woman he hadn’t seen in three long years.
Logic fluttered like butterfly wings at the edge of this dreamlike state.
Oscar ignored the questions; the whys, the wheres, the hows.
He’d get to them later.
Much later.
Then those green eyes went dark with a mix of regret, hurt and a profound sorrow that almost broke his heart.
His head dipped.
And now his mouth hovered over hers.
“Things change,” she whispered into his mouth.
“Just let me do this,” he whispered back.
His mouth took hers, hard and fast, and with a ferocity that stunned her even as it laid waste to her senses.
Emma hadn’t been prepared for violence. Not from him, never from him. Oscar had always been gentle. A lover with slow hands, a soothing touch. Plus, she’d never, ever felt this edgy passion rise within herself before. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t take a breath. Her fingertips dug into his strong shoulders to cling on for dear life.
His lips, his thrusting tongue, his teeth, were feeding from her.
He was taking too much, too soon.
Something like panic fluttered in her chest as her stupid heart filled too fast with what felt uncomfortably like... love.
These days Emma didn't believe in love.
Richard hadn't been the only man to destroy her belief in love.
No, Oscar had played a key part in the destruction of her belief, too.
Together, both men had broken apart her belief in herself. Her belief in her ability to interpret and understand people, her ability to know who and when to trust. Love had more than blinded her, more than shattered her judgement. Love had destroyed her. And Emma was never going to let that happen again, no matter how her treacherous body betrayed her.
She tried to cry out, but all she heard was a throaty moan.
Fear crawled relentlessly into her belly, tearing away the passion and leaving only helplessness.
She went stiff in his arms and Oscar peeled his mouth from hers.
Now she realised he, too, was shaking like a leaf.
Hands still holding her face, he eased back to stare, with an intensity that made her heart shudder, into her eyes.
"Don't push me away, Emma." It was a low murmured entreaty that shot fire up her spine. "Don't push me away."
His head lowered slow and easy, until his lips sampled hers, hardly touching. Then a strong hand slid to the back of her neck, firm, keeping her still. His lips were coaxing, corrupting. He placed gentle kisses on the soft, moist skin of her cheeks, the delicate closed lids, the vulnerable skin of her temple. And now Emma could feel her body drifting closer to him, into him as she had in the past, losing herself in him.
Her lips came apart so that when his mouth returned to hers he accepted the invitation to take. The kiss heated up, so slowly, as if he relished the taste of her. Her hands slid up over his bare chest and her pelvis tipped against the hardness of his. He muttered something, then pressed his mouth against the rapid pulse at the delicate skin in the curve of her neck. And he inhaled.
Ignoring the alarm bells now pealing loudly in her mind, Emma groaned when his hand cupped her small breast, a sound of both lust and a reluctant resistance. When his thumb rubbed her nipple all resistance simply drained away. His mouth came back to hers, ravaging now as if he couldn't help but respond to the heat he felt burning from her. Her body pressed against his, melting into him. It had been too long, Emma thought, too long since she had felt him holding her like this. Touching her like this. Her body again so tuned to this man that her whole system hummed.
"Emma, sweetheart." His mouth pressed a kiss against her throat, her cheek, her forehead. "Please..." His kiss was hard now, impatient, his hands no longer taking care. "Too long," he muttered, plucking the thought right out of her head. "It's been too long since I touched you. Please let me have you."
An excruciating desire drowned her senses. Now his tongue tracked over her overheated flesh until he returned to a mouth swollen from his kisses. Then he took control. The passion was rising much too fast, constricting the breath in her lungs, in her throat, smothering her. Now there was a wild struggle between panic and want.
And that panic made her try to twist away.
Again his hands cupped her face and tipped her head back.
Emma recognised the silent question burning in his dark eyes.
‘Do you want me?’
Did she?
Hadn't Oscar walked away from her, from the magic they'd made together?
And by walking away, he'd set off a series of events that had ultimately destroyed her.
> Logic told her to run, while her heart soared with something like joy that Oscar, her Oscar was holding her so tenderly and looking at her as if she was his sun and his moon. Adrenaline flooded her system as it couldn't decide whether to flee or surrender.
Her bottom lip trembled.
His face, that extraordinary face, was earth-shattering. Physically, his solid frame was filled with an undeniable power that had always, she realised, been an integral part of him. Why had she never seen it before? All he wore were loose board pants. Her gaze couldn’t help but go on a voyage of fresh discovery over strong shoulders, developed pecs, right down to the bumps and ridges of a taut belly. Down over the heavy bulge set between strong muscled thighs.
God, he looked amazing.
Temptation whispered in her ear.
He smelled amazing, too, of sunshine, sea-salt and man.
She licked her lips.
And he tasted... again her gaze lingered on his sinful mouth... wonderful.
Then her eyes lifted to his, saw the hunger, the need, saw the desire, and she realised he was looking at her as she belonged to him.
As if he’d never, ever let her go.
“Christ, I’ve missed you, Emma. How you taste. How you smell. How you sound when I kiss you.” He shut his eyes and shuddered.
Then he opened those eyes to stare for a breathless moment right into hers.
He blinked, shaking his head as if to clear his mind.
She saw it, the sudden shame and guilt in his eyes, along with anxieties that made her brow crease.
His emotional withdrawal from her hurt Emma so bad it was like having a limb severed.
He released her, took a careful step back, and the hazy bubble that had contained them both in their own little world burst.
“That’s the first time I’ve ever kissed a married woman.” His voice was deep, gravelly. He cleared his throat. "I'm sorry I grabbed you like that."
He was sorry he'd kissed her?
Emma blinked.
Her legs were like jelly.
Her brain simply would not compute.
Fingertips pressed hard into her skull, trying desperately to get her spinning thoughts, her emotions, straight.
Her eyes never left his.
"I’m not married. I'm divorced.” She held up her left hand, wiggled her empty ring finger. “See?"
Unable to look away from the expressions that entered those darkly liquid eyes, she recognised possession, desire, and most of all... hope.
He moved fast, lifted her in his strong arms and for Emma the world simply fell away.
For once she was free.
Free from the adult affliction of common sense.
Free to stop thinking.
Free to just feel.
She didn’t care where he was taking her and she certainly didn’t care what he was going to do to her when they got there.
Chapter Five
In his arms Oscar held close the woman he’d dreamed of every night for three long years.
She was divorced?
A tortuous tangle of twisty emotions roared through him but the one that shook his world was need. Need spread through him, a wildfire that could not be contained as it destroyed every logical thought in its path. A strident voice in his head was asking him what the hell he thought he was doing? While another told him not to waste a single moment of the magical opportunity to love her. Oscar listened to the second voice because God knew Emma wasn’t putting up a fight. On the contrary, slim arms wound around his neck. Her mouth was pressed against his shoulder, her tongue tasting skin salty from the ocean. And he could do nothing about his body’s heated response. His erection was as hard as a baseball bat between his legs making walking incredibly uncomfortable. The muscles in his thighs, his belly, his loins tightened brutally. The sting at the base of his spine made him wince.
As he carried her up the three wooden steps to his cottage, he stalked through the spacious open plan living space. And Oscar told himself to take it easy, to slow down. But when he tossed her onto his big unmade bed, her little yip of shock had him peeling tiny shorts down those slim legs, tossing them over his shoulder before he hauled her up, tugged her tank over her head.
She was flushed, naked, her breath panting through swollen lips as he stood over her, his chest heaving in and out with each suck of breath.
Her green eyes went black with arousal.
“I really missed your face,” she said.
“I really missed your body.”
“How come I’m naked and you’re not?” Her voice was like cream poured over molasses. And that voice, the tiny tremble of nerves in it, along with the purr of invitation nearly killed him.
He stripped, watched the way her eyes grew wide as they slid down his body, stilled on his erection.
She licked her lips and his shaft bounced once, twice.
“Maybe I should shower, I’ve been in the ocean,” he suggested.
Her eyes slid back up to meet his.
“Maybe you should shut up and make love to me. I love the salty taste of your skin.”
He knelt on the bed, crawled up to grab her ankles and spread her legs. Christ, she was so beautiful, so pink, so wet, for him. Right on cue a hot wave of embarrassment flushed her chest, her cheeks. Ah, some things never changed. Emma still wasn’t quite comfortable in her own skin. Bless her. He didn’t stop to ask himself why he was glad of it. Now wasn’t the time to ask hard questions of himself or of her. As he studied her face he recognised desire but he also recognised a wariness that hadn’t been there in the past, along with a fragility, a vulnerability, that hadn’t been there before either. But before he could wrap his head around the subtle changes in her, her hand reached out to stroke his erection, to lightly squeeze as her thumb smoothed the evidence of his arousal over the head of his shaft and every logical thought simply leaked out of his mind.
The low groan that escaped from his throat was heartfelt.
Now he moved over her to touch, to taste.
He adored the feel of her under his hands. The lean, long and supple core of firm muscle. It appeared Emma had been working out. Her body was flexible, agile and strong. It opened to his. As slim arms wrapped around his hips, she pulled him close until his shaft nudged the slick gate of heaven. She withheld nothing.
His hand reached out to skim down the soft skin of her calf, her thigh, over that narrow hip and up to capture a breast that fitted so perfectly in his hand. Watching her, he squeezed the delicate flesh gently. His thumb flicking back and forth over a tight nipple that beaded, changing colour to the deep raspberry of arousal. An arousal mirrored in those deep green eyes. The heavy rhythm in his blood, the ache in his loins, quickened to a savage and raw hunger to possess, to take. If he took her right now he wouldn’t last. But now her hand released him, slid up his back to grip the back of his head and she pulled his mouth down to hers.
Her sweet breath, agitated, feathered over his lips.
She pressed against him, slick heat to slick heat.
“Now, Oscar,” she breathed the words into his mouth. He heard the ache of need in her voice. “I want you now.”
This time her teeth nipped his bottom lip, pulled gently.
What was a man to do?
* * *
"Hurry," she urged, her voice a high-pitched croak of desperation.
Emma had never felt heat like it.
It blazed low in her belly, a need that almost consumed her.
He was so big, so powerful, so strong. And the epicentre of that strength was even now teasing the slippery and swollen flesh between her legs. He was hers to take, here and now. And the utter thrill of that ignited deep inside her while she took him into her. Her skin flushed too hot. Her neck and her back arched. Oh God, how could she have forgotten how he stretched her too far, how he filled her.
"Jesus, you're so tight. Am I hurting you?"
Emma didn't care if he hurt her.
She shook her head.
/> "No," she panted.
She didn't want to think. All she wanted was oblivion. She didn't want to feel. And then adrenaline whipped through her system and she welcomed the rush of pure lust. A lust that had her muscles release him and relax to take him deeper. All of him.
Under her hands, the strong muscles of his shoulders, his hips, flexed and released, flexed and released.
Emma gasped his name out loud.
Then she cried out as strong hands lifted her hips and he plunged again and again, utterly destroying her. Now hands that had been so gentle before proceeded to ruthlessly use her, to whip her up and over the edge so fast her breath hitched, before shuddering through her body in stormy waves, drowning her in an ocean of erotic pleasure again and again.
And something deep down inside her, something that had been chained in darkness for too long, snapped, releasing a tsunami of pent-up emotions.
She wept, hot tears pouring into her hairline, into the pillow, as his harsh growls drowned out the sound of the slap of their slick bodies coming together as he went deeper again and again. Now she was going under for the last time, trapped, in a whirlpool of pleasure, her body controlled utterly by this man. Emma was poised, precariously close to the edge. All thought obliterated now, her mind adrift in a stormy sea of sensation as his brutal rhythm drove her up, up, up, never quite tipping her over. The pleasure was now a pain. Why couldn't she fall?
"Oh God, I can't... I can't" she sobbed.
"You can."
Then he changed the angle of his thrusts, releasing one hand to seek her clitoris. Finding the swollen button, he pounded into her as his thumb pressed hard sending her wailing over the edge. The orgasm was devastating in its intensity, wave after wave tossing her up again and again as something deep within her soared.
At last she was finally free, like a bird. Free to love. Free to feel. Free to be.
* * *
And as Oscar raced to peak his eyes found hers, and he saw that glittering emerald go hazy as yet another orgasm gathered and her body gripped his like a vice squeezing him so hard and so tight his eyes rolled back in his head.
Christ, Jesus, she was killing him.
Only now did he let himself fall into her.
