Going Overboard

by Christina Skye

  Only he had walked away.

  “Deep-water dive. Current changed.”

  He withheld the gory details of the encounter. Honesty—within careful limits.

  “The sea again.”

  He said nothing. His hands went still against her, though the effort cost him. “You want me to stop? Say the word and it will end here.”

  She drew a hard breath. “I don't want it to stop.” His skin felt ready to ignite when she tugged his T-shirt from the waistband of his jeans. He caught her wrists, feeling her shudder as his hand skimmed her lace camisole, then slid beneath, closing around her breast. His lips followed, teasing and goading, stretching out the pleasure until she moaned restlessly.

  “Your shirt,” she rasped yanking at the black cotton and sending it flying, Her breath caught as she struggled vainly with the buckle at his zipper. Cursing softly, he finished for her, grimly aware that this was supposed to be about turning her to putty, not him. Through a haze of desire, he felt her nails rake delicately over his back.

  “Always a lady,” he muttered nuzzling his way up her throat. “Maybe we need to do something about that control.” He claimed her mouth, dragging in the taste and heat of her while he shoved down her skirt.

  She made a low sound when he stroked her thighs and drew away her last bit of lingerie, then parted the soft curls.

  She sighed gripping his shoulders as he found her tight, hidden center. With the water a glistening spray around them, he sank to the ground and took her with his mouth.

  Her sudden stiffening told him she hadn't had this kind of pleasure before, and the discovery nearly undid the last remnant of his control. Her body shook as he savored her, drawing her moan of pleasure. Knowing that no other man had touched her this way, he took his time with his sultry exploration and drank in the sight and feel of her, his blood pounding. Slowly he snapped the pleasure tight and felt her shudder as another husky cry spilled free.

  “I've wanted this, wanted you. Again and again.” Rising, he backed her against the wall, needing to feel the pleasure race again, but she pushed away, tugging at his belt and cursing when the denim resisted.

  “I may have to murder whoever invented jeans,” she rasped.

  “I'll help you.” They finished the job together, their breath fast and straining. When it was done, she stared fiercely at him, her skin slick from the shower spray. And

  then her fingers closed around him, making him shudder when she grazed him delicately with her nails.

  Honor, McKay thought, closing his eyes. Distance and detachment.

  To hell with detachment, he decided. “Put your legs around me,” he said, bracing his arm on the cottage wall. Cupping her hips, he rocked her against him beneath the hot, pounding water. “Okay? Your side—”

  “Forget my side. Just let me have you now.” She was wet and tight when she sank against him, taking him within her, inch by incredible inch.

  So beautiful, he thought, bringing them together with deep, rocking strokes. But he cursed when he saw the tears dotting her cheeks. “I hurt you, dammit.”

  “No.” She gripped his shoulders. “I want more. I want to feel your pulse deep inside me.” Her legs locked as she drove against him urgently. “Do it now.”

  McKay fought a haze of need as her body clenched, each tremor dragging him to the very edge of control. Blindly, he drove upward while spray misted their joined bodies, and she cried out his name, rocked to a shuddering climax.

  He realized he should have pulled free and found protection, but she continued to move against him, her nails raking his shoulders, and then all thought was beyond him. With the shower beating hot on his back, he held her, guiding her once again to a breathless climax. Only then did he close his eyes and cry out hoarsely, spilling himself inside her.

  I'm falling.”

  He felt her fingers clutch at his arms. “Just let go,” he said. “Slide your legs along me. I'll hold you.”

  She sighed as he left the haven of her body and that sound of wordless wanting nearly brought him to his knees.

  He knew that he had no right to touch her, just as he had no bright, glowing future to offer. He refused to make her promises he'd never be able to keep, though it tore at some deep part of him.

  Silently he lowered her to her feet, keeping his mind cool and hard as he soaped her slowly, then did the same for himself.

  None of it worked. He could no more wash away his need for her than he could forget her scent or the sleek tug of her climax.

  Carly turned in his arms, studying their sodden clothes on the grass. “I should pick those up, but I forget how to use my hands. Any suggestions?”

  “You're asking the wrong person,” McKay said. “I'm barely able to stand up myself.”

  “Here I was counting on you for all the answers,” she said huskily.

  He managed to snag the towel off the grass. “If we can stagger inside, I could probably show you a few things.”

  Her eyes widened as she savored his wet, naked body. “Goody, show and tell.”

  McKay slid the towel around her shoulders, then picked her up in one smooth motion.

  “Impressive, McKay, but what about our clothes?”

  “We'll get them. In a decade or two.”

  She touched his jaw tenderly. “Does this mean you've got plans?”

  His body was already stirring, need flaring back to life as he carried her up the steps to the cottage. “I'd say that's becoming obvious.” He sank onto the poster bed and drew the towel along her flushed body. He had just taken her, but he already wanted her again.

  Carly pushed to one elbow. “I thought there were biological parameters and endurance factors.” Her gaze flicked lower, taking in his fully aroused body. She gave a soundless whistle. “Very impressive, McKay.”

  He grinned as he knelt beside her, pulling a foil square from his bag. “Glad you approve.”

  Carly smiled wryly as he smoothed the protection into place. “A little late for that, isn't it?”

  “If there are consequences, I'm fully responsible,” he said gravely. But even as he spoke, he fought down a sudden image of her body round with a child, knowing that a civilized, domesticated life was closed to him. Others of his profession had tried to live in that world, and most of them had failed. As far as McKay was concerned, they were fools to have tried.

  He forced away his regrets and slid between her thighs, savoring the feel of her against his palm.

  “How can you turn me inside out like this?”

  He couldn't explain when his body was vised by the same need. All that mattered was sinking deep and hearing her small, broken cry as he filled her completely.

  “Ready to stop?”

  “Just try it,” she muttered, closing her teeth around his earlobe.

  He couldn't resist a grunt of triumph. “Good. This might take a while.”

  In moments he had them both panting, both straining breathlessly. He meant to take his time, but she convulsed against him, exhausted.

  As he smoothed his hands down her shuddering body, she opened her eyes. “I can't.”

  “No?” Watching her face, he rocked deep, catching her cry of giddy delight with his lips. With his pulse hammering, he took and took until his orgasm tore free and he collapsed against her.

  The sky was velvet and cloudless through the lead-paned windows. Somewhere a bird called in notes of pure, liquid wonder.

  She knew where she was.

  Vaguely, anyway.

  Sighing, she decided it wasn't worth the effort to do anything but drift, sated and limp against the cool linen sheets.

  A warm leg moved against hers and a hand covered her hip. With a supreme act of will she raised her head. “Are we still alive?”

  “Just barely.”

  “Daphne said the right man would turn me to putty,” she murmured. “I am now prepared to believe whatever she says.”

  “That could be dangerous.” McKay traced a slow line over her hip. />
  “Probably. Next thing you know, I'll be wearing one of her leather miniskirts.”

  McKay gave her a lazy grin. “Leather's okay by me.”

  As moonlight poured around them, Carly realized she'd never before felt so honest and easy with a man.

  It was pure delight.

  The trick, she decided would be to keep everything simple and direct.

  Starting now.

  She feathered her fingers along his shoulder, studying

  his face in the flow of silver through the window, wincing a little when his arm brushed her side.

  “Hell,” he muttered. “Those stitches must be sore.”

  She put one finger to his lips. “Don't tell anyone, but I've found a great analgesic.”

  He didn't laugh. “I should have a look.”

  “Later,” she whispered.

  “No more gymnastics.”

  Her brow arched. She ran one bare toe along his thigh. “If you ask nice, I'll give you five minutes to recuperate.”

  “Like hell.”

  She pulled him down against her. “In that case shut up, McKay.”

  Suprisingly, he did.

  The moon was gone. Through the window he saw the first hint of gray touch the sky. Turning, he felt a warm weight against his chest. At his waist and thighs, too, he discovered.

  Carly was draped over him like a warm quilt, snoring very softly, both hands curved around his neck.

  He smiled slowly. He'd known many women and shared nearly every kind of pleasure, but none of those steamy couplings had been half as intimate as lying motionless beneath Carly's warm body in the half-light before dawn.

  How could something so chaste be so damnably arousing? he wondered. Even asleep, she was vibrant and utterly seductive.

  Desire came in a heavy wave, and for long moments he savored the simple awareness of her skin against his. Then her leg shifted, cradling his hips, and she sprawled open to his full, heated erection. Even then she was completely oblivious.

  He was sorely tempted to slip inside her while she slept and wake her in slow, breathless increments.

  Cold logic prevailed.

  She had to be sore, both from their lovemaking and from her wound and he knew the situation called for restraint. Reluctantly, he slid from bed and tugged the quilt around her, marveling yet again at how completely she had given herself to him in the moonlight.

  Shower, he thought. Make it a cold one.

  McKay returned from his shower to find Carly awake and oddly tense. Despite her silence, he sat beside her, tracing the smooth line of her back.

  She didn't look at him. “We need to talk.”

  “I thought that was supposed to be my line.”

  She sat up, gathering the sheet to her chest. “It's not a line. It's a request.” She took a tight breath. “A seriously important request.” She drew another breath. “To a man I care about deeply.”

  “Deeply,” he repeated. “Why does that sound so ominous?”

  “Because it is.” She shivered as his fingers continued their smooth glide.

  “Three. Four.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Counting your freckles. You've got two on your neck, another one above your shoulder blade. There's an amazing one just beneath your breast.” He moved her arm and stroked the faint tan smudge with his tongue. “Who knew?”

  “Stop.” She shivered as he nuzzled his way expertly across her breast. “We've got to talk.”

  “I'm all ears.” He trailed one finger along her waist. “Eight. Nine.”

  “I can't concentrate when you do that.”

  “No?” The thought filled him with primitive pleasure as his hands moved lazily down her spine. “How about when I do this?”

  “No,” she said with a catch in her voice. “And stop repeating what I say.”

  “Repeating?” Gravely, he traced the line of her hip. “Twelve. That one is shaped like a flower.”

  She closed her eyes. “You're not listening.”

  “I'm memorizing every word.”

  “You should, because this is important.” She stared at the tangled sheets. “I'm not good with relationships, McKay. Not with making them, not with keeping them. You need to know that.”

  “You've had a lot of relationships?”

  “Enough.” Carly pulled the sheet tighter. “It's part of the way I was brought up. My mother came and went. She loved me and she loved my father, but she couldn't stay. Not ever. The work was always there, pulling her away, tugging her off to immortalize some mountain in Chile or temple ruins in Burma.”

  He folded back the sheet, kissing her spine. “So?”

  “So her work came first, that's what I'm trying to say. So does mine,” Carly whispered. “It's the way I am.”

  McKay's hand stilled. That really was supposed to be his line. “You want to leave? Is that what you're saying, Carly?” He felt weightless, as if the slightest wind blowing through the window would drive them apart.

  She took a long breath. “Not yet. But I will. Something basic is wrong inside me. Something important is missing, maybe because of all those years of moving, always waiting for my mother to settle down. When it didn't happen, I gave up on believing and belonging.” She turned away, staring tensely out the window at the sun-streaked sky. “Then everything fell into place. I'm just like her. I can't stay and I can't make a relationship work, but at least I know better than to drag other people into sharing my problem.”

  “So that's just the way you are, always a loner.”

  Carly nodded.

  McKay wondered why he wasn't relieved. She had said the words first, sparing him the hard explanations and tearful questions.

  Yes, he should have been relieved. For a professional, a soldier, it was the best possible situation.

  But he wasn't relieved. He was confused and uneasy, rocked by regret.

  So what? he told himself. She couldn't stay, but neither could he. He had never wanted to stay before, so why should he start now? “It's your call,” he said. “I'm not holding you.”

  Tears were shining on her cheeks. “Thank you.”

  “You want to leave now?”

  She shook her head.

  “In an hour?”

  “It's not a joke, McKay,” she said stiffly.

  “No, it isn't.” He studied her face, pale in the golden dawn. “Nor is this.” He pulled her down gently. Catching her wrists, he sank inside her before she could speak, before words or explanations could damage this recklessly beautiful thing that was happening to them again.

  Panting, she rose against him, pulling him deeper, her eyes bottomless. “Just so you know,” she whispered. “Just so we both know.”

  The words slid into his name, then caught on a moan as he drove them both over the edge, where words and questions were forgotten.

  Something was creaking.

  Her head, Carly decided.

  She opened her eyes carefully and found sunlight spilling through yellow curtains while a sea wind riffled her hair. She stretched lazily remembering every second of the magic shared with her hard-eyed lover the night before. But she had always believed in guarding her privacy keeping men at a distance because work always came first. Since she'd left Paradise Cay she hadn't even thought about working.

  One more example of just how far her life had slid out of control since she'd met McKay. For Carly the realization was terrifying.

  She sat up slowly the movement stirring muscles well used in the long hours of night.

  A sound came from the doorway. Carly turned—and her heart lurched.

  He stood with one arm braced on the door frame, dressed to kill in jeans riding low at his lean waist. “Morning, sunshine.”

  She felt a stab of pure lust at the sight of his chiseled abs. Having a body like that ought to be illegal, she decided.

  “You look good in my sheets,” he said huskily. “You're going to look even better out of them.”

  Heat flar
ed into her face. With one short sentence, he had tangled her senses, turned her inside out. She looked away, fighting for calm.

  “A problem?”

  “No.”

  His voice fell, suddenly serious. “Feeling boxed in?”

  “No.” She dropped the sheet and shrugged into her robe.

  “It doesn't take a genius to see that something's bothering you.”

  Carly studied his face, shadowed against the morning sun. She ached to know all the personal details hidden beneath his controlled mask.

  The reason was all too clear: Despite her careful defenses, she was already halfway in love with him.

  Terrified by the realization, she leaped to the offense. “What's bothering me is questions you refuse to answer. Like why you wear a gun. And what kind of threat is involved here?”

  “For now you need to drop the questions, Carly.”

  “I can't. No sane woman would.” She jerked angrily at her belt, knowing the questions were simply an excuse to pull away from commitment.

  “Put them on hold. I'll help you finish your photo shoot and I'll stay close. In return you're going to have to trust me.”

  His face was grave and she knew his request wasn't made lightly. She hesitated hating her indecision. “At least tell me what you've got planned.”

  “We stay right here until the cruise ship returns. No one knows we're here—not Nigel Brandon, not Inspector St. John or any of his men.”

  It made good sense. Carly nodded slowly. “Then we'll take this one day at a time.”

  “That's the plan.” He pulled her gently to her feet. “Why don't you go do whatever beautiful women do in the morning while I talk to Duncan and make breakfast.” He slid a hibiscus bloom into her hair. “I'm one hell of a

  cook, you know. The trick is not to overmix the pancake batter, and to make sure the griddle is very hot.”

  “Show-off.”

  “Someone's got to make you eat. After that I want Duncan to look at your stitches.” He crossed to his canvas duffel bag and pulled out a walkie-talkie. “Meanwhile, keep this within reach. If you need me, press this button and talk.”

  “But—”

  He put the instrument into her hand, then leaned closer for a slow, searching kiss. “Or we could forget about breakfast entirely,” he murmured.