“The original is amazing. I could win awards with it. But it’s for me. Not for public consumption. This?” She tapped the photo. “Is me telling you that I finally figured out what I want.”
He had to smile at that. Maybe the boudoir shots had borne fruit for her after all. “Good for you, honey. What do you want?”
“I want a man who looks at me like that,” she whispered. “Look at your face. You’re telling me that I’m beautiful, that you want me. That scared me. The adventure wasn’t about photography, not for me. It was about not being afraid of expressing myself, to hell with the consequences. So here I am. Telling you that I want more than one night on a deserted island.”
Something altogether beautiful plowed through his chest and burst open inside with a wash of heat that was so powerful he scarcely knew what to do other than roll with it.
She wanted more. And had come here to tell him she wasn’t done after all. She’d opened her mouth and told him what she wanted. Without twisting the braided silver band on her finger one time. It was so… everything.
Because he wasn’t done either.
Before he could recall all the reasons it was a bad idea, he reached out and yanked her closer to see if she still tasted as divine as she had when saltwater air had been the seasoning du jour. Also known as what he should have done in that hotel. His intuition had been correct, and he’d ignored it.
Her mouth opened under his, and the little mewl of pleasure she made enlivened him and oh, God, yes, she tasted amazing on his tongue. So he went for more, diving deep, hefting her body into the grooves of his. Her arms tightened around him, and there were way too many clothes between them.
“How long until your return flight?” he growled against her lips, circling his instant erection against the softness of her stomach. The friction nearly put him on his knees.
“I don’t have one.”
“Good answer.” And then he swung her up into his arms to carry her to his bedroom. No, he had not forgotten the forlorn little comment she’d made back on Green Cay about not being a woman who inspired men to sweep her off her feet.
She was. He wanted to show her that.
Her dark eyes widened, but she instantly settled in with a happy sigh. “I’m not even wearing flip-flops.”
“Doesn’t matter.” He nuzzled the sweet flesh of her neck. “You’re the kind of woman a man just can’t wait to have. Figured it would be faster if I carried you to the bed. Where I’m going to show you how much I appreciate your personal delivery service. ”
His memory had lied to him, because her scent hadn’t been this arousing in his need-soaked dreams. And there had been a lot of those. The real thing? Erotic, sensual, unbelievable.
He laid her carefully on his bed and crawled up the length of her to begin what would be the first of many passes over her body with his lips. She shuddered as he trailed openmouthed kisses along the valley between her breasts.
Hands to her thighs, he shoved the fabric of the little flirty dress she wore, gathering the skirt with his thumbs until he hit her underwear. Nice. Damp. She was going to kill him.
“I need to see you,” he said hoarsely and hooked her panties to draw them off.
Her gaze burned through the air as she watched him, thickening his erection until he could hardly stand how much he needed her. But he had to taste her first, to show her how much he’d missed her in the few short days since they’d parted in Freeport. Show her how so very gorgeous she was and how she’d touched him deep inside with her bravery.
Her thighs parted for him so fluidly, baring her secrets. The first lick exploded on his tongue as she quivered. Groaning, he swiped his tongue against her slit again as she flooded him with her arousal, and it was so flipping hot that he nearly came in his pants.
That would be yet another first. But he had a feeling the firsts might never be exhausted between them, because he definitely wasn’t done giving them to her. He stroked the flat of his tongue over her center. Again. Faster. She cried out, her back arching, and squirmed against his mouth until his tongue was so deep he could taste heaven.
And then she came, squeezing her thighs against his cheeks, and he chaffed his scraggly whiskers hard against her flesh the way she liked but wouldn’t actually say the words. He didn’t care. Nonverbal communication worked for him all day long.
“Kiss me,” she commanded softly, and hell if that wasn’t the sexiest thing ever.
He did, sharing her own taste with her, and she moaned in pleasure, which drove so much lust through his veins he couldn’t wait. Couldn’t stop. Couldn’t do anything but strip her out of that dress and lose his own clothes in what was most likely a gold-medal performance for undressing while simultaneously rolling on a condom.