He stood with his hands on his hips, his chest naked, his hair wild, his eyes wide and menacing as though having found his intended prey and ready for the capture.
He spoke not a word. He reached down, tore the cover from her hands, slipped his arms beneath her, and lifted her up against his chest.
"Will you deny me, angel?"
Though his tone was stern Catherine heard an unbearable ache beneath the surface and her heart went out to him.
"Never," she whispered, needing him to love her one last time.
She laid her head on his chest, listening to the thunderous beating of his heart, relishing the warmth of his hard flesh, smelling the sea and fresh air that was so much a part of him. All these things she stored away in her memory for lonely winter nights and endless days to come.
He carried her to his bedroom and gently deposited her in the middle of his bed. He stepped back, stripped what clothes he wore, and returned to her.
He covered her with the length of him. He needed to feel all of her, every inch of her naked flesh stretched out beneath him. He needed to know she belonged to him this one last time.
Her green eyes betrayed her hurt and pain and he ached for her. He hadn't wanted to hurt her and he hadn't wanted to be hurt. He had wanted to love her and have her love him, only him.
But inside where his hurt ran deep, where scars still lay open and sore, he yearned for relief. Relief from the pain of the past and the fear of the future.
When he had landed on this island, he had finally been free. He had found Heaven and he had hoped against hope that someday he would find an angel to make this home complete.
Catherine had entered his life, an angel with a strand of pearls. An angel with the name Abelard. How could he trust the very daughter of the man who had sentenced him to hell? How could he love her as much as he did? How could he let her go?
"Lucian," she whispered in a soft plea.
He understood her need. He had satisfied her and himself night after night. He brushed his lips across hers, tasted her passion, her fire.
"Love me, angel. Love me," he murmured, and captured her mouth, but not before she answered.
"Always."
Catherine reached out to him with the same hunger, the same need to share, to become one.
His hand roamed her body, familiar with every valley and mound, aware of every erotic spot she possessed and creating new ones with his masterful touch.
Breathless and seeking air, she pulled away from his mouth. His lips sought her nipple, still hungry for her taste. While he teased her unmercifully, flicking his tongue across her hard little orb and taking playful bites, his hand roamed.
He nestled his fingers in the valley between her legs, cupping her mound with the palm of his hand and gently massaging her.
She moaned, feeling the tingling sensation run to the tips of her toes. Her second moan sounded his name, though incoherently. And her third was a simple plea for him to ease her torment.
"I can't get enough of you," he whispered between bites to her nipple. "You're a fire in my soul and an ach in my heart. And still I —"
He stopped himself and looked into her passion-filled eyes. He couldn't bring himself to say the words. He couldn't tell her he loved her. But slowly and thoroughly he demonstrated the strength of his love.
She moaned and writhed under his touch, begged him for release, begged him to love her. And he did. He took her beyond reality, beyond madness. He took her to the realm of pure ecstasy. She cried out, trembled, and nearly fainted from the exquisite pleasure.
He followed along with her, climaxing with a strength he had never thought possible.
They lay quiet and still, their labored breathing the only sound in the room. When he finally eased off her, he pulled her into his arms and held her.
After several silent minutes passed he spoke, his voice strong and determined. "I'm going to make love to you all night, angel."
She blinked away a tear and prayed that morning would never come.
o0o
Catherine woke alone in bed. She hurried to wash and dress and find Lucian. Surely after last night and the closeness they had shared he had second thoughts as to his decision on her return to England.
She hastily tied her hair in a lavender ribbon to match the lavender traveling dress she wore, though she assured herself that in no time she would change into her sarong as soon as Lucian and she had settled things.
Her slippered feet took her quickly down the staircase only to stop short when she caught sight of Santos. His expression looked grave and he appeared upset.
"Are you ready, Catherine?" he asked.
Her heart caught in her throat, her flesh turned hot, her stomach quivered. He wouldn't. He couldn't return her, not after last night.
"Lucian?" She almost choked on his name.