The room felt stifling hot. She pulled at the neckline of her T-shirt and flapped some cooler air inside it. Wiped a hand over her damp forehead. Then threw off the smooth percale sheet and ran her fingers backward through her hair to lift it off her scalp. Longing for fresh air, she rose from the bed, pushed the heavy glass slider aside and stepped out onto the terrace.
Night-insects cheeped and peeped. One of the small native owls repeated its ‘more-pork’ call over and over again from the trees closer to the Lodge.
She glided under a black velvet sky full of stars to the far edge of the terrace and leaned her elbows on the railing. The soft splashing of the ocean and occasional snuffling noises from restless sheep reached her across the quiet countryside. It was so still she even heard the distant rumble of a train rolling by several miles away, and the eerie wailing whistle as it approached a level crossing.
But she didn’t hear the soft pad of Christian’s bare feet until he was very close.
She gasped and stood taller at his sudden silent presence, then turned resolutely away to face the water again, hunching her shoulders against his intrusion.
“Couldn’t sleep, Blondie?”
She willed him to leave her alone, but knew if he did she’d probably reach out and pull him back again.
He gave a small, resigned laugh that stirred up all the emotions she’d been trying to suppress and stole the steel from her spine. “Me either. Now why could that be?”
He dropped a soft kiss on top of her tousled hair. Fiona trembled with hope and guilt—and the knowledge her resolve had finally packed its bags and left town.
His lips progressed down to her ear, nipping and nibbling, and then he set his hands on her hips as she stood, head bowed, unresisting. He stroked her through the soft fabric of her pale T-shirt.
“I saw you from the upstairs bathroom,” he continued huskily. “Thought I’d better come down and make sure you were okay.”
She was far from okay—but she couldn’t have pulled away to save her life. Christian was so close, so male, so nearly naked she had no resistance left.
Her first quick backward glance had slid over his long moonlight-washed torso. A dark bath-towel bound his narrow hips. One tug from her eager fingers was all it would take to peel it away. Her nails bit deep into her palms.
“It’s too hot to sleep,” she said in a strangled voice.
His hands continued to stroke softly, hypnotically, over her hips, tracing the curves that the fabric concealed. Her legs went weak as water.
“Because of you,” he said hoarsely, “I’ve just had my first cold shower in years. It didn’t work.”
He ran his slick tongue down toward her shoulder, and slid his fingers to cup her bottom, moving slowly lower until he hit bare skin.
“Christian...” she moaned, jerking at his touch.
“Sssshhhhh,” he soothed, fingers exploring her so gently she willed herself to relax and enjoy the deliciously sexy sensations threading their way up into the deepest recesses of her body.
Christian drew the T-shirt a little higher and then slipped his fingers underneath the fabric.
Fiona felt air whispering across the base of her spine. He bent and kissed her there—chastely at first, and then with hot, wet, open-mouthed possession.
The sensation nearly knocked her off her feet. She gasped, grabbed for the terrace railing, and leaned dizzily against it, grateful for the support it gave.
His hands ran down to her thighs and up over her bottom again. Then he parted her thighs and reached through to stroke softly over her slick folds. She clenched her teeth so she’d stay silent—the very quietness of his lovemaking was magic. His stealthy advance over her body summoned ripples of desire... washes of longing. She breathed in the scent of his recently showered skin, wanting to lick him, and bite him, and make him feel as good as she did.
“Feeling as hot and bothered as I am?” he whispered.
Hot, bothered, wet, desperate, desirous, flickering with sensation from my waist to my knees...craving you almost to the point of pain.
All of the above.
Her T-shirt continued its slow climb northward until her breasts were out in the sultry air. He gathered them into his palms, weighing, stroking...rubbing and pinching her tightly peaked nipples.
“Too sexy,” he murmured, kissing her between her shoulder blades. “They’re so soft and heavy when you’re bent over like this.” He continued to massage and pleasure her breasts until she could feel the aroused flesh of her groin expanding, reshaping, becoming exquisitely sensitive and slick to welcome him in.
Past resisting, she turned her face sideways and buried it against his upper arm, biting at him with a huge hungry gulp and a moan of frustration.