Wickedly Wonderful(63)

She looked down at their joined hands, pondering all the questions he might ask that she wouldn’t be able to answer—at least not with the complete truth. Looking back up at him, she took a deep breath.

“Sure, what’s the question?”

Marcus scanned her face as if he could read the answer before he’d even formed the question. “Is there something going on between you and that guy Kesh?”

Beka almost giggled in relief. Yes, there had been a point when she thought that there might be some potential there . . . but that point was long past. If she was going to be honest with herself, she couldn’t imagine being with anyone other than Marcus. She didn’t for a moment believe that there was any way that they would be able to make things work together, but he was all she thought of. Kesh didn’t even come into the equation.

“No,” she said decisively. “We’re just friends. Nothing more, in the past or in the future.”

“Good answer,” Marcus said, and then he did kiss her, leaning in to touch her lips with his, at first gently, and then with a firm and assertive pressure that urged her to return the kiss with interest. So she did, sliding forward into the protective circle of his arms, which tightened around her in response.

The heady scent of him filled her nostrils, that particular blend of salt and sea and musk that was his alone. Just the smell of him made the blood rush to her core; the feel of his strong arms, the sweet taste of his mouth made her whole body pulse with need and longing.

Marcus made a groaning noise deep in his throat and started to pull away.

“Don’t you dare,” she breathed in his ear. “If you stop kissing me, I’ll . . . I’ll bite you.”

“You can bite me anyway,” he suggested, nibbling on her neck and sending shivers of anticipation and sensation sliding down her spine. “But we should stop. You have a hurt leg.” He loosened his arms reluctantly.

Beka gazed into his eyes, so dark with desire they seemed to go on forever, capturing her soul in their depths. “My leg is fine,” she said, standing up to show him. “Look, no limp.”

“What are you doing?” Marcus asked in a husky voice, getting up too. He looked like he wanted to grab her and pull her back into his arms, but didn’t quite dare.

“I’m going to show you a magic trick,” she said, grinning.

“A what?”

She gestured him back and leaned down to tug on the futon, which glided out smoothly to reveal its other form.

“Voila,” Beka said. “A bed.”

“Oh, thank god,” Marcus said, scooping her up and laying her out on the bed, and then pulling his shirt off over his head in a quick motion before joining her there. “I want you so much I feel like I’m going to explode.”

“I hear that Marines are good with explosions,” Beka said, turning sideways so their bodies faced each other. She ran eager hands over his chest, marveling at the strength and breadth of him and the crisp hair that tickled her palms, then up his shoulders and down his strongly muscled arms. His lips found hers again, and everything dissolved into a delirious blur of touch and taste and blissfully erotic sensation; his fingers and tongue explored her, discovering secrets she never even knew she had.

Their clothes flew away as if enchanted, and the feel of his naked body on hers drove her almost mad with desire. As they joined together, she could feel her nails biting into his back, but that only made him move faster and deeper and wilder inside her, the floodwaters of passion rising up to drown them both in waves of ardor, intensifying and ebbing, swirling and racing, ever higher, ever stronger, until together they crested with a moaning, throbbing crescendo that made their two bodies into one, gloriously united in joyous celebration.

Afterward, they lay in each other’s arms, panting and sweating and laughing. Beka rested her head against Marcus’s chest, listening to the strong beat of his heart, and had a sudden, appalling realization: Chewie had been right. Somehow, no matter how impractical, no matter how improbable, she had fallen in love with this man. And that meant that she had no choice—she had to tell him the truth. Even if it meant she lost him forever.





SEVENTEEN




MARCUS TRIED TO remember the last time he felt even remotely as good as this, and failed completely. Lying there with Beka in his arms, spent after a passionate bout of lovemaking he had never expected, the summer sun sliding in past slanted shades to bathe them both in buttery yellow warmth, was as close to nirvana as he ever expected to get.

His life up until now had mostly been about survival¸ nothing more. He’d survived his mother’s abandonment, survived his father’s harsh and brutal approach to parenting, survived the loss of his beloved younger brother—though that one only barely. Then he’d gone on to join the Marines and survived boot camp and twelve years in the harsh desert.