four words were low, coming haltingly from her unused vocal chords.
He blinked at her in disbelief. It had been so long—too long since he had heard her low breathless voice that he thought he was imagining it.
“Does it…does it hurt when you move your jaw?” His fingers traced the outline of her cheek.
“It’s a little stiff,” she admitted. “And I feel a little tingling behind my ear. But at least I can talk.”
Lowering his head, Martin pressed his mouth to her earlobe, his lips feathering over her neck and jaw. He was too caught up in the silky feel of her skin and the haunting fragrance of her body to note her trembling.
Parris felt a rush of heat singe her body followed by a vibrating liquid between her legs. Emotions she had only glimpsed in the past were back. Stronger than ever.
Abandoning herself to the whirl of sensations, she moaned as Martin’s mouth covered hers. The kiss was soft, gentle, as if he feared hurting her. She felt the tightening muscles in his upper arms under the crisp fabric of his laundered shirt, heard the rush of breath from his delicate nostrils and she registered his maleness hardening and throbbing against her thighs.
It ended as quickly as it had begun and Parris felt weak, lightheaded. She clung to the front of his shirt, breathing heavily.
Holding her tightly, Martin buried his face in her hair. He hadbeen ready to swing her up in his arms and take her to his bed. He wanted her with a hunger that had exceeded any he had ever experienced.
She’s mine, he claimed silently and possessively. No one would ever take her from him.
“I think this calls for a very special celebration,” he whispered in her ear. She nodded, her nose pressed against his chest. “Do you want to go out for dinner?”
Her body went rigid. In the three weeks she had lived with Martin she hadn’t thought about the world outside of the private community. It was as if she was resigned to live behind the walls where she felt safe and totally protected for the first time since she left Owen.
“Not yet,” she rasped breathlessly.
Pulling back slightly, Martin stared down at her face, seeing fear and uncertainty in her eyes. “Everything will be all right. You’ll be safe with me.”
I hope you’re right, Martin
, she mused. Swallowing back her fear, she said, “Where are we going?” She prayed it wasn’t to a place that she had frequented with Owen and his friends.
“A seafood place in Lauderdale. Have you ever been to Boston?” She nodded. “Have you eaten New England clam chowder?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’re in for a treat. The chef can out-chowder the best New England chowder ever created.”
Parris gave him a skeptical look. “I don’t believe you.”
“Believe me, baby,” he said, pressing his lips to her forehead. “Believe me.”
What Parris couldn’t believe was how happy she felt sitting next to Martin as he drove southward to Fort Lauderdale. She lost count of the number of pleasure crafts she saw bobbing on the water along Florida’s gold coast.
The calendar said Fall, but the weather still said summer. The warm tropical air filtering through the Jaguar’s open windowscaressed her face and ruffled her hair before it settled back to the lines of the professional cut.
She wiggled her bare toes in a pair of neutral-colored espadrille sandals with fabric ties circling her ankles. The footwear was appropriate for the sleeveless cotton dress in a black, orange and tan jungle print with two wide straps crisscrossing her bare back to the waist.
Martin maneuvered into one of the last spaces at a restaurant whose backyard was a pier where diners moored their boats while they ate.
He held Parris’s hand possessively as he helped her from the car and led her to the restaurant’s entrance. Shielding her body from the crush of patrons crowding the waiting area, he smiled at the hostess. Two minutes later the owner gestured to him.
She couldn’t ignore the hostile
He blinked at her in disbelief. It had been so long—too long since he had heard her low breathless voice that he thought he was imagining it.
“Does it…does it hurt when you move your jaw?” His fingers traced the outline of her cheek.
“It’s a little stiff,” she admitted. “And I feel a little tingling behind my ear. But at least I can talk.”
Lowering his head, Martin pressed his mouth to her earlobe, his lips feathering over her neck and jaw. He was too caught up in the silky feel of her skin and the haunting fragrance of her body to note her trembling.
Parris felt a rush of heat singe her body followed by a vibrating liquid between her legs. Emotions she had only glimpsed in the past were back. Stronger than ever.
Abandoning herself to the whirl of sensations, she moaned as Martin’s mouth covered hers. The kiss was soft, gentle, as if he feared hurting her. She felt the tightening muscles in his upper arms under the crisp fabric of his laundered shirt, heard the rush of breath from his delicate nostrils and she registered his maleness hardening and throbbing against her thighs.
It ended as quickly as it had begun and Parris felt weak, lightheaded. She clung to the front of his shirt, breathing heavily.
Holding her tightly, Martin buried his face in her hair. He hadbeen ready to swing her up in his arms and take her to his bed. He wanted her with a hunger that had exceeded any he had ever experienced.
She’s mine, he claimed silently and possessively. No one would ever take her from him.
“I think this calls for a very special celebration,” he whispered in her ear. She nodded, her nose pressed against his chest. “Do you want to go out for dinner?”
Her body went rigid. In the three weeks she had lived with Martin she hadn’t thought about the world outside of the private community. It was as if she was resigned to live behind the walls where she felt safe and totally protected for the first time since she left Owen.
“Not yet,” she rasped breathlessly.
Pulling back slightly, Martin stared down at her face, seeing fear and uncertainty in her eyes. “Everything will be all right. You’ll be safe with me.”
I hope you’re right, Martin
, she mused. Swallowing back her fear, she said, “Where are we going?” She prayed it wasn’t to a place that she had frequented with Owen and his friends.
“A seafood place in Lauderdale. Have you ever been to Boston?” She nodded. “Have you eaten New England clam chowder?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’re in for a treat. The chef can out-chowder the best New England chowder ever created.”
Parris gave him a skeptical look. “I don’t believe you.”
“Believe me, baby,” he said, pressing his lips to her forehead. “Believe me.”
What Parris couldn’t believe was how happy she felt sitting next to Martin as he drove southward to Fort Lauderdale. She lost count of the number of pleasure crafts she saw bobbing on the water along Florida’s gold coast.
The calendar said Fall, but the weather still said summer. The warm tropical air filtering through the Jaguar’s open windowscaressed her face and ruffled her hair before it settled back to the lines of the professional cut.
She wiggled her bare toes in a pair of neutral-colored espadrille sandals with fabric ties circling her ankles. The footwear was appropriate for the sleeveless cotton dress in a black, orange and tan jungle print with two wide straps crisscrossing her bare back to the waist.
Martin maneuvered into one of the last spaces at a restaurant whose backyard was a pier where diners moored their boats while they ate.
He held Parris’s hand possessively as he helped her from the car and led her to the restaurant’s entrance. Shielding her body from the crush of patrons crowding the waiting area, he smiled at the hostess. Two minutes later the owner gestured to him.
She couldn’t ignore the hostile
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