Just do it. Hadn’t he just told her back there he wasn’t going to be sticking around? So she had very little to lose. So much to gain.
Three seconds, she was down to her underwear, one more and she was slicing through the water, her whole body shrieking with shock.
‘Watch out banshee, don’t put your head under, or you’ll mess up your cut!’ He was laughing at her now, lunging towards her, splashing exuberantly. ‘Good or what?’
She was wading, water up to her shoulders, laughing, shivering, juddering, gasping, not caring that he was in front of her now, gathering the strands of her hair that were dripping round her shoulders, and bunching them around the back of her neck.
‘Chilly.’ Her teeth rattled as she slid to a halt. ‘Like you said.’
She shuddered, wildly. Nothing to do with the cold. Knowing she should back away, splash away, run away, anything to put distance between her and this man who was tipping her force field upside down, his mega attraction dragging her to him, when she knew she should be running for the hills. And her limbs refusing to make any movements at all as she drank in his sculpted cheekbones, glossed with moonshine, that sexy sardonic twist of his lips, those damp locks of hair dangling over his forehead.
Now he was smiling, and her stomach was doing somersaults. Reaching out, she put one quaking hand on his upper arm to steady herself. Her touch met with his deliciously slippery skin, and the flex of deep muscle. The other hand went on his shoulder, then slid along, around, slithering onto his back, catching the shudders reverberating up his spine in her fingers, as her heart banged crazily against her ribs. Holding her breath, she pushed her hand into the wet tangle of his hair, and the undulations of his skull were firm and real under her finger tips. She knew that this time it wasn’t a dream, because his breaths were hot and ragged on her cheekbone.
Reaching up, grazing her mouth along the stubble, she found the edge of his bottom lip, feathering with her tongue, teasing, asking, demanding. And all the time, he was still, remote, stony, standing like a shivering statue.
She shifted, jerked as the length of his erection banged against her pelvis.
‘Sorry.’ One mumbled apology
‘Don’t be.’ His growl was feral. ‘I’m not.’
Then his mouth slid over hers and she dived deep into the tangling, demanding vortex of his kiss. Hungry. Starving. Longing for the taste, pushing her breasts against the rock of his chest, sliding her calf around the sinews of his thigh, reveling in the raw heat of his mouth.
This was real. The gruff moan in his throat as she tugged on his hair was real, the pressure of his hands on her waist as he lifted her was real.. Buoyed by the water, she wrapped her legs tight around his waist, locked her arms around those rippling shoulders. And boy, the volcano of desire, pounding between her legs was real, as she moved against his pelvis. Letting her eyes slide upwards to check the moon was still there, finding it blurred by the aching need in her body.
Then, she suddenly found that she could breathe again.
And she was rocking, gently, moving against him as he was striding towards the bank, the air cold on her emerging skin.
And then he was disentangling her, unwrapping her legs, unhooking her arms, and as her dangling feet hit the mud of the shore, he bent, flipped her a towel, and she knew it was over.
CHAPTER FIVE
MILLIE always got up extra early on Thursdays. With no classes to distract her, she liked to exercise Cracker at day-break, then hammer on with her box making. But this morning she was doing more thinking than gluing, and more cursing than thinking. And if that wasn’t enough, she was running short of material for her French-themed line. She’d severely under-estimated how much she was going to need.
Another tri-colour bit the dust, as she slammed her fist into the table. She growled, and a half-finished box flipped
Three seconds, she was down to her underwear, one more and she was slicing through the water, her whole body shrieking with shock.
‘Watch out banshee, don’t put your head under, or you’ll mess up your cut!’ He was laughing at her now, lunging towards her, splashing exuberantly. ‘Good or what?’
She was wading, water up to her shoulders, laughing, shivering, juddering, gasping, not caring that he was in front of her now, gathering the strands of her hair that were dripping round her shoulders, and bunching them around the back of her neck.
‘Chilly.’ Her teeth rattled as she slid to a halt. ‘Like you said.’
She shuddered, wildly. Nothing to do with the cold. Knowing she should back away, splash away, run away, anything to put distance between her and this man who was tipping her force field upside down, his mega attraction dragging her to him, when she knew she should be running for the hills. And her limbs refusing to make any movements at all as she drank in his sculpted cheekbones, glossed with moonshine, that sexy sardonic twist of his lips, those damp locks of hair dangling over his forehead.
Now he was smiling, and her stomach was doing somersaults. Reaching out, she put one quaking hand on his upper arm to steady herself. Her touch met with his deliciously slippery skin, and the flex of deep muscle. The other hand went on his shoulder, then slid along, around, slithering onto his back, catching the shudders reverberating up his spine in her fingers, as her heart banged crazily against her ribs. Holding her breath, she pushed her hand into the wet tangle of his hair, and the undulations of his skull were firm and real under her finger tips. She knew that this time it wasn’t a dream, because his breaths were hot and ragged on her cheekbone.
Reaching up, grazing her mouth along the stubble, she found the edge of his bottom lip, feathering with her tongue, teasing, asking, demanding. And all the time, he was still, remote, stony, standing like a shivering statue.
She shifted, jerked as the length of his erection banged against her pelvis.
‘Sorry.’ One mumbled apology
‘Don’t be.’ His growl was feral. ‘I’m not.’
Then his mouth slid over hers and she dived deep into the tangling, demanding vortex of his kiss. Hungry. Starving. Longing for the taste, pushing her breasts against the rock of his chest, sliding her calf around the sinews of his thigh, reveling in the raw heat of his mouth.
This was real. The gruff moan in his throat as she tugged on his hair was real, the pressure of his hands on her waist as he lifted her was real.. Buoyed by the water, she wrapped her legs tight around his waist, locked her arms around those rippling shoulders. And boy, the volcano of desire, pounding between her legs was real, as she moved against his pelvis. Letting her eyes slide upwards to check the moon was still there, finding it blurred by the aching need in her body.
Then, she suddenly found that she could breathe again.
And she was rocking, gently, moving against him as he was striding towards the bank, the air cold on her emerging skin.
And then he was disentangling her, unwrapping her legs, unhooking her arms, and as her dangling feet hit the mud of the shore, he bent, flipped her a towel, and she knew it was over.
CHAPTER FIVE
MILLIE always got up extra early on Thursdays. With no classes to distract her, she liked to exercise Cracker at day-break, then hammer on with her box making. But this morning she was doing more thinking than gluing, and more cursing than thinking. And if that wasn’t enough, she was running short of material for her French-themed line. She’d severely under-estimated how much she was going to need.
Another tri-colour bit the dust, as she slammed her fist into the table. She growled, and a half-finished box flipped
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