muscular body cradled between her thighs. Trapped in his groin, her hand was telling her he was growing hard.
Gaby’s mind reeled with terrified thoughts. This couldn’t be happening. Sex. Force. Her fingers contracted spasmodically.
He jumped. Violently. “Don’t do that,” he said breathily. “Just give me a minute.”
Gaby choked back a helpless whimper. His clothes were wet. The faint aura of soap and musky male sweat tinted the soggy air. But her senses denied all of it. It was a nightmare, she told herself. There was no stranger lying on top of her in her own living room, no storm, no boat at the Collier dock. Because what was taking place was too incredible to be real. In the morning she’d wake up in her own bed and find out all this had been a bad dream.
She closed her eyes quickly, half expecting him not to be there when she opened them.
But he was.
That chiseled face was right over hers. She saw the gleam of his teeth. “You’re so...” he murmured huskily.
His head lowered. Paralyzed, not breathing, Gaby felt the warm touch of his lips.
It was a wary kiss, yet so charged with electricity that her lips parted in amazement.
He made a soft, unexpected sound of passion, then his mouth covered hers, rough, insatiable. He kissed her throat, her temple, the lobe of her ear, as though he would get his fill of her before she made him stop.
It was like being enveloped in flames, an inferno that blazed up between them, taking them both by surprise. Gaby couldn’t get her breath. Was this the famous Latin passion? she wondered crazily. The feel of that tense, powerful body pressing on hers, his ardent mouth, was overwhelming. She was drowning in it! If something terrible was about to happen, she knew she didn’t have the will to resist.
He was the one who broke the moment’s dark spell. He pulled back and looked down at her. “I must be crazy,” he muttered, incredulous. “Jesus, I must be totally crazy, doing this!”
Gaby was dimly aware of their wet clothes, the musty smell of the old couch, her mother drunkenly asleep upstairs. She felt as though she had never been kissed, or touched, before. How could anyone put so much passion, so much tenderness into just one kiss? Every inch of her skin was sensitized—her swollen, tingling breasts, her arm that had crept around his shoulders to hold him, the bared expanse of her thighs that cradled him tightly. She knew he was fully aroused, her trapped fingers were telling her so.
Desperately, she tried to make her mind work. She told herself this powerful, too-good-looking man was dangerous, probably violent, probably just one step ahead of the police. But her body was going wild, she thought with a sob, actually aching for him! She was the one who was crazy. In this darkness, she was under some sort of spell. Yet she couldn’t help the strange feeling that he was caught just as off guard by it as she.
His fingers were unbuttoning her cotton shirt. “Let me,” he murmured when she stirred. The softest of touches stroked her throat, the ridge of her collarbone, then dropped to the curve of her breast. “You’re so cool and lovely.” His voice shook as he eased the shirt down over her shoulders. “Like moonlight.” His thumb brushed the soft bud of her nipple through her satiny bra, and she moaned.
She had the most curious sensation of being frighteningly, erotically naked in the smothering darkness, even though she was clothed. And she didn’t want him to stop. His gypsy black eyes, cloaked by a thick sweep of lashes, studied her intently. His mouth curved, with deep indents at the corners. She stared at him, fascinated, thinking he had a beautiful mouth. She wanted him to kiss her, and was alarmed at her own desire. The feel of his hands stroking her breasts, pushing damp clothes out of the way to press his own smooth, cool skin against her, generated a flash fire of passion between them that was unbelievable in its intensity.
She felt his
Gaby’s mind reeled with terrified thoughts. This couldn’t be happening. Sex. Force. Her fingers contracted spasmodically.
He jumped. Violently. “Don’t do that,” he said breathily. “Just give me a minute.”
Gaby choked back a helpless whimper. His clothes were wet. The faint aura of soap and musky male sweat tinted the soggy air. But her senses denied all of it. It was a nightmare, she told herself. There was no stranger lying on top of her in her own living room, no storm, no boat at the Collier dock. Because what was taking place was too incredible to be real. In the morning she’d wake up in her own bed and find out all this had been a bad dream.
She closed her eyes quickly, half expecting him not to be there when she opened them.
But he was.
That chiseled face was right over hers. She saw the gleam of his teeth. “You’re so...” he murmured huskily.
His head lowered. Paralyzed, not breathing, Gaby felt the warm touch of his lips.
It was a wary kiss, yet so charged with electricity that her lips parted in amazement.
He made a soft, unexpected sound of passion, then his mouth covered hers, rough, insatiable. He kissed her throat, her temple, the lobe of her ear, as though he would get his fill of her before she made him stop.
It was like being enveloped in flames, an inferno that blazed up between them, taking them both by surprise. Gaby couldn’t get her breath. Was this the famous Latin passion? she wondered crazily. The feel of that tense, powerful body pressing on hers, his ardent mouth, was overwhelming. She was drowning in it! If something terrible was about to happen, she knew she didn’t have the will to resist.
He was the one who broke the moment’s dark spell. He pulled back and looked down at her. “I must be crazy,” he muttered, incredulous. “Jesus, I must be totally crazy, doing this!”
Gaby was dimly aware of their wet clothes, the musty smell of the old couch, her mother drunkenly asleep upstairs. She felt as though she had never been kissed, or touched, before. How could anyone put so much passion, so much tenderness into just one kiss? Every inch of her skin was sensitized—her swollen, tingling breasts, her arm that had crept around his shoulders to hold him, the bared expanse of her thighs that cradled him tightly. She knew he was fully aroused, her trapped fingers were telling her so.
Desperately, she tried to make her mind work. She told herself this powerful, too-good-looking man was dangerous, probably violent, probably just one step ahead of the police. But her body was going wild, she thought with a sob, actually aching for him! She was the one who was crazy. In this darkness, she was under some sort of spell. Yet she couldn’t help the strange feeling that he was caught just as off guard by it as she.
His fingers were unbuttoning her cotton shirt. “Let me,” he murmured when she stirred. The softest of touches stroked her throat, the ridge of her collarbone, then dropped to the curve of her breast. “You’re so cool and lovely.” His voice shook as he eased the shirt down over her shoulders. “Like moonlight.” His thumb brushed the soft bud of her nipple through her satiny bra, and she moaned.
She had the most curious sensation of being frighteningly, erotically naked in the smothering darkness, even though she was clothed. And she didn’t want him to stop. His gypsy black eyes, cloaked by a thick sweep of lashes, studied her intently. His mouth curved, with deep indents at the corners. She stared at him, fascinated, thinking he had a beautiful mouth. She wanted him to kiss her, and was alarmed at her own desire. The feel of his hands stroking her breasts, pushing damp clothes out of the way to press his own smooth, cool skin against her, generated a flash fire of passion between them that was unbelievable in its intensity.
She felt his
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