answer. When his hands had moved over her body checking for injuries, she’d found herself confronting every fantasy her mind had ever conjured. Pure sensation, raw maleness. Total desire.
How she’d craved—how she still craved—more of his caresses, more of his taste. Lord, he had stroked his tongue across her lips while his hands kneaded her. Tingles and need had shot straight through her like the lightning bolt she’d wanted God to strike her with. Desire had pooled deep in her belly, between her legs, and her nipples had pearled tightly. She’d simply reacted.
For the first time, she’d known true, consuming desire. Every cell in her body had gone on alert, ready for sensations she didn’t quite understand but wanted to. Desperately. His flavor…well, chocolate didn’t compare. He’d moved his tongue, body and hands so expertly, bringing optimum pleasure. As she remembered, a dreamy sound of promise and passion slipped past her lips. She craved another kiss, another taste. Would do almost anything to experience one more. Just one more kiss…
Julia blinked, realizing she was once again losing herself in Tristan, and this time he hadn’t even touched her! How could one man affect her so strongly? And how in God’s name could Tristan remain so unaffected?
Was she that undesirable?
I am, she thought, battling a sudden torrent of self-pity and sadness. I truly am. If she’d had more experience, she might have bolstered her confidence with memories of all the men she’d left in satisfied comas of sexual bliss. But she didn’t. And she couldn’t. Tristan probably had more experience than most porn stars, while she kissed like a ninety-year-old grandmother suffering from heart disease.
At that thought, what little confidence Julia had left shattered. Self-consciousness snaked stronger coils around her spine, quickly tightening its grip. This was exactly why she couldn’t ever kiss Tristan again, no matter how much pleasure his slightest touch gave her. With him, she would always worry that she wasn’t doing things right, wasn’t satisfying him. Wasn’t woman enough.
Except, oddly enough, when his lips first met hers, she hadn’t thought about anything except the hot press of his body and all the wicked things they could do to each other.
No. She shook her head. A fluke. Had to be. Were this detached lover to kiss her again, she’d worry, worry, worry that her breath smelled bad, or that he didn’t like her body, or that she’d bore him to death.
What if she’d done that this time?
Oh, God, he wasn’t even kissing her right now and she was beginning to worry. He found her lacking in the sexual arena. She just knew it. That’s why he’d become so unresponsive, and he was probably laughing at her pitiful attempt. Julia studied his face, searching for amusement. She saw confusion…and desire?
No, he didn’t desire her. She only saw what she wanted to see, instead of what was really there.
“Let us go to bed,” he said, his honey-rich voice breaking the stretch of silence. He clasped her arm.
She wrenched away, using anger as a shield. Anything to prevent herself from flying back into his embrace. “You’ll be sleeping—or whatever else you want to do—alone.”
His teeth flashed in a scowl. “Alone? I think not. You do not kiss a man with such passion unless you want him in your bed.”
“Really? Passion?” Delight shimmered through her. “You’re not just saying that?”
He worked his jaw left and right, and didn’t stop until the bone popped from exertion. “You would be happy with such an occurrence?”
Not a denial, but not an agreement, either. “Forget it,” she grumbled. “Just go to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Must we go over our sleeping arrangements yet again?”
“We’ll go over it until you get it right.” Her chin tilted stubbornly to the side. “This—” she motioned in a circle with her hand “—is your room. That—” she
How she’d craved—how she still craved—more of his caresses, more of his taste. Lord, he had stroked his tongue across her lips while his hands kneaded her. Tingles and need had shot straight through her like the lightning bolt she’d wanted God to strike her with. Desire had pooled deep in her belly, between her legs, and her nipples had pearled tightly. She’d simply reacted.
For the first time, she’d known true, consuming desire. Every cell in her body had gone on alert, ready for sensations she didn’t quite understand but wanted to. Desperately. His flavor…well, chocolate didn’t compare. He’d moved his tongue, body and hands so expertly, bringing optimum pleasure. As she remembered, a dreamy sound of promise and passion slipped past her lips. She craved another kiss, another taste. Would do almost anything to experience one more. Just one more kiss…
Julia blinked, realizing she was once again losing herself in Tristan, and this time he hadn’t even touched her! How could one man affect her so strongly? And how in God’s name could Tristan remain so unaffected?
Was she that undesirable?
I am, she thought, battling a sudden torrent of self-pity and sadness. I truly am. If she’d had more experience, she might have bolstered her confidence with memories of all the men she’d left in satisfied comas of sexual bliss. But she didn’t. And she couldn’t. Tristan probably had more experience than most porn stars, while she kissed like a ninety-year-old grandmother suffering from heart disease.
At that thought, what little confidence Julia had left shattered. Self-consciousness snaked stronger coils around her spine, quickly tightening its grip. This was exactly why she couldn’t ever kiss Tristan again, no matter how much pleasure his slightest touch gave her. With him, she would always worry that she wasn’t doing things right, wasn’t satisfying him. Wasn’t woman enough.
Except, oddly enough, when his lips first met hers, she hadn’t thought about anything except the hot press of his body and all the wicked things they could do to each other.
No. She shook her head. A fluke. Had to be. Were this detached lover to kiss her again, she’d worry, worry, worry that her breath smelled bad, or that he didn’t like her body, or that she’d bore him to death.
What if she’d done that this time?
Oh, God, he wasn’t even kissing her right now and she was beginning to worry. He found her lacking in the sexual arena. She just knew it. That’s why he’d become so unresponsive, and he was probably laughing at her pitiful attempt. Julia studied his face, searching for amusement. She saw confusion…and desire?
No, he didn’t desire her. She only saw what she wanted to see, instead of what was really there.
“Let us go to bed,” he said, his honey-rich voice breaking the stretch of silence. He clasped her arm.
She wrenched away, using anger as a shield. Anything to prevent herself from flying back into his embrace. “You’ll be sleeping—or whatever else you want to do—alone.”
His teeth flashed in a scowl. “Alone? I think not. You do not kiss a man with such passion unless you want him in your bed.”
“Really? Passion?” Delight shimmered through her. “You’re not just saying that?”
He worked his jaw left and right, and didn’t stop until the bone popped from exertion. “You would be happy with such an occurrence?”
Not a denial, but not an agreement, either. “Forget it,” she grumbled. “Just go to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Must we go over our sleeping arrangements yet again?”
“We’ll go over it until you get it right.” Her chin tilted stubbornly to the side. “This—” she motioned in a circle with her hand “—is your room. That—” she
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