Audrey did not open her eyes, just allowed herself to submerge in the sensations of his body surrounding hers, the heat of his skin over hers. But when his hand began to move on the bare skin of her back, up her spine, to the base of her neck, she began to feel something entirely different. Heat spread through her, spreading through each arm and leg, spreading through each finger and toe, spreading out to the sand around them.
He touched the hair at her temple and pushed it back; she turned her face into the crook of his neck. When he dropped her hand and cupped her chin, lifting her face, Audrey opened her eyes, saw clear blue eyes lined with dark lashes glimmering in the moonlight as Sting took over and sang “Fields of Gold.” Jack’s lips, wet and shining, gave her a shudder of desire. She slid her hand up his shoulder, to his neck. Somewhere, a vague thought in the back of her head told her to stop, to go back to her lodging, but she just lifted her face so that her lips were only a breath from his. She was aware of his body, long and hard against her. She could feel his powerful thighs, could imagine his hips moving rhythmically, his body moving in and out of her.
They had stopped moving; they were barely swaying. Jack was gazing into her eyes, his gone dark with desire. His hand pressed against the small of her back; the fingers of his other hand splayed across her cheek and her jaw, holding her there as he lowered his head to kiss her.
She sighed with pleasure into his mouth as his lips touched hers. His hand skimmed her cheek and neck as he dipped his tongue into her mouth. It was a tentative kiss, soft and tender, but startled Audrey’s entire body into a vicious sort of longing.
She moaned deep in her throat, and his hands were suddenly cupping her face, his kiss gone from tentative to ravenous. He nipped at her lips and tongue, swirled his tongue in her mouth. A damp heat began to build between Audrey’s legs. His kiss knocked her back, sent her tumbling with an astonishing desire to feel him hard inside her. The strength of her desire matched his, pressed against her belly and in the way he held her.
He released one hand from her face, caressed her body, his hand sliding down the curve of her hip and up again, to the side of her breast. He took her breast in his hand, squeezing it, feeling it, and Audrey could feel it swell in his palm. Her imagination was running wild now, and she pressed against his hard cock, moving suggestively.
But then the song changed, and Audrey’s own voice was penetrating her consciousness.
He had her on his iPod. It was “Frantic,” the title song from her new album, the single just released. He’d lied—he knew very well who she was, and with an instinctive, protective gasp—she really couldn’t trust anyone—Audrey rocked backward, away from his mouth and his hand.
She looked up, into Jack’s eyes, and saw the hunger shimmering in them. She felt that hunger just as palpably, but took another step backward, stumbling a little when the iPod earbud yanked free of her ear, and then another step—until she was out of his reach. “I thought you’d never heard of me.”
Jack sighed. “I lied.”
“Why?”
“Good question,” he said, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t really know, to tell you the truth.”
“You don’t know?” she repeated angrily. “I thought I was safe with you.”
That seemed to surprise him. “You are safe with me. I would never do anything you didn’t want—”
“I don’t want this!” she snapped, and started walking almost blindly as a rush of shame and indignation and desire filled her.
“Audrey, wait—hey! Let me drive you back.”
“No thanks!” she shouted. Her mind swam with confusion; her body still pulsed from his touch. She’d made a terrible mistake, a stupid, horrible mistake