Jake stepped toward her, and she found herself in his arms. His lips were almost bruising, lava wet and hot, and his tongue did things to the inside of her mouth that seemed to lick into her insides. He made love with a kiss in a way that touched her where he did not, made her ache inside, wanting, longing, hoping to prolong, desperate to have everything, him, inside her, instantly. She struggled to put some distance between them. The hardness of his erection was instantly evident beneath the thin fabric of the bathing trunks he wore. Her fingers rimmed the elastic band, lowering it, eliciting a low groan like a growl from the back of his throat, even as his tongue thrust more deeply into her mouth. He continued to kiss her, his own hands moving beneath the fabric of her knit blouse, beneath the lace of her bra, fingers moving against her flesh, finding the nipple, rotating with an erotic pressure over and around it. She somewhat fought the sensations, intent on her own quest, until her hands closed around him. Stroked. He was smooth, pulsing like thunder.
Their kiss broke; her blouse wound up over her head, tossed somewhere within the cabin. Then his lips were at her throat. She clung to his shoulders, aware she was off the ground, then sitting on the kitchen counter as the clasp of her bra was set free with a deft movement. She struggled to kick off her shoes, aware of his hands on the button of her jeans. She was suddenly sliding against him as he dipped both his hands beneath the denim of her pants, cupping her buttocks as he slid the jeans from her body. His trunks were already on the floor. She was lifted high again, his arms locked around her, then lowered onto the pulsing heat of his erection and held there against him for several long seconds before she found herself seated on the counter again, the world spinning around, aware of nothing but the insanity of needing him there, part of her, hard and vibrant within her. Tears sprang to her eyes as she gave herself up to the urgency of wanting him. Her arms were so tightly wrapped around his shoulders that he had to strain to set her away far enough that he could press his lips to her shoulders, seize her breath, tempt her with the hotness of lips, teeth and tongue, devour her with hands and mouth, even as the erotic tempo maddened to insanity.
A bomb could have exploded outside and she wouldn’t have known. The sound and pulse of her heart eclipsed reality. She was only vaguely aware of their damp flesh, the ripple and stretch of his muscle and form against her, the reality of the counter on which she sat. She was locked around him, tense, desperate, sounds escaping her, no words. She strived and arched, pressed, writhed, with ever greater insanity, touching sweetness, reaching higher until she tightened around him in a vise, spiraling into a climax so volatile, she was amazed not to feel herself fly apart. As he shuddered into climactic expulsion himself, his grip upon her was a powerful force that locked them together in a seizure of shattering ecstasy that seemed to rip through them both like violent waves of aftershock.
Her head fell against his shoulder. She couldn’t be sorry she had forgiven so easily, fallen so quickly, for she didn’t think that she’d ever been touched so tenderly as when he lifted her against him and held her like a cocoon of silk, maneuvering the few steps to his cabin as if he held the most precious cargo. She landed on his bed, which was still disheveled from the night before, and a second later he was lying beside her. His arms curled around her, and she smiled. After several moments, she turned back to him.
His eyes were hard and serious, and for a moment she was caught in whatever deeper emotion darkened his stare, but she found she had to ask softly, “I forgot to ask whether you were apologizing for tackling me when I came aboard or for being such a jerk when I saw you at the morgue.”
A bit alarmed by her own statement, she held her breath, uncomfortably aware of everything physical around them, the feel of the bed and the sheets, the damp power of his arms around her, the planes of his face, the fall of his hair, the darkness of his eyes.
“Both,” he said after a moment. He reached over, moving a damp lock of hair that had glued itself to her cheek. “Both. You took me by surprise this afternoon. I didn’t even know you owned a pencil, much less had such an incredible talent. I guess I was angry because I should have known. Come to think of it, you owe me an apology.”
“I owe you an apology?”
“You could have told me that you were considering a move from the academy into the civilian force.”
“Well…” Her voice sounded scratchy. “It’s not like we’ve been best friends for years or anything. As if I really know you…or you know me.”
She was surprised by the ruefulness of the smile that touched his lips.
“Maybe I felt I did know you a bit. I mean, think about it. How many guys in the force know you have a tiny flower tattoo at the base of your spine? Or about that little scar on the inside of your upper thigh?”
She flushed, wishing she didn’t do so with such embarrassing speed.
“Actually, I wasn’t certain you even liked me.”
He laughed, pulling her closer. “You do have one hell of a temper on you, Ms. Montague.” His laughter faded; his eyes were serious. “And the tenacity of a bull terrier.”
“And you’re pure walking tact and charm?”
He shrugged. “You scalded me, you know.”
“I see no scars. Nothing permanent.”
He was silent for a long moment. Then he said quietly, “More permanent than you know.” The simple statement left her with a strange feeling of euphoria. And his lips brushing against hers were more intimate, it seemed, than anything they had previously shared.