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"Name a few."
He kissed her just above her collarbone. It was a fleeting kiss but he seemed to know every nerve ending already. Winnie gasped softly as his tongue flicked the curve of collarbone.
"I'm waiting," he added, just before his mouth slid up her neck, back to her ear and she felt as if he'd set her skin on fire.
Winnie grabbed his shirt, practically clinging to his chest, and dragged herself closer, needing contact, much more contact.
"Swimming," she whispered, mouth drying, belly knotting. Oh, she wanted him to touch her, wanted his hands against her ribs, under her breasts, sliding down the length of her.
But he was too intent on keeping score. "That's one."
"Is that enough?"
"No," he answered, hands moving to cup her face and tilt her head, exposing her neck. His fingers caressed her nape. His lips kissed an invisible spot on her neck, a spot that seemed wired just for him because every time he touched her there she gripped his shirt tighter, pressed herself closer.
"You said endless," he reminded, tipping her head back so that his lips could travel up her neck to the width of her jaw.
He was touching her skin and tasting her skin and she'd never felt so much sensation in all her life. "Jogging," she choked.
"That's two."
"Jogging-"
"You already said that."
She felt his smile against her skin, felt the heat building between them. It was wild, it was something so new and yet so strong that she wriggled helplessly, seeking more contact, more pressure, more fulfillment. "Snorkeling, sailing, snorkeling, sailing.... "
"Yes. But you can only count each one once."
"How about kissing?" she sighed, turning her head toward his, wanting his mouth, needing his lips.
He wouldn't kiss her though. He lifted his head and appeared to consider her question.
Winnie groaned. "Kiss me, Morgan, please."
He bent his elbows, leaned all the way in so that his chest crushed her breasts and his hips ground against hers and she felt the hard ridge of his erection against her thighs. But still he didn't kiss her, and suddenly she couldn't stand it a moment longer.
Groaning, Winnie reached up, clasped his neck and dragged his head down to hers. His mouth felt cool, he felt hard and strong and her lips parted beneath the pressure of his.
She wanted to open that way for him. Wanted to part her knees and let him in and feel him tight and hard against her skin.
Just wanting to know him, wanting to experience him, made her blood race, her body warming from the inside out. As his kiss deepened and his tongue thrust inside her mouth she felt herself soften, growing pliant against him. It was the most wonderful sensual awakening, a hint of what could be, a glimpse of what surrender would feel like.
The door banged open and the young man in the bright yellow print shirt burst in carrying Winnie's suitcase.
"Oh! Sorry," he apologized, quickly backing up once he'd realized he'd intruded.
But by then Winnie had jumped out from under Morgan's arm and Morgan was smiling faintly as he watched her smooth her linen skirt and top.
Her lips felt tender. Her body throbbed. She felt self-conscious once again.
"Thanks for the tour," she said briskly, trying to cover her embarrassment. "I think I now know where everything is."
His eyes met hers and his smile slowly stretched, laughter just beneath the surface, warmth in the blue depths. "Yes, I think I do, too."
He led her back to the center of the house, which had a distinct pavilion feel with the floor-to-ceiling windows and the oversize ceiling fans strategically positioned over dining and sitting areas.
Mr. Foley appeared as they returned to the living room. "A cold drink?" he asked, extending a sleek pewter tray.
"Thank you," Winnie said, accepting one of the tall glasses festively garnished with pineapple, banana and orange slices.
This was the life. She knew she was being spoiled, knew she'd never experience anything like this again. A small voice inside her urged her to savor every decadent cocktail, every breathtaking vista, every mind-blowing kiss, because before she knew it she'd be back in steamy New York, sweating on the subway's vinyl seat and wishing to high heaven that women's nylons had never been invented.
Morgan took his drink and Mr. Foley slid the tray beneath his arm. "There are hot and cold appetizers waiting," he said, gesturing toward the sunken living room.
"He's very formal," Winnie said as Mr. Foley marched down the hall back toward the kitchen.
"He's great, isn't he?" Morgan answered, carrying his drink down the steps into the living room eclectically furnished with antiques and low comfortable pieces.
Winnie had yet to take a sip from her glass but she loved just looking at the luscious fresh fruit garnish. She hadn't had really ripe pineapple in ages.
She followed Morgan slowly, reminding herself to remember this moment, making note of the gentle breeze created by the ceiling fan and the blue sky outside now lit with horizontal streaks of pink and orange. Even the sky here looked ripe, edible, sensual.
Morgan watched her come down the steps and approach the rattan coffee table. She was beautiful, and her beauty was natural, the kind that glows from the inside, the kind that has nothing to do with hair and makeup and elegant clothes.
It was her lovely green-flecked eyes. Her soft sensitive mouth. Her light brown hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. He loved the lines of her neck. The shape of her lips. Her curves. Oh, those curves.
He'd felt her warmth earlier, felt the promise of her softness and he'd wanted her so bad that it was all he could do to keep it slow, take it easy, stay relaxed.
She was smiling now, smiling at some secret thought and he loved the way she bit her lower lip trying to keep her smile to herself.
"Do you like the drink?" Morgan asked, indicating the glass with the frothy white mixture.
"I haven't tried it yet. Let me find out." She lifted her glass, took a little sip. "It's a banana milkshake!" She laughed in surprise.
That smile just about did him in. His gut knotted, his body hardened. He wanted to drop her on the couch, slide his hands beneath her narrow linen skirt and- He shook his head, he wouldn't last the night if he didn't get some control.
"An adult banana milkshake," he corrected, "it's potent. Mr. Foley makes one very dangerous banana daiquiri.'
She took another drink, this time a bigger swallow.
"I don't taste any alcohol."
"Annika said the same thing-" Morgan broke off, mentally kicking himself. That was stupid.
Winnie had heard him. It was amazing the impact his words had on her. A moment ago she'd been so happy she literally glowed, and yet suddenly she crumpled. Folded in like a paper airplane
"Annika's been here?"
Of course she had. Annika had been his girlfriend for months but none of that mattered now. Annika was the past. Winnie was the present. Women should know these things but they never focused on the important facts.
Morgan stifled a sigh. "She came with me last spring, when we were dating."
"Did she like it here?"
"Winnie, don't do this."
But Winnie's chin was set, her expression fixed.
"Did she come here often?"
"That's irrelevant. The important thing is you're here with me now."
Her eyes watered. "Yes, but that's just this week. It'll be someone else next week."
Morgan set his glass on the rattan coffee table. "I'm not going to even dignify that with a response."
She moved toward him, blocking his path. "Why not?"
"Because you're being ridiculous. You're acting ... jealous, and you have no right to be jealous."
"Why not?"
"Because I proposed to you. I was at the church yesterday. I was standing with the priest at the altar in front of a huge crowd of people waiting for you. And guess what? You walked out on me."
Winnie didn't speak and he d
rew in a deep breath, surprised at the depth of his emotion. He was angry, yes, but it wasn't just anger. It was...it was ...
Concern. Worry. Pain.
