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“Ah,” he said solemnly, “I get it. You’re fine, and the sex was fine. So, let’s see, on a scale of one to ten, what’s that register? A four?”
“No. Honestly. I only meant—”
“You meant,” he said quietly, “you don’t know what the hell you’re doing, lying here in my arms.”
She felt the color rush into her face. Foolish, because what was there to blush about, considering what they’d just done?
“I don’t…” She cleared her throat. “I don’t really want to talk about it, Matthew.”
She tried to move, but his arms tightened around her.
“Good.” His tone roughened. “Neither do I, because I don’t have any answers, either.” He rolled her onto her back, clasping her wrists so her hands were at her sides, his eyes a luminous emerald green in the moonlight. “All I know is that I wanted to make love to you as soon as I saw you.”
“Was that before or after you broke into my room?”
He let go of her hand, caught hold of her face, held it so she had no choice but to meet his gaze.
“Yeah,” he said gruffly, “I broke in. I forced you to go with me.” She started to twist away but he wouldn’t let her. His fingers dug into her jaw. “And you still have something you got in Cartagena. I don’t know what it is. I don’t even know who you are.” A muscle knotted in his jaw; his eyes moved over her face, lingering on her parted lips, then rose to meet her gaze again. “But I’ve never wanted a woman the way I want you.”
“That’s a charming line. Does it always wor—”
She gasped as he kissed her, his mouth ruthless against hers. She struggled but he showed her no mercy until, to her horror, she felt herself giving in to his kiss, felt her lips moving against his, her heartbeat quickening as it had before.
“You see?” he whispered, stroking his hand down her body. “It’s the same for you.”
“It’s not. It’s not! I don’t want you. I don’t—”
He kissed her, his mouth brushing lightly over hers.
“One way or another,” he said, “I’ve been a soldier all my life. I live by a code, Mia. Call it a code of honor, call it discipline—any name you give it, it means the same thing. I honor my commitments.”
“Meaning,” she said, a little catch in her voice, “don’t expect special treatment, just because we’ve—we’ve—”
“Meaning,” he said harshly, “this is the first time I’ve broken that code. I shouldn’t have made love to you.” His voice softened; he stroked her hair back from her face and this time, when he kissed her, the kiss was so tender she felt her heart melt. “The truth is, I don’t know what happens next. I only know that talking never accomplishes anything.”
His hand moved and covered her breast. His thumb brushed her nipple, and the liquid tug it elicited deep in her belly was intense enough to make her moan.
“But this,” he said in a low, hot voice, “this will.”
He kissed her again and again, until she knew he was right. Nothing mattered but him and the way she felt when he touched her. The way he groaned under the
stroke of her hand. The way he tasted, all salt and passion and clean, powerful man, when she kissed him.
When at last, Matthew slid into her, deep into her, he rode her until she was blind to everything but him.
Sweat glistened on his shoulders. Mia kissed his salty skin, clasped his hips, levered herself up to meet his powerful thrusts.
The crest of the wave grew higher and higher. She was frantic to ride it to shore but Matthew wouldn’t let her. She begged for him to end it and, at last, he did, crying out with her as she came apart and shattered in his arms.
She collapsed against him, weeping with joy, with despair, with so many emotions they threatened to destroy her.
Matthew held her close, his heart racing against hers.
“Mia,” he said softly, but she shook her head.
She wasn’t going to think about anything. Not now.
Instead she kissed his mouth, then fell asleep safe in his arms.
