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Her lashes lifted.
Her eyes, as deep and blue as the sea, met his.
Then, with one deep, slow, sweet thrust, he was inside her.
She came instantly, sobbing his name, shattering into a million shards of spinning glass, and as her muscles clamped around him, he let go, let go, let go of the loneliness and pain of the past as he exploded within her.
She cried out and reached for him, bringing him down to her so that she could kiss his mouth.
He collapsed against her. He could feel his heart racing, feel hers galloping.
After a couple of minutes, he raised his head and kissed her again.
“Sorry,” he whispered.
“For what?”
“I was too fast.”
“You were perfect.”
He smiled. “You’re what’s perfect.”
His words brought back reality. A tremor went through her, and he rose up on his elbows and looked down at her.
“What is it? Did I hurt you?”
“No. Oh, no, you didn’t hurt me.” She smiled and fought back the tears that threatened to spill. “You were wonderful.”
“What every man wants to hear,” he said, grinning.
“It’s just that—that nothing’s changed, you see. There are things you don’t know about me…”
Roarke rolled onto his side, taking her with him, and kissed her. “We’ll have plenty of time to learn all about each other.”
“What you just said. About me being perfect…”
His easy smile faded.
“Sweetheart, I know there’s something haunting you.” He brushed his lips gently over hers. “Whatever it is, it won’t change anything about us. About you and me. Nothing could do that.”
She wanted that to be true. And maybe it was. He was a good, kind man. He might not judge her as harshly as she had judged herself.
Now, she thought. Tell him now, right this second…
But he was kissing her. She was drowning in waves of pleasure, and the urgent little voice in her head was lost against the power of those waves that were carrying her toward the edge of the universe.
He loved her. She loved him. And, just as he’d said, right now that was the only truth that mattered.
Chapter Nine
The sun was low in the sky by the time they weighed anchor and began motoring back to Isla de la Pantera.
Roarke stood at the wheel with Jennifer in front of him, his arm around her waist. They had spent the long day making love, drowsing, swimming naked in the warm sea and sharing the lunch Constancia had prepared along with a bottle of chilled white wine Roarke took from his boat’s mini-fridge.
It had been the most glorious day of Jennifer’s life—and now it was coming to an end.
She sighed, and Roarke drew her closer. “What?”
