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“Do you want me?”
“Are you jesting? Can you really lie there and ask me if I want you? My whole body is ready to come apart at the stitching if I don’t fuck you right now.”
It was her turn to move against him. Feel the tip of his cock poised to enter. Her earlier need resurfaced, sharper for the wait, the tingly heat between her legs unbearable.
He took a deep, moaning shaky breath. Cursed. And pushed himself away. “I may live or die in the next few days. I don’t want my last thought to be that you regret what you feel. That I’m placing you into some kind of prison.”
She lurched for him. Refused to let him escape. “Can’t you let me mourn the loss of one dream even while I revel in the realization of another?”
He didn’t look convinced. In fact, he looked bloody pissed and ready to murder.
She lowered her head. Slanted her lips across his, smelling the heady clean scent of him. The odor of man and sex and sweat. “If you want me as much as you say you do, you’ll finish what you started. You’ll end this. Now.” Her words came as hard and angry as his own. And she didn’t bloody care.
She wanted this throbbing pleasure-pain to end in the crashing rush of orgasm. Wanted to feel him slam into her with a power that would send her out of herself. Prove to her the choice she’d made was right.
Caught beneath her, his gaze hardened to a frozen blue chill. “You’re damned right. I will end it.”
Gone was even the pretence of tenderness. Forgetting the bandage on her arm, or mayhap remembering it and not caring, he shifted. Flipped them over so that once again he lay on top. Dominant. In control. Mad as hell.
He spread her legs. Buried himself inside her, every thrust staking a claim. Proving a point. He watched her as he pleasured her, his eyes as sharp and focused as a mountain eagle.
She arched against him as their rhythm increased. As the supple coil of her body vibrated beneath him.
Cam’s body hardened. His arms flexed, every muscle stretched tight even as a shudder exploded through him. Into her.
She clung to him, fighting the riptide of emotion and sensation as each crashing wave tore her apart as easily as they had the little yacht. But looking up, she s
aw through the shroud of rain and wind, the glowing lights of home.
“Colonel?”
Cam pushed the hand away. Burrowed deeper under the blankets. Encountered naked flesh, which jolted him out of sleep.
Morgan.
So it hadn’t been a dream.
He spooned up against her, nuzzling the flesh of her neck.
“Colonel Sinclair, sir. Wake up. Please.”
Shit. Amos. What the hell was he doing here? Cam opened one eye to see the old batman’s face inches from his own. “Go away.”
“I’m that sorry, sir.” Amos’s idea of a whisper was anything but. Cam shrank under the volume. Hoped Morgan didn’t wake. “Sir Joshua’s belowstairs. Says he’s needin’ to speak with ye.”
Cam groaned, rolling away from Morgan’s delicious heat. Rising to take the banyan Amos held out for him. “Did he say anything else?”
“No, sir. But he’s brought Lady Sinclair and Miss Euna with him. I’d be on my guard if I were you, sir. He’s preparin’ for battle, by the looks of him.”
Uncle Josh. The perfect beginning to a perfect day. More than likely here for his expected recount of last night’s progress with the completely forgettable Mrs. Kennett-Holmes.
“So be it,” he grumbled, plowing a hand through his hair. Yawning. Stretching the kinks out. “Bring me my clothes.”
“But…Sir Joshua…” Amos motioned toward the door.
“If Uncle Josh comes round at dawn, Uncle Josh can damned well wait until I make myself presentable.”
But though he said it, Cam dressed in haste. Breeks. Boots.
