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The breeze whispered through the leaves, a bird called out its final goodnight and the moon hung low and turned the sea into a silver ribbon. But none of it mattered. Not now, not with his lips upon hers, his taste in her mouth and the feel of his hard body pressed up against her.
He was unrelenting; his kisses intensified. He ravaged her mouth, plundered its depths with his tongue and tipped her head back so he could turn his hot mouth to her throat until she was gasping with the heat, the pleasure and the need.
And when he took one breast in one hand her knees went weak.
‘Make love to me,’ he said as he nuzzled her ear. A wave of pleasure rolled through her, so intense and so huge that she thought it might carry her away. Instead it passed, leaving her skin alive and tingling and with a heavy pooling heat between her thighs.
‘We barely know each other,’ she whispered, amazed and impressed that with a body screaming ‘yes’ she’d managed to find at least some kind of defence. Not that she’d actually said no.
She didn’t do casual sex; she didn’t do one-night stands. She didn’t need any man. And yet ‘we barely know each other’ was the best she could do?
‘We know that we want each other.’
Unfair! Then she gasped, her protest forgotten as his thumb stroked a nipple, sending arrows of exquisite pleasure straight to her core. ‘You want me.’ It was true, but surely that wasn’t the only point?
‘I can’t,’ she said, shaking her head, finding him harder to shake. ‘This is crazy. Jake and Monica…’
‘Are in Hawaii.’ His lips found hers again. Coaxing. Persuading.
She pulled away. ‘But I’m supposed to be here planning their wedding.’
His hand kept her head close to his mouth even while she voiced her argument, returning to her lips as soon as she’d uttered her words. ‘And meanwhile,’ he asked, ‘you should live like a nun?’
‘But it doesn’t mean anything.’
‘It means we want each other.’
‘I don’t do this sort of thing.’
‘Have you ever wanted to before?’
She shook her head, her teeth troubling lips already exquisitely sensitised as he took her head between his hands and looked at her. ‘Then maybe it’s time you did.’
She was drowning in his eyes, falling hopelessly and helplessly in the direction she knew she should not go. And there was nothing, no will or thought or crumb of hope to save her.
Except for…
‘Millie!’ she whispered, looking around, stiffening in his arms as she suddenly remembered where they were.
‘Has taken herself off to her apartment for the night. We’re alone, Sophie. Just you, me and the moon.’ His hands skimmed down her back, collecting up the hem of her sarong and easing it upwards, his hands curving around her behind, skimming over the small of her back as his mouth continued to weave magic on hers. Grit rolled under his fingertips, and she flinched as she remembered the forgotten shower.
‘This is crazy. I’m covered in sand.’
His face drew back, just enough so he could rest his forehead on hers and look into her eyes. ‘Something that is easily remedied.’ And she felt herself swept from her feet and into his arms as if she weighed nothing.
He moved with the certainty of a man who knew what he wanted, but beyond that with the certainty of a man who knew what she wanted too. She did want this. It might be crazy; it might be a type of madness. He eased open a sliding door with a foot, kissing her until she felt faint, breathless and giddy with desire. It had to be madness, she told herself. One short day ago she couldn’t wait to get away from this man, had sought to flee from his dangerous acquaintance, and yet now she was trembling at the prospect of making love with him.
No wonder she’d felt compelled to run. For even then, underlying the hostile emotions and bitter words of yesterday’s torrid meeting, she’d sensed he’d connected with her on some deep, elemental level. A level she’d shied away from. A level she’d feared to explore.
It was too late for fear now, as he pushed open a door and kicked it shut with his foot. His room, she figured. It was wide and high and with a bed the size of a minor principality. He didn’t bother with the lights. The silvery glow from the moon slanting through the windows was enough to light his way past the bed, where he lingered only long enough to kick off his sandals and rid himself of his phone, before heading to the generous en suite turned magical by the same warm lunar glow.
Still he kept her in his arms, even when he entered the spacious shower cubicle, even as he turned the taps on full.
She gasped as the first burst of water hit, the torrent from a showerhead the size of a dinner plate cool against her super-heated flesh. Then her vision and her senses cleared enough for her to realise the insanity of what he’d done. ‘You’re drenched!’ But he only laughed and, keeping her so close to him that she could not miss the press of his arousal, lowered her slowly to the floor.
