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‘Jo.’
Her hands pressed against his chest, as if readying to push away, but she didn’t move. With a slow, trancelike motion, she tilted her head back. Beyond her the sea still roared, but the grey of her eyes was calm and deep, darkened by her dilated pupils. He forced his hands to ease, but her fingers curled into the wet fabric of his shirt, her nails dragging it against his skin. It hurt, his whole body curling around that sensation as if struck, his breath hitching and his arousal hardening in an agonised surge of lust. Her lips parted, her body shifting against the unmistakable sign of his need. His hands caught her waist, trying to still her movement, but somehow they pressed her closer and her lashes dipped, colour blooming over her cheekbones like sunrise. He cupped her cheek in his hand, gathering that bloom against his palm, his voice urgent as he tried to penetrate her trance-like state.
‘You have just given me one of the worst scares of my life and the only thing I can think about with any clarity is kissing you senseless. So go to the castle now, Jo. Please.’ He shouldn’t have added the plea; it sounded as desperate as he felt. Her hands unlatched from his shirt, sliding down to his abdomen and he groaned as his muscles contracted under their passage.
‘You want to kiss me?’ She sounded more shocked by that than by anything that had preceded it and he gave a weak laugh.
‘I want a hell of a lot more than that, but at the moment I would swim a mile in those waves for a kiss from you. Which is why you need to go. Now.’
* * *
Benneit wanted to kiss her. And more.
It made little sense, but the hot, hard length of his arousal pressed against her was undeniable and, as she searched his eyes, she saw it was true. Danger and anger did strange things to men. If she was sensible, she would heed Benneit’s warning and hurry away.
She did not feel sensible. Her body was hot and cold and tingling as if she was too close to a fire after a bath, the hairs on her arms and nape rising towards the heat, her breasts heavy and aching.
They had almost died... He had almost died because of her. But they were alive and he wanted to kiss her, no matter why. That was all that mattered.
Her palms dragged against the chill, wet fabric covering his chest, rising to press against the tense sinews at his nape and into his dark, wet hair. It tickled the skin between her fingers, clinging to her hands as she flexed her fingertips against his scalp, rising on to her toes, leaning into his hard, lean body because hers was shaking with anticipation and fear.
Her lips touched his gently, but the sensation was anything but gentle—it stung her numb lips and set her body ablaze like a splash of oil on fire. For an eternity they stayed frozen, their hands holding each other, their lips touching, the only movement their shallow, careful breathing; she could feel his tension in every inch of contact between them and she knew any moment it would take him away from her. The moment would pass before it truly began.
A kiss from you...
She curled her fingers into his wet hair, latched on to him like strangling kelp and kissed him with every feeling that lived inside of her. She tasted his tongue with hers, loving the contrast of textures—his lips were silk over marble, the rougher rasp of his tongue, firm and demanding against hers, the scrape of his teeth on her throbbing lips sending shivers down to her nipples and to the thudding heat that was expanding between her legs. She had never kissed like this, but she could not stop.
A deep, guttural groan coursed through him and he abandoned his temporary passivity under her caress, his arms tightening and his hands moving over her as if he could absorb her, as unstoppable and threatening as the waves that almost took their lives.
‘I warned you, Jo.’ His voice was a growl of thunder, but she shook her head, trying to press even closer, her hands anchoring in his shirt as if he might escape her. But he didn’t try, he just deepened the kiss, parting her lips again, tasting and suckling her lips and tongue in a searching cadence that had her whole body swaying to a foreign rhythm, like a clumsy child trying to follow a new dance. He was possessing her, encompassing her, drawing her soul out with each sweep and caress of his mouth and tongue, stripping away plain little Joane Langdale and leaving only the hot, live core of her need.
