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The ground didn’t open up and swallow her. Noah didn’t back away as she was sure he wanted to. Instead, his fingers circled her wrists and he yanked down her hands, leaving them eye to eye, toe to toe.
“That’s it? Someone to hold you through the night?” At Noah’s guttural tone, her eyes widened. “That’s what you want?”
But he didn’t wait for her answer. Instead, he jerked her hard against him. Her feet slipped on the sandy ground, but that didn’t matter, because he held her with a grip that wouldn’t allow her to move, let alone fall.
Then he kissed her.
The last dregs of anger evaporated. Embarrassment fled. Everything but the feel of him against her dropped away. Juliet stepped closer to his solid strength and moaned into his mouth, parting her lips so that his tongue could push inside. Sweet, heady intrusion.
Her fingers curled around his biceps and she hung on as he took her mouth, took it without hesitation or doubt. It was all confidence and need and when he sucked her bottom lip, she could only press into him with her hips and breasts.
His hand slid upward to cradle the back of her head and hold her steady for more searing kisses, one after the other, creating a string of perfect, burning sensation. She dug her fingers into his resilient skin and opened her eyes to marvel at the moonlight on his face, his eyelashes feathery shadows against his cheekbones.
His mouth was coarse-edged with whiskers and she reveled in the rough burn of them against her chin, her cheeks, the corners of her lips. “Juliet…” It wasn’t a question, she thought, it was just her name, an extension of the desire she could feel running through his veins. Noah desired her.
Noah desired Juliet.
A woman, not a widow.
And suddenly the kisses and the embrace weren’t enough. They were hot, but still too chaste, and remembering the other times they’d kissed, she worried that she might only have this moment, this chance. Grabbing his hand from her shoulder, she yanked it down to cover her breast.
His groan made her womb clench.
Her head fell back and his whiskers abraded her skin as his mouth followed the column of her neck. She felt the prickly burn everywhere, could imagine it everywhere, on her shin, behind her knee, against the tender flesh between her thighs.
His hips pushed against hers and she felt the heavy weight of his erection along her belly. She tilted the cradle of her pelvis toward it—taking the heavy male thrust of him against her softer abdomen, wishing right now that she could take him into the softest, hottest part of her.
“Noah.” How far was a car, a couch, any comfortable flat surface? “Noah.” His hand kneaded her breast and her urgency only flared higher. “Please.”
His hair was cool against the palms of her hands as his head dipped toward her breasts. Flat surface forgotten, Juliet only thought of more. More of his touch, more of this pressing desire, more man against her.
More knowing she was, indeed, alive.
His fingers brushed over her nipple. Not enough, not enough. But then she realized he was pushing the edge of the velvet robe away, tucking it below her left breast so that it was only covered by sheer blouse, sheer bra. The surf below them roared, but her blood was louder in her ears as she waited, breathless, for what he would do next.
His mouth latched onto her breast. With his tongue, he wetted the fabric. His lips drew hard on her nipple.
Her knees buckled. Her womb clenched. Wet heat rushed between her thighs and she wanted to cry with its goodness.
His arm was a steel band around her back, and his mouth was as relentless at her swelling breast. She felt her flesh there expand, as if it wanted to fill his mouth like she wanted to be filled by the erection pressing heat and life against her belly. Her fingers bit into his scalp and he nipped her in return.
Her hips jerked against him, helpless against the sweet sting. He nipped again, and it wasn’t so sweet, only better, and she yanked his shirt from the waistband of his pants so she could touch skin. Noah’s hot, smooth skin.
He lifted his head as she explored beneath the soft cotton. His mouth was full, redder than usual, and his eyes were intent as he worked on the other side of her robe. “More,” he said, glancing up at her. His eyes glittered in the moonlight. “More.”
“Yes.”
At the word, beneath her palms, goose bumps rose on his skin. Her blood raced, guessing the physical reaction meant he was as turned on as she, and then she was certain he was, because he jerked the blouse down, taking her bra with it, exposing her breast to the night air.
To him.
He stared at it a long moment. She clutched his sides, feeling a matching set of goose bumps rise along her flesh from the top of her head, over her exposed chest, and down the sensitive insides of her legs.
