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When they had the worst of it stacked, she dusted off her hands, and he suggested, “Maybe we’ll light it after we go for a swim?”
“Sounds good.” She pulled off her sarong. Moonlight and the last golden rays of the sunset spilled over her skin. He’d been thinking of her as wry, small and skinny. Now he found out he’d gotten it wrong. She had curves all right—dangerous ones. High, pert breasts and hips that left his mouth watering. He wanted to put his hands on her. But she turned and with a laugh ran towards the surf.
“You coming?” she yelled.
He studied the water. So calm today. Small swells and a low ruffle of foam, and nothing like the high waves that had swept over the ferry the other day. He followed her to the edge of the water, and splashed straight in. When he turned—the warm surf lifting and lowering him, wrapped around his waist—he saw her s
tanding at the edge of the sand. “Come on, chicken. You scared to get wet?”
“It’s colder than I thought it’d be.” Clutching her arms, she stepped back from the water.
“Oh, no you don’t. This was your idea. Come on—you’re supposed to be the native guide.”
She shook her head. “I’m a transplant. A fake native.”
He surged forward.
With a giggle, she turned to run. He caught her, and she gave a squeal. Lifting her up, he carried her into the water, her gigging and kicking, but not that hard. Her skin felt like satin. He tightened his hold. “Ready?”
“No!” she shrieked and grabbed hold of her nose.
He took her under with him. She came up sputtering and gave a laugh. “God, that’s cold.”
Putting his arms around her, he pulled her close. “I’ll warm you.” He looked down to see she was staring up at him, her smile frozen, her eyes intense and bright. He’d thought she’d laugh and punch him. Instead, she pressed herself against him, passion and need heating her gaze.
“Oh, yeah?” she whispered it so low he barely heard her over the soft pound of the surf.
“Yeah.” He bent down to capture her lips with his. He tangled his fingers into her wet hair and sucked in a breath that was all her. She tasted of salt water—and pizza sauce. She tasted like paradise. He took his time, exploring every part of her mouth until he’d mapped all of it, every touch of her tongue, every inch of her lips, every taste and sensation. He kissed her over and over, until she gave a soft moan.
She shifted and pushed herself against him, brushing her breasts against his chest, leaving him wanting to rip off that slip of a swimsuit she had on.
Her skin had heated—her body felt to him like it was on fire. Burning from the inside out, he hoped. He reached around, grabbed her butt and pulled her up against him. She moaned and wrapped her legs around his waist. He traced the swells of her breasts over her bathing suit top, and pulled back to stare into her eyes. She was panting for air just like he was. Lowering his mouth to hers he kissed her and trailed his lips down the side of her throat and then over to her earlobe to gently nibble it.
“Oh, dear lord,” she muttered. Her head fell back.
Stretching her out on the water, he cradled her and ran his tongue across her skin where her bathing suit top stopped. She gasped. Leaning back, he told her, “This has to come off.” He pulled at the strings to her bikini top, freeing her breasts. He could see her nipples harden, so he bent to take one into his mouth.
She gave another moan and wrapped her hand around his neck. “Beach,” she muttered. She pulled out of his reach and swam for the shore. He followed her. Out of the surf, she pulled her bikini top off. She looked delicious in the last of the twilight, her skin glistening from the water, her breasts high and taut.
Grabbing her by the waist, he picked her up and fell to his knees beside their towels. Spreading her out on the towels and sand, he sat back on his heels and smiled at her. “Now’s the time to say something if this is moving too fast.”
Chapter Seven
Karen bit her lower lip. The way Mike was staring at her—like she was the last drink of water on the island—began to leave her a little self conscious. Sitting up, she crossed her arms over her chest. Mike grabbed her wrists. “Don’t hide yourself. Ever. You’re more than beautiful. You’re like some mermaid now—or a sea nymph.”
She gave a laugh. “Bet you say that to all the girls.”
He grinned. “Only the wet ones just out of the ocean.” He leaned over and took her lips with his again, his kiss deep. Pressing her back on the sand, she wiggled a little. She could feel his erection pressing against her, hot and hard. She put her hands on his chest and traced the lean muscle.
His body was perfect—a mass of sculpted muscle. The hair on his legs brushed against her skin, a soft tease. Only a light dusting of hair covered his chest, and she loved how it felt brushing over her nipples as he shifted and moved. His hand slid down to her hip and she felt him tugging at the string that held up her bikini bottoms. She sucked in her breath as the wet fabric slipped away.
He moved his hand to the inside of her thigh, gave a soft stroke, and whispered to her, “Open for me.”
Mesmerized by him, by that low, throaty need in his voice, she spread her legs.
He looked down at her, his eyes dark in the twilight, but she could see the moonlight starting to give his skin a pale glow. Damp drops clung to his chest and arms, and his wet hair curled wildly. Kissing her again, he touched her and she gasped. She tightened her hands on his shoulders. Lifting up, he grinned down at her, then started moving down her body, kissing her nipples, then her belly, and finally the inside of her thigh.
She could feel the wetness and heat gather. She put a hand on his shoulder. He settled between her legs and gave a long swipe of his tongue across her folds. She bucked against him, but he held her hips down and did it again and then again. She was panting. A cool breeze ruffled her skin and his hair, but Mike’s heat warmed her. He took her clit into his mouth next and sucked hard, and then flicked the end with his tongue.
