hands over her body in this intimately arousing fashion. Yet Beau wasn’t really a stranger. They’d been through so much together that in some ways she felt she knew him far better than she did Jeffrey or Julio.
“And now the pièce de résistance,” Beau drawled. His hands closed upon her breasts beneath the water. She cried out and involuntarily surged toward him.
“I’ve been wanting to do that since the minute I saw you in that bar,” he said thickly. He was squeezing her gently and his thumbs were exploring the pink rims that encircled the hard crests of her nipples. “And I think you’ve been wanting it, too, haven’t you, Kate?”
She hadn’t realized it, but she must have. The response was so immediate, the filling of an aching void so evident. “The water has washed all the soap off your hands,” she said vaguely through the haze of heat surrounding her. It seemed impossible now that she’d even noticed the coldness of the water.
“It doesn’t matter, we’ll never miss it,” Beauassured her. “They say friction does just as good a job as soap.”
“Who says?” she asked breathlessly, not really caring. The nail of his thumb was toying playfully with the swollen tip of her breast.
“I forget,” Beau said absently, moving closer, “but I’m anxious to test the theory. Part your legs, love.”
She obeyed without thinking. “Why do—” She broke off as his knee suddenly was inserted between her thighs and he was lifting her, one hand moving from her breast to the curve of her buttocks to pull her forward so she was straddling his strong muscular thigh with shocking intimacy. He pressed her back against the bank, resting his other knee against it for support.
“There, that’s better.” Beau’s voice held the same breathlessness she was feeling. “Almost comfortable.” His hand at her bottom was moving her back and forth on his leg. “A very comfortable ride, eh, sugar?”
Comfortable? There was a distinctly mischievous note in that Southern drawl that made her aware he knew just how ridiculous that adjective was. That friction he’d mentioned was burningher with every motion and she felt she was learning by Braille the physical substance and textures of him. The hard bone beneath the resilient muscles, the slightly rough film of hair that was prickling against that most sensitive part of her. Her swollen breasts swung heavy and ripe against the sleek smoothness of his chest with every other movement and she could hear his breathing become harsher and more labored with every touch.
His hand still cupping her breast was squeezing and relaxing in rhythm with the molten friction he was stirring in her lower body. His index finger encircling the budding tip was both inquisitive and arousing. “You have lovely little puckers all around this pretty thing,” he said raggedly. “Is that because of the cold or what I’m doing to you?”
“I don’t know,” she gasped. She didn’t know anything that wasn’t connected with the liquid aching need that was racking her entire body.
“Then perhaps we’d better find out.” The hand that was on her buttocks suddenly moved around and slid swiftly between her and his thigh. “I want you to be sure. It’s a matter ofpersonal pride.” His fingers started moving, caressing, delving, teasing with a devilish skill.
“Beau!” She arched forward against him, her hands clutching desperately at his shoulders. She uttered a low sound that was half guttural groan and half whimper as she felt two of those diabolically knowledgeable fingers enter, stroke, burn, rotate.
She was so close she could feel the thunder of his heart against her ear and his voice was shaking a little. “It’s me, isn’t it, Kate? Say it!”
“It’s you,” she said, hardly knowing what she was saying. She would have said anything he wanted her to at that moment.
“So tight,” he muttered. “Oh, God, Kate, I can’t wait. I want to
“And now the pièce de résistance,” Beau drawled. His hands closed upon her breasts beneath the water. She cried out and involuntarily surged toward him.
“I’ve been wanting to do that since the minute I saw you in that bar,” he said thickly. He was squeezing her gently and his thumbs were exploring the pink rims that encircled the hard crests of her nipples. “And I think you’ve been wanting it, too, haven’t you, Kate?”
She hadn’t realized it, but she must have. The response was so immediate, the filling of an aching void so evident. “The water has washed all the soap off your hands,” she said vaguely through the haze of heat surrounding her. It seemed impossible now that she’d even noticed the coldness of the water.
“It doesn’t matter, we’ll never miss it,” Beauassured her. “They say friction does just as good a job as soap.”
“Who says?” she asked breathlessly, not really caring. The nail of his thumb was toying playfully with the swollen tip of her breast.
“I forget,” Beau said absently, moving closer, “but I’m anxious to test the theory. Part your legs, love.”
She obeyed without thinking. “Why do—” She broke off as his knee suddenly was inserted between her thighs and he was lifting her, one hand moving from her breast to the curve of her buttocks to pull her forward so she was straddling his strong muscular thigh with shocking intimacy. He pressed her back against the bank, resting his other knee against it for support.
“There, that’s better.” Beau’s voice held the same breathlessness she was feeling. “Almost comfortable.” His hand at her bottom was moving her back and forth on his leg. “A very comfortable ride, eh, sugar?”
Comfortable? There was a distinctly mischievous note in that Southern drawl that made her aware he knew just how ridiculous that adjective was. That friction he’d mentioned was burningher with every motion and she felt she was learning by Braille the physical substance and textures of him. The hard bone beneath the resilient muscles, the slightly rough film of hair that was prickling against that most sensitive part of her. Her swollen breasts swung heavy and ripe against the sleek smoothness of his chest with every other movement and she could hear his breathing become harsher and more labored with every touch.
His hand still cupping her breast was squeezing and relaxing in rhythm with the molten friction he was stirring in her lower body. His index finger encircling the budding tip was both inquisitive and arousing. “You have lovely little puckers all around this pretty thing,” he said raggedly. “Is that because of the cold or what I’m doing to you?”
“I don’t know,” she gasped. She didn’t know anything that wasn’t connected with the liquid aching need that was racking her entire body.
“Then perhaps we’d better find out.” The hand that was on her buttocks suddenly moved around and slid swiftly between her and his thigh. “I want you to be sure. It’s a matter ofpersonal pride.” His fingers started moving, caressing, delving, teasing with a devilish skill.
“Beau!” She arched forward against him, her hands clutching desperately at his shoulders. She uttered a low sound that was half guttural groan and half whimper as she felt two of those diabolically knowledgeable fingers enter, stroke, burn, rotate.
She was so close she could feel the thunder of his heart against her ear and his voice was shaking a little. “It’s me, isn’t it, Kate? Say it!”
“It’s you,” she said, hardly knowing what she was saying. She would have said anything he wanted her to at that moment.
“So tight,” he muttered. “Oh, God, Kate, I can’t wait. I want to
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