so tender, so thorough, that he very quickly brought her to a stormy peak of tension. Far from trying topush him away, she went crazy with the need for him. She sobbed against his mouth and pushed up with her hips, completing his possession even before he realized what she meant to do.
He shuddered and suddenly there was a rhythm, a fierce urgency that blotted out the sea and the sky and the night. She heard his voice against her mouth, but she was climbing, climbing, climbing…
There was a sharp explosion of heat that caught her unawares. She clung and stiffened, aware of desperate motion, a harsh cry and the convulsive shuddering of the body so intimately joined to her own. And then, slowly, the world came back into focus.
She lay beneath him, exhausted with pleasure, too shaken to move, fighting to get her breath.
“As first times go,” she managed to say unsteadily, “and on a scale of ten, that was at least a twenty.”
“Even as experience goes, that was a twenty,” he breathed at her ear. “Are you all right? It isn’t too bad?”
“It isn’t bad at all.” She moved against him, glorying in his nudity and her own, at the feel of him so close. “Are you going to roll over and go to sleep now?”
“Yes, and so are you.” He chuckled.
He got up, lifting her, and carried her to bed. He slid her under the covers, pulled her gently into his arms and turned off the light. “Try to get some rest,” he whispered. “You’re going to need it in the morning.”
She laughed delightedly, resting her cheek on his chest with exquisite delight.
“Shelly.”
“Hmmmm?”
“You haven’t said you love me.”
“Yes, I have,” she murmured drowsily. “I’ve said it a hundred times, but you haven’t heard it. I love you madly. I always will.”
He smiled and brushed his lips against her forehead.
“I’m glad. Because you’re my life now.”
She sighed, stretching as she snuggled closer. “Faulkner.”
“Hmmmm?”
“We’ll always have Paris.”
He chuckled. Just before he closed his eyes, he felt a twinge of sorrow for that fictional character who’d walked away with only a gendarme for consolation. He had something much, much sweeter. He had Shelly…and Ben…and a future full of love.
* * * * *
Keep reading for a preview of
New York Times Bestselling author
Diana Palmer’s
newest hardcover for HQN Books
BEFORE SUNRISE
A vailable this July at your favorite book outlet.
Chapter One
Knoxville, Tennessee, May 1994
T HE CROWD WAS DENSE , but he stood out. He was taller than most of the other spectators and looked elegant in his expensive, tailored gray-vested suit. He had a lean, dark face, faintly scarred, with large, almond-shaped black eyes and short eyelashes. His mouth was wide and thin-lipped, his chin stubbornly jutted. His thick, jet-black hair was gathered into a neat ponytail that fell almost to his waist in back. Several other men in the stands wore their hair that way. But they were white. Cortez was Comanche. He had the background to wear the unconventional hairstyle. On him, it looked sensual and wild and even a little dangerous.
Another ponytailed man, a redhead with a receding hairline and thick glasses, grinned and gave him the victory sign. Cortez shrugged, unimpressed, and turned his attention toward the graduation ceremonies. He was here against his will and the last thing he felt like was being friendly. If he’d followed his instincts, he’d still be in Washingtongoing over a backlog of federal cases he was due to prosecute in court.
The dean of the university was announcing the names of the graduates. He’d reached the K’s, and on the program, Phoebe Margaret Keller was the second name under that heading.
It was a beautiful spring day at the University of Tennessee at Knoxville, so the commencement ceremony was being held outside. Phoebe was recognizable by the long platinum blond braid trailing the back of her dark gown as she accepted her diploma
He shuddered and suddenly there was a rhythm, a fierce urgency that blotted out the sea and the sky and the night. She heard his voice against her mouth, but she was climbing, climbing, climbing…
There was a sharp explosion of heat that caught her unawares. She clung and stiffened, aware of desperate motion, a harsh cry and the convulsive shuddering of the body so intimately joined to her own. And then, slowly, the world came back into focus.
She lay beneath him, exhausted with pleasure, too shaken to move, fighting to get her breath.
“As first times go,” she managed to say unsteadily, “and on a scale of ten, that was at least a twenty.”
“Even as experience goes, that was a twenty,” he breathed at her ear. “Are you all right? It isn’t too bad?”
“It isn’t bad at all.” She moved against him, glorying in his nudity and her own, at the feel of him so close. “Are you going to roll over and go to sleep now?”
“Yes, and so are you.” He chuckled.
He got up, lifting her, and carried her to bed. He slid her under the covers, pulled her gently into his arms and turned off the light. “Try to get some rest,” he whispered. “You’re going to need it in the morning.”
She laughed delightedly, resting her cheek on his chest with exquisite delight.
“Shelly.”
“Hmmmm?”
“You haven’t said you love me.”
“Yes, I have,” she murmured drowsily. “I’ve said it a hundred times, but you haven’t heard it. I love you madly. I always will.”
He smiled and brushed his lips against her forehead.
“I’m glad. Because you’re my life now.”
She sighed, stretching as she snuggled closer. “Faulkner.”
“Hmmmm?”
“We’ll always have Paris.”
He chuckled. Just before he closed his eyes, he felt a twinge of sorrow for that fictional character who’d walked away with only a gendarme for consolation. He had something much, much sweeter. He had Shelly…and Ben…and a future full of love.
* * * * *
Keep reading for a preview of
New York Times Bestselling author
Diana Palmer’s
newest hardcover for HQN Books
BEFORE SUNRISE
A vailable this July at your favorite book outlet.
Chapter One
Knoxville, Tennessee, May 1994
T HE CROWD WAS DENSE , but he stood out. He was taller than most of the other spectators and looked elegant in his expensive, tailored gray-vested suit. He had a lean, dark face, faintly scarred, with large, almond-shaped black eyes and short eyelashes. His mouth was wide and thin-lipped, his chin stubbornly jutted. His thick, jet-black hair was gathered into a neat ponytail that fell almost to his waist in back. Several other men in the stands wore their hair that way. But they were white. Cortez was Comanche. He had the background to wear the unconventional hairstyle. On him, it looked sensual and wild and even a little dangerous.
Another ponytailed man, a redhead with a receding hairline and thick glasses, grinned and gave him the victory sign. Cortez shrugged, unimpressed, and turned his attention toward the graduation ceremonies. He was here against his will and the last thing he felt like was being friendly. If he’d followed his instincts, he’d still be in Washingtongoing over a backlog of federal cases he was due to prosecute in court.
The dean of the university was announcing the names of the graduates. He’d reached the K’s, and on the program, Phoebe Margaret Keller was the second name under that heading.
It was a beautiful spring day at the University of Tennessee at Knoxville, so the commencement ceremony was being held outside. Phoebe was recognizable by the long platinum blond braid trailing the back of her dark gown as she accepted her diploma
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