his lips in turn.
He sipped from the snifter and held it while she drank in the exotic aroma and fiery taste of brandy. Bending, he set the glass on the rim of the bath, glanced toward the steaming pool at their feet, and with eyes on hers, loosed the belt of his robe.
Her breath caught.
Terrycloth slipped from his shoulders and slid down his body.
He was as beautiful as she remembered, the planes of his face sculpted by shadows. No, more so … with the slender strength of a rapier. His long line of torso still tapered to narrow hips and compact rounded buttocks, but now he looked stronger, more substantial. The whorl of hair below his navel pointed the way to his sex, rising powerfully from a dark thicket.
A flush of heat suffused her.
His eyes acknowledged her approval while letting himself down into the dark oval of water. He ducked his head and came up sleek and shining. Although silent, everything about him bespoke his need, from the set of his mouth to his hand, raised dripping from the bath to beckon.
A momentary hesitation, and she loosed the tasseled sash and spread the velvet open. With shaking hands, she pushed the robe from her shoulders. As silk slipped over her hips to pool on the tile, she heard Rory’s audible breath. Though she wasn’t as reed thin as she’d been at eighteen, appreciation warmed his gaze.
Over cool stone, she stepped to the edge and let the warm pool take her into its embrace.
Water swirled as Rory moved with a suddenness that surprised her. His lips, wet from the bath, took hers urgently.
Her mouth opened beneath his as it had on the forest bridge. For a long moment, they explored anew the texture and taste of each another. Then he drew back, reached for the brandy snifter and dipped a finger. Very slowly, he moved his hand toward her while she drew in her breath at what she believed to be his destination. Sure enough, he touched the liquid drop to the tip of her bare breast.
With a gasp, she brought her hands up to grip his head, guiding his kiss to her taut peak. He teased and tantalized, his tongue hotter than the bath water. When she was aglow with need, he lifted his head and reached for more brandy.
She beat him to it. Bending, she flicked her tongue over his tight brown nipple, licking at the pungent liquor. It was his turn to hold her mouth hard against him while she reveled in her power to make him moan low in his throat, “Mariah.”
The sound of her name uttered in that profoundly sensual tone sent sparks running along her nerves. Deep and low inside her, an aching void grew. This was the feeling she’d known eight years ago each time he started making love to her. Then, as now, there had been no words, just the soft exhalation of need that grew sharper with each passing moment.
Rory reveled in sensation. This was the urgency he’d known with her in
Privateer’s
berth, when he’d shoved aside a pile of life jackets to make a place for them their first time. Never in his young life had such a wild current surged. Perhaps the forbidden aura surrounding John Grant’s daughter had driven him to make the first move, but once he tasted her sweetness and saw it metamorphose to passion, he was hooked.
Tonight, made impatient by his pounding blood, he climbed from the pool and extended a hand to help her out. She emerged with water sheeting silver over her breasts and down the curve of belly. Her hips had the right fullness, her breasts were small and perfect, pink-tipped the way he thought a woman should be. Without breaking their grasp, he scooped up his robe and used the terrycloth to scrub beaded droplets from their bodies.
Moving swiftly, he led her inside where firelight played over the quilted bed comforter. He’d take her down now, bury himself in her warmth …
But that wasn’t right. He was no longer an importunate youth who’d gone after what his body desired with no holds barred. Tonight, he wanted to explore with subtlety. No rushing his
He sipped from the snifter and held it while she drank in the exotic aroma and fiery taste of brandy. Bending, he set the glass on the rim of the bath, glanced toward the steaming pool at their feet, and with eyes on hers, loosed the belt of his robe.
Her breath caught.
Terrycloth slipped from his shoulders and slid down his body.
He was as beautiful as she remembered, the planes of his face sculpted by shadows. No, more so … with the slender strength of a rapier. His long line of torso still tapered to narrow hips and compact rounded buttocks, but now he looked stronger, more substantial. The whorl of hair below his navel pointed the way to his sex, rising powerfully from a dark thicket.
A flush of heat suffused her.
His eyes acknowledged her approval while letting himself down into the dark oval of water. He ducked his head and came up sleek and shining. Although silent, everything about him bespoke his need, from the set of his mouth to his hand, raised dripping from the bath to beckon.
A momentary hesitation, and she loosed the tasseled sash and spread the velvet open. With shaking hands, she pushed the robe from her shoulders. As silk slipped over her hips to pool on the tile, she heard Rory’s audible breath. Though she wasn’t as reed thin as she’d been at eighteen, appreciation warmed his gaze.
Over cool stone, she stepped to the edge and let the warm pool take her into its embrace.
Water swirled as Rory moved with a suddenness that surprised her. His lips, wet from the bath, took hers urgently.
Her mouth opened beneath his as it had on the forest bridge. For a long moment, they explored anew the texture and taste of each another. Then he drew back, reached for the brandy snifter and dipped a finger. Very slowly, he moved his hand toward her while she drew in her breath at what she believed to be his destination. Sure enough, he touched the liquid drop to the tip of her bare breast.
With a gasp, she brought her hands up to grip his head, guiding his kiss to her taut peak. He teased and tantalized, his tongue hotter than the bath water. When she was aglow with need, he lifted his head and reached for more brandy.
She beat him to it. Bending, she flicked her tongue over his tight brown nipple, licking at the pungent liquor. It was his turn to hold her mouth hard against him while she reveled in her power to make him moan low in his throat, “Mariah.”
The sound of her name uttered in that profoundly sensual tone sent sparks running along her nerves. Deep and low inside her, an aching void grew. This was the feeling she’d known eight years ago each time he started making love to her. Then, as now, there had been no words, just the soft exhalation of need that grew sharper with each passing moment.
Rory reveled in sensation. This was the urgency he’d known with her in
Privateer’s
berth, when he’d shoved aside a pile of life jackets to make a place for them their first time. Never in his young life had such a wild current surged. Perhaps the forbidden aura surrounding John Grant’s daughter had driven him to make the first move, but once he tasted her sweetness and saw it metamorphose to passion, he was hooked.
Tonight, made impatient by his pounding blood, he climbed from the pool and extended a hand to help her out. She emerged with water sheeting silver over her breasts and down the curve of belly. Her hips had the right fullness, her breasts were small and perfect, pink-tipped the way he thought a woman should be. Without breaking their grasp, he scooped up his robe and used the terrycloth to scrub beaded droplets from their bodies.
Moving swiftly, he led her inside where firelight played over the quilted bed comforter. He’d take her down now, bury himself in her warmth …
But that wasn’t right. He was no longer an importunate youth who’d gone after what his body desired with no holds barred. Tonight, he wanted to explore with subtlety. No rushing his
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