clamped down on her bottom lip greedily—nibbling, savoring, tasting. She wanted more, needed more of him.
Glenna’s breath caught when he dipped his mouth to the sensitive tip of her breast. Her insides melted, pooling desire between her legs as the heat of his mouth wrapped around her. She pressed herself against him as he peeled the rest of her dress away. It fell to the floor in a whisper of silk.
A low sound of yearning escaped her throat as his heated palms scorched a trail down her back, imprinting on her hips, pulling her closer. She could feel the hardness of him, every inch of him, sliding over her. She reached for the waistband of his black boxers—the only stitch of cloth between them now.
She tugged them down his narrow hips and rose over him. The thorns scraped at the windows, scratching at the paint. The song of the ocean, a whisper of waves in the windless night, floated over the fields. She heard his soft low groan, felt his fingers digging into her hips as she lowered herself over him, as their bodies joined—became one.
The song grew. The sea, quiet for so many days now, began to chant. She felt its power, its voice calling to her. The song built in a cresting surge over the island. And as they began to move, their bodies joined in ecstasy, the waves crashed, beating against the rocks like a drum.
She reveled in the feel of him inside her, in the burning heat that fanned out from her center until her whole body glowed, pulsing toward him like an ember feeding on his every touch. Sam buried himself inside her, setting a breathless, steady rhythm until they were one heartbeat, one flame.
Smoke poured through the window, threatening to swallow them whole. But the roses flashed through the darkness, their brilliant blooms illuminating the sheen of sweat clinging to Sam’s chiseled chest. Fire glinted in those whiskey eyes as he claimed her mouth in another scorching kiss.
She struggled to breathe, her hands sliding over his slick skin. She met him beat for beat, her body arching like a bow as the furnace flamed to life inside her. Petals unfurled, the vines clinging to the whitewash, scratching at the glass. She cried out his name as the wave of passion tore through her.
Her head fell onto his shoulder as his body clenched under hers. She shuddered as he pulled the last tremors from inside her. She pressed her hand to the warm glass of the window, streaked with steam. Black petals rained to the ground. He wrapped her in his arms, touching his forehead to hers. “I’m not leaving you, Glenna.”
W hen Sam got to the dock the next morning, Glenna was already waiting for him. She stood at the edge of the pier, gazing out at the horizon. Her thick brown tresses were bound, clasped in a copper clip that caught the morning sunlight. A yellow purse was draped over one shoulder and dark jeans tucked into tall leather boots hugged her shapely legs.
The cry of a gull echoed over the harbor as he stepped onto the pier. Glenna turned at the sound of his boots hitting the planks. The sunlight bathed her pale skin in an ethereal glow. Her eyes were guarded, her full mouth—painted scarlet—gave nothing away.
Sam’s legs felt heavy as he walked to her. Glenna’s black knit top crossed over her breasts and cinched around her slender waist with a knot off to one side. His fingers itched to set her curls free so they tumbled over her bare shoulders. He thought back to the day they’d first met. It was in the bar at O’Sullivan’s pub during the Midsummer’s Eve festival, when he’d come to the island in search of Tara.
He’d asked Glenna if she was a selkie, a woman of the sea who could bewitch a grown man. She’d laughed, but he was only half-joking. Because even then, in the crowded barroom, he’d felt the pull of her, the unmistakable threads of enchantment spinning around him until he was caught in her spell.
He knew the truth now—that the blood of the selkies did run
Glenna’s breath caught when he dipped his mouth to the sensitive tip of her breast. Her insides melted, pooling desire between her legs as the heat of his mouth wrapped around her. She pressed herself against him as he peeled the rest of her dress away. It fell to the floor in a whisper of silk.
A low sound of yearning escaped her throat as his heated palms scorched a trail down her back, imprinting on her hips, pulling her closer. She could feel the hardness of him, every inch of him, sliding over her. She reached for the waistband of his black boxers—the only stitch of cloth between them now.
She tugged them down his narrow hips and rose over him. The thorns scraped at the windows, scratching at the paint. The song of the ocean, a whisper of waves in the windless night, floated over the fields. She heard his soft low groan, felt his fingers digging into her hips as she lowered herself over him, as their bodies joined—became one.
The song grew. The sea, quiet for so many days now, began to chant. She felt its power, its voice calling to her. The song built in a cresting surge over the island. And as they began to move, their bodies joined in ecstasy, the waves crashed, beating against the rocks like a drum.
She reveled in the feel of him inside her, in the burning heat that fanned out from her center until her whole body glowed, pulsing toward him like an ember feeding on his every touch. Sam buried himself inside her, setting a breathless, steady rhythm until they were one heartbeat, one flame.
Smoke poured through the window, threatening to swallow them whole. But the roses flashed through the darkness, their brilliant blooms illuminating the sheen of sweat clinging to Sam’s chiseled chest. Fire glinted in those whiskey eyes as he claimed her mouth in another scorching kiss.
She struggled to breathe, her hands sliding over his slick skin. She met him beat for beat, her body arching like a bow as the furnace flamed to life inside her. Petals unfurled, the vines clinging to the whitewash, scratching at the glass. She cried out his name as the wave of passion tore through her.
Her head fell onto his shoulder as his body clenched under hers. She shuddered as he pulled the last tremors from inside her. She pressed her hand to the warm glass of the window, streaked with steam. Black petals rained to the ground. He wrapped her in his arms, touching his forehead to hers. “I’m not leaving you, Glenna.”
W hen Sam got to the dock the next morning, Glenna was already waiting for him. She stood at the edge of the pier, gazing out at the horizon. Her thick brown tresses were bound, clasped in a copper clip that caught the morning sunlight. A yellow purse was draped over one shoulder and dark jeans tucked into tall leather boots hugged her shapely legs.
The cry of a gull echoed over the harbor as he stepped onto the pier. Glenna turned at the sound of his boots hitting the planks. The sunlight bathed her pale skin in an ethereal glow. Her eyes were guarded, her full mouth—painted scarlet—gave nothing away.
Sam’s legs felt heavy as he walked to her. Glenna’s black knit top crossed over her breasts and cinched around her slender waist with a knot off to one side. His fingers itched to set her curls free so they tumbled over her bare shoulders. He thought back to the day they’d first met. It was in the bar at O’Sullivan’s pub during the Midsummer’s Eve festival, when he’d come to the island in search of Tara.
He’d asked Glenna if she was a selkie, a woman of the sea who could bewitch a grown man. She’d laughed, but he was only half-joking. Because even then, in the crowded barroom, he’d felt the pull of her, the unmistakable threads of enchantment spinning around him until he was caught in her spell.
He knew the truth now—that the blood of the selkies did run
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