Waking Up with the Boss by Sheri Whitefeather

veranda, breathing in the tropical air. Soon, she and Jake would be leaving the Caribbean.
    Already feeling nostalgic, she smiled, remembering last night’s crabbing expedition. She’d squealed like a child when she’d nabbed her first giant blue crustacean. Jake had been right by her side, as promised, making the experience sweet and fun and romantic. Nonetheless, hunting and gathering wasn’t her forte.
    Eating was, though. She’d enjoyed the crab-stuffed crepes they’d had for breakfast. For lunch, they’d had French cuisine, served in the dining room, where everyone had gathered for their final meal, talking and laughing, before they’d parted ways.
    Some guests were already gone by now and others, like Carol and Jake, were preparing to depart.
    She returned to her room, where her suitcase sat, carefully packed. After Jake finished jamming his belongings into his, they would head out for the helipad. When they got to the other island where they’d originally landed, they would board the jet that would take them home.
    She checked on Jake to see how he was coming along and found him looking as handsome as ever, dressed in blue jeans and a loose cotton shirt, with a shiny packet in his hand.
    Carol gaped at him. “Where you did get that?” As far as she knew, they’d used the final condom last night, after they’d come back from crabbing and climbed in the tub together, taking a long sensual bath.
    â€œIt was in my luggage, but in a different compartment from where I usually keep them. It was lodged in the corner, so the edges are bent. But other than that...”
    She caught her breath. “Do we have time to use it?”
    â€œWe’ll make time.” With lightning speed, he swept her into his arms. They kissed like crazy, tongue-to-tongue, instantly hungry for the forbidden taste of each other.
    He backed her against a nightstand, and she opened his zipper and pushed her hand inside. His eyes went glassy as he pressed into her palm, letting her feel him up.
    After a few anxious heartbeats, he went after her, lifting the hem of her soft summer dress and removing her panties. In the next frantic second, he shoved his jeans down and donned the protection.
    Carol sat on the edge of the nightstand, and as he thrust into her, she locked her legs around him, pulling him closer.
    â€œI like that you don’t wear underwear,” she told him.
    â€œYou should stop wearing it, too.”
    She couldn’t fathom it, not in her daily life. “I’m too proper for that.”
    He nipped at her chin with his teeth, gently, wildly. “Yes, you should see how proper you look right now, with your dress hiked up around your hips.”
    Her bottom was getting sore from the friction of the wood beneath her, but she didn’t care. “I couldn’t find my panties on that first morning-after.” But later she’d uncovered them, on the floor, with Jake’s discarded clothes. Or more precisely, his pants, since that was the only thing he’d been wearing.
    He pushed deeper, harder. “I should have kept them as a memento.”
    â€œSo I could sew them into the quilt?”
    He didn’t stop the driving rhythm, not for an instant. “Patchwork panties. That works for me.”
    She still hadn’t decided if she was going to make him a quilt. For now, all that mattered was being with him one more time.
    He kissed her again, making the back of her throat hum. With her arms looped around his neck, she dug her nails into his shirt and arched her body toward his, taking as much of him as he was willing give.
    Jake gave her everything. Rough and fast. Hot and sexy. Dark flashes of pleasure zinged through her blood. She closed her eyes, wanting this desperate moment to last forever, yet knowing it couldn’t.
    He used his fingers, rubbing her, intensifying the sensation. She was spiraling into sexual oblivion, lost in the fury. He