Page 12 of One Forbidden Night In Paradise (Hot Winter Escapes)

And then she saw his control snap, and he pulled her into his arms, hands palming the swell of her breasts, grazing her taut, aching nipples as he kissed her deeply, thoroughly. She moved against him, arching into the hard press of his erection.

‘Yes,’ she whispered into his mouth. ‘Yes,’ she said again as his hands slid down to cup her bottom.

Lifting her slightly, he backed her onto the bed and knelt in front of her. She shivered all the way through as he slid her panties down her thighs. The air was cool against her skin and she felt so bare and her hand moved instinctively to cover herself but he batted it away, his head dipping between her legs.

A moan of pleasure escaped her lips as she felt the tip of his tongue flick against the swollen bud of her clitoris, sending shock waves through her. She shuddered, arching against him, pressing herself closer, wanting more, wanting to answer the seductive, head-spinning ache.

She took a strangled breath, trying to clear her head, to shake the dizziness away, but she was melting into a pool of need. She had never felt anything like this before.

Her head fell back and she clutched at the sheets, her belly clenching, tight and hot. He was teasing her. The tantalising rhythm of his tongue made her think of his body on hers, and in her, and she let go of the sheets and gripped his shoulders, hips arching, a flickering, sharp current of heat surging through her, flooding her limbs.

She felt him move up the bed and then his mouth was hot and damp against hers as he lowered his hips against her pelvis. The press of his erection took her breath away and a shiver of excitement ran through her.

‘I want you.’ Her fingers wrapped around him and she opened her legs wider.

He grunted. ‘Wait—’

He reached past her and yanked open a drawer by the bed. ‘Condom,’ he said, tearing open the wrapper and sliding it on. Raising himself up, he rubbed the blunt tip between her thighs, stroking back and forth, and then he pushed into her and began to move, slow at first then faster, teasing her still quivering body back to life.

She squirmed against him, not bothering to hold back the moan climbing in her throat, dazzled by the pressure and size of him, muscles tightening on the inside, trying to grip him as he moved against her, his body driving deeper and harder and harder and deeper and then a fierce white heat exploded and she shuddered helplessly beneath him and she felt him tense, his lips brush hers as he groaned her name against her mouth, jerking forward, hips arching as he thrust inside her.

CHAPTER THREE

BLINKINGDROWSILY,Jem fluttered her eyes open. It was the light that had woken her, pressing against her eyelids and pulling her from the darkness of sleep. Light from a pale, soft-edged sun, although she had fallen asleep with moonlight streaming through the same window.

She glanced round the boat, body stiffening as her brain tried to make sense of its surroundings, and then she remembered everything. The impossible pressure of Chase’s body on her, and how she had shaken with need and eagerness as his hands, his tongue unravelled her into a shuddering, breathless frenzy.

Her face felt warm.

All was calm now.

And she didn’t need to remember the impossible pressure of Chase’s body because he was there beside her, his arm heavy across her waist. He was still sleeping, his chest and stomach curved around her back, his unshaven cheek nestling against her shoulder.

Chase what?

Her breath caught as she realised that she didn’t even know his surname. But then why did she need to know it? She wasn’t taking a register. For what she wanted, she didn’t need to know his full name.

And it wasn’t just his name she didn’t know. There were no words to explain how he had made her feel last night. But it was enough to have done this; to know how his body felt on hers and inside her. To have stretched out beneath his glittering, green gaze, stripped not just of clothes but all inhibition and restraint, with his pulse beating through her.

She felt her body ripple to life and for a fraction of a second she considered rolling over and reaching for him as they had done over and over again in the moonlight, but if she did that then he would wake up and then what?

Her heart began beating a little faster. She had no idea what the etiquette was for the morning after the night before. Should she stay and say goodbye? Was that what people did?

Maybe.

Or maybe there were different rules on holiday. Surely most people got up and left because, like her, they weren’t looking for conversation and commitment. She stared out of the window at the steadily rising sun. After all, wasn’t that the point of a one-night stand? There was no second act. No finding your true love. Like the fairy godmother’s spell, the magic wore off, if not at midnight then soon after. Footmen became mice again. And in this case, a lover would simply turn back into a handsome stranger with whom she had nothing in common except a desire for one passionate encounter.

Her chest was suddenly tight around her heart. In the story, not all the magic wore off: true love triumphed and Cinderella found her happy ever after. But that was just a story, she thought, glancing round the neat but shabby cabin. And Chase was a fisherman, not a prince. As for happy ever afters, maybe they did exist outside fairy tales; for other people, maybe, just not for her.

The sharp cry of a bird outside brought her back to the here and now and she felt a sudden rush of panic. Shifting noiselessly onto her side, she gazed over at the man beside her.

Chase was still asleep, one arm thrown across the pillow, his face in shadow, but there wasn’t much time. It was seven-fifteen according to the old-fashioned alarm clock on the bedside table, but in another few minutes the sun would creep across those movie-star features and then he would be rubbing his face and sitting up, his hair ruffled, his green eyes half open and soft.

Her breath caught in her throat, and suddenly she was fighting the wild beating of her heart. He really was a fantasy come to life, and what they had shared had felt like a fantasy too because it was. What made it so intensely erotic was the fact that there was no need for any jarring return to reality. No morning after. No uncomfortable sharing of space. No awkward conversation.

Reaching out, she brushed a strand of hair away from his forehead.

He’d been so generous and she’d felt so alive, so free, so completely without inhibition. She didn’t want to ruin the memory of all that by letting reality intrude.

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