The Devil and the Deep - By Amy Andrews Page 0,46

her head that didn’t have any place in reality. Lying on deck, looking at the stars with him as she’d done a hundred times before, would help to put things into perspective.

And God knew, if her body couldn’t have passion then it sure as hell needed perspective.

* * *

Rick heard the bell before she made it to the top of the stairs. He shut his eyes and prayed to Neptune for restraint.

‘Hey,’ he said as she tramped over, eyes staring doggedly at the sky.

‘Hey,’ Stella acknowledged as she drew level and looked down at him. ‘Can’t sleep?’

‘Something like that,’ he said as her face appeared in his line of vision. She was wearing some three-quarter-length grey pants, the fabric of which was quite thin, clingy around the thighs, loose around the calves. And what he could only describe as a boob tube.

‘Neither can I. Want some company?’

‘Sure.’

He was already burning in the fires of hell—what was one more lie?

Stella joined him on her back on the deck, making sure her injured left arm was on the outer and that she maintained some distance between them. Rick and her didn’t really do distance so it seemed awkward.

‘Any shooters tonight?’

He nodded. ‘Saw one earlier.’

‘Did you make a wish?’ she asked, rolling her head towards him.

Not one that he could repeat in decent company. He turned his head too. ‘I wished for—’

‘Stop,’ Stella said urgently, automatically silencing him with the press of a finger against his lips. A finger that still stung a little and protested the movement. ‘You know you’re not supposed to say.’

Rick stilled as her fingerprint seared into the DNA of his lips. There were a lot of things he wasn’t supposed to say.

Or do.

And every single one of them begged to be ignored.

Stella’s eyes widened as a glitter of something distinctly sexual enriched his blue gaze with something distinctly pirate.

Heat flared in her belly and breasts.

Between her legs.

And deep, deep inside.

So deep she doubted anyone had ever touched it.

Her gaze narrowed to his mouth as her finger moved of its own volition, tracing his lips, the sting instantly easing. She could feel the warmth of his breath against it, the roughness of every inhalation and exhalation.

Rick opened his mouth slightly, giving silent permission to that seeking finger. When it had circumnavigated every millimetre he grazed the tip gently with his teeth as he touched his tongue to where the splinter had been.

The way she stared at his mouth as if it were the most perfect creation went straight to his head. The sound of her indrawn breath travelled straight to his groin.

He swallowed as a jungle drum beat in his head and thudded through his chest. ‘Stella.’

‘Hmm?’ she asked absently as she mapped his mouth with her gaze. Vasco’s mouth.

Rick tried again. ‘I don’t think we should—’

This time she didn’t cut him off with her finger. This time she used her mouth and Rick was totally unprepared. He’d always dreamt their mythical first kiss would be soft and gentle. Tentative. It was certainly the way he would have kissed her at sixteen. But there was nothing tentative about the way she opened up to him.

In seconds the kiss was wet and deep and hard, leaving no room for finesse or wishing on stars. There was just feeling, reacting. Letting all that suppressed desire bubble up on a wave of coconut and take him to a higher plane.

Stella moaned as fantasy fused into reality on a rush of high octane lust that blasted heat into every cell of her body.

And it was better than she’d ever imagined.

The dare faded as they both collected on the prize early.

Desire coursed through her bloodstream and she gasped against his mouth as Rick rolled up onto his elbow, his face looming over hers, his fingers furrowing into her hair.

She sucked in great slabs of air as the kiss robbed her of breath. They both did. Their breathing loud as they rode the dizzying heat and the high oxygen demand of the incendiary kiss. His lips were demanding against hers and she opened to him wider, revelling in the thrust and tangle of his tongue, her head lifting off the deck trying to match it.

Trying to lead. Trying to follow.

Trying to get closer.

She squeezed her thighs together as the heat there morphed into a tingling that became more unbearable with every second. Her pelvic floor muscles undulated with each swipe of his tongue and she pressed her hips firmly into the deck to soothe the