The Ivy House - By Drea Stein Page 0,63
she answered automatically, but she wasn’t. Her heart was racing and her skin felt too warm. She half-turned, but found he had her trapped. She would have to push past him—touch him—if she wanted to get to the relatively open space of the cabin. Still, it was all so small, there was really no place to escape him.
“You’re shaking,” he said, his voice dangerously low, and she felt the reaction between her legs, aware she was thoroughly aroused by him. She made a study of him, taking in the dark, too long hair, his thick eyebrows, one of which had a faint scar under it; the tanned skin with the shadow of a beard on it and the way his shoulders stretched the fabric of his worn t-shirt.
“What are you nervous about?” he asked, and his hand moved closer to her. His hands were still on his hips, but now he moved them to either side of her, truly trapping her. She looked into his eyes and saw an answering need to her own in them. She had to look down and away, and her body shifted so she was against him, feeling his strong, lean legs brush against her thighs, and then the evidence that he was just as aroused as she was.
“This is a bad idea,” she said, automatically. His hand came up and stroked the side of her cheek, and she shivered at his touch.
“It doesn’t have to be.” One finger caught her under the chin and lifted it up so he could look at her.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, his breath hoarse and he pressed in closer to her. She rose up to meet him and their mouths met. She found his lips and they took and tasted her, while one of his arms circled her and pulled her close. Phoebe moved her own arms up and around his shoulders, finding his neck and pulling in to him, the need to be close to him filling her desperately.
“Chase,” she murmured.
“Tell me to stop now,” he pulled back a moment and looked at her, his eyes deep, dark, filled with want, “while I can, and I will. I’ll go up on deck and get us back to shore. Or…”
Want and need were coursing through her, and she could feel her desire for him rising in her. She shook her head and said, “Don’t stop. We have a storm to ride out.”
He spoke no more, but his mouth assaulted her, his tongue taking, testing, teasing, while one hand traveled down her neck, skimming her skin, until it found her breast. He cupped it, teasing her nipple, which responded to his touch, puckering beneath it, growing to fullness. Phoebe felt herself give a small moan and heard Chase’s satisfied chuckle. Slowly, leisurely, his hand traveled over to her other breast, and he brought that one to arousal.
She kissed him harder, feeling him grow hard against her as his hand traveled down her shirt, to her waistband. His hand was as warm as fire on the bare flesh of her stomach. One of his knees pushed into her legs, spreading her open. His strong arms lifted her up so that she was balanced on the edge of the counter. He pushed in between her and slid a hand down inside her shorts, finding heat and her wetness. Phoebe moaned for him and wrapped her legs tightly around him.
She heard a small crash, realizing it was just the sound of a knife falling into the galley sink.
With a practiced, swift movement, Chase put both hands under her, pulling her close to him. She wrapped her legs around him and he pulled her back from the counter. In a few short strides, he had her in the cabin, throwing her gently down on the bunk.
Above her, she could see rain bubbling and dripping down the clear hatch cover, see that the world outside was gray. Inside, though, in the dim light, all she could see and smell was Chase, the mix of his soap and aftershave, as he pushed her back on the berth. He stood above her, and he took off his t-shirt, revealing the solid-muscled chest she had only glimpsed before. She sat up and ran one hand over his chest, the slight dusting of dark hair, tracing it down to the waistband of his pants.
Chase stopped her, took her hand and kissed it, then nibbled on her fingers. “Take off your shirt,” he said, and Phoebe, after the merest hesitation,