threatened her as he turned back to her, but he was still smiling in that oddly wistful way, as if he felt she might slip away before they answered the longing. Or as if he were certain the end was written even before the beginning.
Without a word, he stood in front of her to sprinkle kisses on her face as he held it between his warm hands. After each kiss, he paused an instant to look at her, but with each kiss her eyelids seemed to grow heavier, as if her mind wanted to focus inward, on the feelings he evoked.
A slow, steady throbbing, in time with her heart, drew her awareness to the apex of her thighs. A heaviness grew, a good heaviness, that verged on an ache.
His hands left her cheeks and moved downward. She caught her breath as he tugged her sweater from her shoulders. She had no idea where it went, and no time to wonder as he began to release the buttons down the front of her shirt. One by one she felt them give way and he followed his progress with lightly brushing fingers that set her skin aflame.
Then, tugging it open, he began to kiss her collar bones, her throat, her breast just above her bra. She gasped, unable to prevent herself from throwing her head back. As she did so, she reached for his shoulders to steady herself and arched toward him.
Primal impulses controlled her now, and in some way seemed to set her free.
He gently tugged her hands down, then she felt her shirt slip away. Only the wisp of her bra remained, and she caught her breath, hovering on the brink of exquisite anticipation.
“You’re stunning,” he murmured. She hardly heard him over the blood that rushed in her ears.
He found the snap on her jeans and twisted it open. The sound of the zipper going down became almost deafening, suddenly seeming louder than the hammering rain. She couldn’t open her eyes as she felt denim and cotton panties sliding down over her hips. Revealing her. Exposing her. Making her so vulnerable.
She loved it. She wanted to burst free of all constraints and follow the lodestar of desire.
She knew he’d knelt only when she felt hot, moist kisses across her belly. Her ankles were wrapped in denim, she couldn’t move a step and she didn’t care. Nobody had ever treated her this way before, as if he wanted to worship her.
Warm hands closed on her rear, drawing her snugly against his stubbly face. That prickly roughness excited her even more, and she swayed, needing support for a body that no longer wanted to do anything except fall in an excited, pliant heap.
Then his hand slipped up from her bottom to release her bra. The fabric fell away and her eyes opened, just a little, to see him looking up at her, drinking her in. Had she felt shyness at first? No longer. His approving, hungry gaze drove all hesitation from her.
He stood, then lifted her right off her feet and put her on the sleeping bags. Standing over her, he raked his eyes over her as he began to strip himself.
Part of her wanted to help him with that, but her legs were still tangled, and she felt so soft right now she was halfway to being a puddle.
Except that ache between her thighs. That was growing harder and more demanding.
She managed to keep her eyes open because she wanted to see him, too. And what she saw made her catch her breath again. He was smoothly muscled all over and perfectly formed.
“You’re gorgeous,” she managed to say.
His smile widened a shade. “I’m supposed to say that to you. And you are. Gorgeous.”
He kicked away the last of his clothing, his boots giving him only a minor struggle that made her almost giggle. How odd to feel like giggling when every cell in her body was focused on passion. Somehow it seemed right, though, as if laughter could be part of this intimacy.
But before the giggle could escape her, he bent over her and tugged away her shoes and pants, leaving her free to move any way she liked.
He stood a moment, looking down at her, his eyes almost blazing with heat. She could feel it as if it sprang from him to her. “I wish we had more light. Someday I’m going to make love to you under the sun.”
The remark scattered her last intelligent thought. The thought of making