laugh, or would have if the look he gave her didn't make her feel as if he was considering the best way to mount. And even though that was what she'd wanted, where she'd wanted this evening to go, she couldn't deny the sting of surprise at the speed with which they'd progressed.
He turned and walked toward her, determination in his step as well as in his bright gaze. Once he stood directly before her, he set both hands at her waist. She moved hers to his biceps, a placement that allowed her to feel the flex of muscle an instant before he lifted her to perch on the edge of the tiled island.
Her hands found their way to his shoulders as he stepped fully between her spread legs. His hands still at her waist, he cocked his head and gave her a smile that had her wondering why they'd never taken the time to get to know each other more deeply.
That smile raised a myriad of questions. And his eyes were as bright as green lights. "My kitchen skills are pretty much limited to dessert. And as great as the chicken smells, I'd rather start with what I know best."
She responded with a bit of a grimace. "I didn't remember to make dessert."
"Trust me, darlin'. What I have in mind is better than anything you could've whipped up."
It was a good thing she wasn't easily taken in by a sweet-talkin' man. "You say that without having tasted any of my cooking."
"Yeah, but I've tasted you." And then he moved forward and pressed his lips over the hollow of her throat.
She leaned her head back to give him better access, wrapped her legs around him and hooked her heels at the base of his spine. Her fingers dug into the tight muscles of his shoulders; he was more tense than she'd imagined, and she began to knead the hard knots.
"Mmm," he murmured, his lips creating a soft buzzing tickle on her skin. "You have no idea how good that feels."
"It can't feel half as good as what you're doing with your mouth." He'd moved down her collarbone, pushing aside the loose neckline of her fluttery top, kissing his way along the bared skin.
He nipped at the edge of her shoulder and growled. "It would feel a hell of a lot better if you'd lose this top."
She couldn't get it off fast enough. It was less a necessary piece of clothing than it was a tease that had accomplished its purpose.
And now Doug could easily get to the rest of her, which he did immediately, pulling the thin strap of her knit camisole down one shoulder and working his way beneath the hem with his other hand.
He surrounded her—his hands, his mouth, his clean and subtle scent. The breadth of his chest, which blocked any movement she might want to make. She didn't want to move anywhere at all, except closer to the beautifully exquisite sensation of his touch.
His skin was on her skin, and all she could think about was the night they'd both been drunk and only half aware of being on the veranda at the house on Coconut Caye . His hands had been all over her then, beneath her clothing, in her hair, inside her body in ways she still imagined vividly when she went to bed alone.
With his hands now on her rib cage beneath the curve of her breasts, she thought again of that previous contact, realizing her memories were nothing compared to the bliss of the real thing.
He was deft in the way he teased her, making sure she enjoyed his touch. He tested her reactions, his mouth whispering his kisses along with his words. Both thrilled her beyond belief.
"Is that good?" he asked, his lips drawing on the skin just beneath her shoulder. "Do you like that?" he added, before she could do more than softly moan. "What do you want me to do?" As if his tongue wetting a line along the upper curve of her breast wasn't enough. "You're so beautiful. Soft. Sweet. Like silk. And you smell so damn good."
She whimpered because she couldn't help it. Her shoulder was bare, the strap of her top long since having fallen to her elbow. He took hold of the edge of the material and began to peel it from her breast. His
He turned and walked toward her, determination in his step as well as in his bright gaze. Once he stood directly before her, he set both hands at her waist. She moved hers to his biceps, a placement that allowed her to feel the flex of muscle an instant before he lifted her to perch on the edge of the tiled island.
Her hands found their way to his shoulders as he stepped fully between her spread legs. His hands still at her waist, he cocked his head and gave her a smile that had her wondering why they'd never taken the time to get to know each other more deeply.
That smile raised a myriad of questions. And his eyes were as bright as green lights. "My kitchen skills are pretty much limited to dessert. And as great as the chicken smells, I'd rather start with what I know best."
She responded with a bit of a grimace. "I didn't remember to make dessert."
"Trust me, darlin'. What I have in mind is better than anything you could've whipped up."
It was a good thing she wasn't easily taken in by a sweet-talkin' man. "You say that without having tasted any of my cooking."
"Yeah, but I've tasted you." And then he moved forward and pressed his lips over the hollow of her throat.
She leaned her head back to give him better access, wrapped her legs around him and hooked her heels at the base of his spine. Her fingers dug into the tight muscles of his shoulders; he was more tense than she'd imagined, and she began to knead the hard knots.
"Mmm," he murmured, his lips creating a soft buzzing tickle on her skin. "You have no idea how good that feels."
"It can't feel half as good as what you're doing with your mouth." He'd moved down her collarbone, pushing aside the loose neckline of her fluttery top, kissing his way along the bared skin.
He nipped at the edge of her shoulder and growled. "It would feel a hell of a lot better if you'd lose this top."
She couldn't get it off fast enough. It was less a necessary piece of clothing than it was a tease that had accomplished its purpose.
And now Doug could easily get to the rest of her, which he did immediately, pulling the thin strap of her knit camisole down one shoulder and working his way beneath the hem with his other hand.
He surrounded her—his hands, his mouth, his clean and subtle scent. The breadth of his chest, which blocked any movement she might want to make. She didn't want to move anywhere at all, except closer to the beautifully exquisite sensation of his touch.
His skin was on her skin, and all she could think about was the night they'd both been drunk and only half aware of being on the veranda at the house on Coconut Caye . His hands had been all over her then, beneath her clothing, in her hair, inside her body in ways she still imagined vividly when she went to bed alone.
With his hands now on her rib cage beneath the curve of her breasts, she thought again of that previous contact, realizing her memories were nothing compared to the bliss of the real thing.
He was deft in the way he teased her, making sure she enjoyed his touch. He tested her reactions, his mouth whispering his kisses along with his words. Both thrilled her beyond belief.
"Is that good?" he asked, his lips drawing on the skin just beneath her shoulder. "Do you like that?" he added, before she could do more than softly moan. "What do you want me to do?" As if his tongue wetting a line along the upper curve of her breast wasn't enough. "You're so beautiful. Soft. Sweet. Like silk. And you smell so damn good."
She whimpered because she couldn't help it. Her shoulder was bare, the strap of her top long since having fallen to her elbow. He took hold of the edge of the material and began to peel it from her breast. His
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