Part 21 (2/2)

Sensual electricity snapped between them, her fingers acting like mini-conductors as she turned and skimmed them over his slippery-wet skin. ”I love the way you make me feel.”

She loved him, period.

But she couldn't shape the words on her tongue, so she straddled his thighs and kissed him, deep and hot and slow, so he wouldn't see it written all over her face. Tilting her hips forward, she ground against him, his hardness the perfect counterpart to her swollen softness. His big hands spanned her waist as he rocked up, pressing his length so intimately into her body that for a moment, sheer hunger blurred her vision.

”We need to get out of the bath.”

His growled words penetrated the haze, and Lauren blinked slowly at him.

He cupped her chin, kissing her once more before he lifted her off his lap and got to his feet. He extended a hand. ”There are things I want to do with you-to you-that I can't do thras.h.i.+ng around in bubbles.”

She let Nate draw her upward, her legs so b.u.t.tery with desire they barely kept her upright while he s.n.a.t.c.hed a towel from the rack and pa.s.sed it to her. The towel's looped pile tortured her skin, every inch of her body electrified and alive with sensation. Nate quickly dried himself and looked up at her, clutching the towel to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and s.h.i.+vering from wanting him so badly.

”Baby, you're cold.” He picked her up in his arms and strode into the bedroom.

”Not cold,” she whispered against the strawberry-scented skin of his neck.

Just really, crazily in love with him. She wanted to lick him up like an ice cream sundae.

Nate laid her down on the bed, stretching out next to her on the sheets. Gooseb.u.mps popped out on her skin as he lay watching her face with his hypnotic green eyes.

”Nate?”

”Mmm?” The corner of his mouth twitched up.

”Please touch me.”

Nate's smile widened, and her toes curled, his gaze growing hot and liquid.

”Now would be good,” she added.

Instead of touching her, he bent forward and sucked her nipple deep into the warm depths of his mouth. The firm, circular sweep of his tongue around the sensitive peak had her clutching the sheet and crying out. When she thought she couldn't take more, he moved between her lax thighs, sinking her into the mattress with his weight. Sliding her knees up his flanks, she locked them around his hips, loving the long, muscled feel of him.

”You taste like strawberries,” he murmured into her mouth, rocking his hips intimately against her core. ”Do you taste like strawberries all over?”

Hooded eyes teased hers as he gently disengaged her legs from his back and slid down her body. p.r.i.c.kly stubble left on his chin sc.r.a.ped along her trembling inner thighs and she s.h.i.+vered again. A quick swipe of his tongue and she arched off the bed, the firm grip he had on her hips the only thing holding her in place.

”Better than strawberries. So much better.”

Then he buried his mouth between her folds, and erotic oblivion whiplashed through her, deafening any other sound than that of her own whimpers. Nate drove her relentlessly then pulled back with nibbling kisses over her hipbone. Reaching down, she gripped his hair, tried to tug him upward so she could touch him in return-but he was an unmovable force. He wouldn't be rushed. And once his mouth returned to her, resistance was futile.

Finally remembering to breathe, she opened her eyes to see his face poised above, his fingers locking with hers as he pinned her arms above her head. He kissed her, claiming her with the heady taste of her own arousal on his tongue.

”I need to be inside you.” Half plea, half demand, he positioned himself at her slick entrance.

”Yes.”

Her blood hummed, and emptiness clawed in her belly until he s.h.i.+fted forward, the hard length of him pressed up and all around and deep inside, his strokes long and sure. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but melt into him and cry out his name. He let go of her hands, cupped a knee and drew her leg up, angling his body to deepen the connection between them.

Clawing at his back, Lauren twisted beneath him, the pleasure so unbearable it was almost too painful to let him continue. Each time he drove into her, as unstoppable as the ebb and flow of tides, he owned her a little more. He didn't need to whisper, ”You're mine,” against the damp heat of her skin, because the way her body responded to his, the absence of fear in his complete male dominance, spoke louder than any words.

He took her mouth, the dance of his tongue matching the slow tango of his hips. Tension thrummed and built deep inside her as his lazy rhythm grew faster. His breathing hitched, the broad wall of his chest pressed tight to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Encouraging his wild thrusts, she met him stroke for stroke until the first lightning-fast tremors spun out from her core. Nate's eyes, the color of a storm-tossed ocean, grew hazy as he surged into her one last time.

She tumbled into the oncoming waves and let herself be swept away.

Due to arrive around midday, the hikoi, or peaceful Maori protest march, had gathered a large number of onlookers on the Waitangi Treaty grounds. Lauren moved through the crowd under the scorching sun, keeping an eye out for Nate amongst the distinctive red, black and white Maori flags fluttering in the light sea breeze.

Police officers strolled alongside civilians, their presence largely ignored as the hikoi seemed to have generated a family carnival feel. Sometimes, complaints against the government exploded into animosity when the official Waitangi Day celebration-still a while away-took place. But today was for cheering on the two hundred people who'd trudged six hours through the summer heat to the intricately carved meeting-house.

There-a flash of Nate's white tee s.h.i.+rt and the sun sparkling off his camera lens.

”Excuse me.” She dodged around a mother and a toddler with ice cream melting all over her fingers.

His face half obscured by his camera, Nate crouched in the center of the manicured lawns. The distinctive cry of Maori women welcoming the hikoi onto the Treaty grounds sounded in the distance. The crowd parted, and the marchers, their wide white banner held in front, came into view. Before she could wave at him, Nate was off and running, the camera bag slung across his hip bouncing with every step as he moved quickly toward the solemn procession.

She soon lost sight of him amongst the push and shove of the crowd. Spotting an empty s.p.a.ce beneath the wide-spread branches of a pohutukawa tree, Lauren slipped away and sank cross-legged to the cool gra.s.s. She'd wait in the shade for him to do his thing, while she listened to the speeches and the entertainment scheduled for later. Feedback from the sound system squealed, and she leaned against the rough bark. A bee buzzed past, and the s.h.i.+fting patterns of sunlight filtering through the leaves acted like a narcotic. If they hadn't kept each other up half the night with lovemaking and pillow talk, she might be a little more alert. With a smile, she stretched out her legs and closed her eyes.

A sudden cacophony of voices jerked her awake. Whether she'd been asleep two minutes or two hours, she wasn't sure, but even a little disoriented, she recognized that the cheerful party atmosphere had changed into something darker. She scrambled to her feet, shading her eyes at the grim faces of parents hustling their kids across the lawns.

Blue-uniformed officers swarmed in lines to keep a group of shouting men and women separated from the protestors. Nate, camera pointed at a stocky, red-faced man a few feet in front of him, was close to the center of the clash.

The man shouted incoherently, swinging a fist at a blue-uniformed constable. Lauren's heart punched against her ribs. The first strike on an officer was a match-to-kerosene trigger to the anti-protester group, and like a multi-limbed octopus, they surged forward into the police line.

Oh G.o.d-Nate!

She ran, a full-out, arms-pumping sprint toward the spot she'd seen him last. She slowed before she reached the ma.s.s of tussling, shouting bodies, scanning angry faces for a glimpse of him.

Where the h.e.l.l was he? If something happened to him...

The hot dog he'd bought her as they strolled along Paihia's foresh.o.r.e on the way to Waitangi was a cold, hard rock in her stomach.

A strong arm wrapped around her waist and hauled her off her feet, dragging her away from the crowd.

”Hey-”

She flung her head back, and frowning green eyes clashed with hers, the camera around his neck b.u.mping her upper arm.

”Lauren, it's not safe-what are you doing?” Nate set her on her feet, s.n.a.t.c.hed up her hand and yanked her farther away.

”Looking. For. You.” Her lungs pinched shut, and she could only stare.

Lit up like a sugar-fueled kid at a birthday party, Nate vibrated with energy. His hair was mussed, and the skin high on one cheekbone was reddened.

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