Part 33 (2/2)

Too filled with the pleasure of her to say anything.

She smiled at him.

She listened to him breathing for a moment, and the lick and sigh of waves rus.h.i.+ng up to the beach and slipping back out to sea. That was all and that seemed enough forever. It seemed all she'd ever needed.

She'd never said ”I love you” to him aloud then. She'd always regretted it.

She was so weary of disliking herself. She was engaged to marry a fine man, who said he loved her, and she'd begun to envision a life with him, a life grand, consistent, respectable, soothing, and safe, surrounded by family, friends, eventually children. A life, and a man, any woman would be proud and privileged to claim.

A man she could imagine one day loving.

She didn't want to hurt Landsdowne, or anyone ever again, herself included. She was so tired of pain. Perhaps she was simply tired of feeling so very much.

But she couldn't not touch Lyon now any more than she could keep her heart from beating.

Her fingertips landed softly on his cheek. Uncertain of their welcome.

She felt rather than heard his breathing arrest.

The soft peace of the previous moment was gone, just like that.

And all was portent and antic.i.p.ation and wariness.

She couldn't see the expression in his eyes any more than she could see the expression in hers.

She dragged her fingers softly along the line of his jaw. She knew it as well as her own. It had seemed the most magical thing in the world to watch his desire for her kindle on his face, simply because she touched him.

Back then, they could only have that much and no more from each other.

Perhaps this would always be true.

Still. Her fingers trailed down his throat. And his pulse thumped swift and hard.

And just like that, she could feel the serrated edges of desire settling around her.

And then his face lowered. His lips touched hers.

Hesitantly.

So softly.

And perhaps, like her, wary of fresh pain.

But their bodies contained the memory of each other in their very cells. And when their lips met, hunger and celebration rushed in and swept out sense and caution.

They knew how to do this. He'd taught her, after all, and she'd inspired him.

Her mouth parted beneath his, and then . . .

Oh G.o.d, the incomparable, heady sweetness of his mouth, the heat and satin. The remembered pleasure. Surely no drug could be more decadent.

Desire roared along her nerve endings and her fingers laced through his hair and she was lost.

”Liv.” Half sigh, half groan, all surrender.

He lowered himself alongside her and they eased into each other's arms. The fit of his body against hers was so right, so familiar. But there was a new ferocity in him that was both dangerous and seductive. The wall-like chest against her was a reminder that this was not the Lyon of yesterday. That perhaps she didn't know all she needed to know about him now.

But she did know that she wanted him.

His hand slid down to cup her hip and he pressed her against his now-hard c.o.c.k. Pleasure cleaved her, and he rose over her to take the kiss more deeply, and they clung, the kiss devouring, nearly punis.h.i.+ng.

And then suddenly he pulled his mouth away from her.

Pushed himself up on his arms, drawing in a long, shuddering breath.

He rolled away, lying flat. Away from her. Arms at his sides rigidly, as if to discipline them for wrapping her in them at all.

And they both lay, dazed and once again separate, which seemed wrong, suddenly. She felt unmoored, between worlds.

Even logic and gravity succ.u.mbed to Lyon.

Every bit of her body was thrumming as if she were a struck gong.

He finally broke the silence.

”I'm not a boy anymore, Olivia. I don't intend to spill in my trousers ever again.”

It was coa.r.s.e but quite honest.

”Understood.”

He turned his head to look at her, in something like amazement. And then gave a short laugh.

They lay in utter silence, each of them tense as pulled-back bowstrings, until at last she became aware of other things besides Lyon, such as the fact that it was growing cooler.

She gave a start when he sprang to his feet.

He looked down at her for a moment, as if he was admiring a kill, and then thrust out his hand.

She seized it and he pulled her to her feet, with a mock effortful grunt.

”Excellent! You're already a little heavier, Liv, from the delicious s.h.i.+pboard food.”

”Beast,” she said, without rancor.

When she was upright, she discovered the world was still spinning a little.

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