“Damn it, Margie.” He caught her hand in his, holding it still. “Isn’t this situation already complicated enough?”
She pulled her hand from his, pushed herself up onto her elbows and gave a quick glance down at her own body. She was still naked. Never had put her nightgown-that wonderful thing-back on. She felt slightly wicked, lying na**d in bed beside a man who oozed sexuality from every pore. And that wicked thought produced a few others, tumbling through her mind with unrestrained glee. Wow, she thought, unchain a virgin and then step back.
But if she wanted more of what he’d shown her in the darkness last night, it was clear by the look on his face that she was going to have to do some convincing. With her newly discovered feminine power roaring to life inside her though, she told herself no problem.
“It doesn’t have to be complicated, Hunter,” she said, arching her back slightly, elevating her br**sts with their hard, pink tips, closer to him.
His gaze darkened and his jaw clenched. Good signs.
“What’re you-”
“We’re married, Hunter,” she reminded him, reaching out now to stroke her fingertips along his tight jaw until she felt that muscle relax under her caress.
Married. To the man of her dreams. The man who would soon be leaving her, she reminded herself. Instantly, she shut down that particular train of thought. She didn’t want to think about him leaving. She wanted to enjoy what she had now.
If there was one thing a foster kid learned early on, it was to live in the present. If you had a nice family, enjoy it while it lasted. If you had a present, treasure it. If you got an ice cream cone on a hot summer day, relish it. Because only God knew when-or if-something good might happen again.
“I’m your wife. You’re my husband. Why shouldn’t we…” She ran her hand down his neck, along his shoulder and down to one flat, male nipple. When she smoothed her fingertips across it, she was surprised-and pleased-to see him flinch at the sensation.
He trapped her hand under his, holding her palm to his chest, and Margie could have sworn she felt heat searing her skin from the contact. She loved touching him. Loved the feel of his hard, warm body under her hands. Loved knowing that she could push this incredibly strong man to the breaking point.
“It’s asking for trouble, that’s why,” he told her, his gaze locked with hers, as if he could scare her off by looking especially intimidating.
It didn’t work.
She lifted his hand, placed it on her breast and held it there. “It’s not trouble I want, Hunter. It’s you.”
Margie watched him fight an inner battle and knew she’d won when his fingers moved on her breast, tugging at her nipple, rubbing the tip in quick strokes.
Shaking his head, he muttered thickly, “I want you, too. So God help us both.”
He took her nipple into his mouth then and suckled her hard, deep, drawing on her breast as if his life depended on it. Margie sighed, arched into his mouth and bit down on her bottom lip as his mouth worked her tender skin feverishly. Her body trembled and quaked in eager response. She cupped one hand behind his head to hold him in place, loving the feel of his mouth on her. Loving what he could do to her with a kiss, a sigh, a touch.
Loving him.
Yes, she thought again, lowering her gaze to watch him suckle her, that was one thing she couldn’t mention. And wouldn’t. She loved him. This brash, arrogant, amazing man had stolen into her heart, and Margie knew she’d never get him out again. Knew she didn’t want to.
Hunter wasn’t interested in love, Margie told herself, even as his body and mouth took her back to that lush place of pure sensation. She knew he still didn’t really trust her and was anxious for this month and their “marriage” to be over. A man like Hunter Cabot would never love a woman like her-their worlds were far too different for any kind of bridge to span them.
So Margie decided to do all she could to make the most of what time she had with him. She wanted all of the memories she could build in the next few weeks. She wanted to be able to remember with perfect clarity how it felt to have Hunter Cabot’s hands and mouth on her.
She wanted the feel of his skin on hers imprinted on her mind so that it would never fade.
Reaching down, she curled her fingers around his hard, thick body and felt a wash of heat fill her as he inhaled sharply. Sliding her fingers up and down his shaft, she felt the power inside him and wanted it inside her. How had she ever lived without knowing the feel of him. How would she ever live without him?
No.
She pushed that thought aside and reminded herself that now was the only important time. She squeezed gently, deliberately, and he hissed in another breath through gritted teeth.
“Now. Need you now,” he murmured and pushed her over onto her stomach. His hands swept up and down her back, over her behind, cupping, kneading, and with every touch, Margie quivered like a too-taut bowstring about to snap.
Wicked, she thought wildly, turning her head on the pillow, feeling him slide his long, hard body over hers. Every caress fed the fires inside; every stroke of his fingers made her want more.
Then he lifted her hips, kneeled behind her and used his fingertips to open her for him. Her heat welcomed that first touch, and she whimpered his name as she closed her fists around the cool, silk sheets beneath her.
He pushed himself into Margie so deeply, so completely, that she gasped and shook with reaction. In this position, she felt so much more, felt him invade her higher and more fully than before. She pushed back against him as he rocked forward, and with every thrust, she felt him stake his claim on her more thoroughly.
Again and again, he pushed himself into her only to retreat and thrust harder the next time. She heard his breathing labor, felt his tension climb to the heights hers had reached, and still she wanted more of him. As he thrust into her, he leaned over her, braced himself on one hand and used the other to rub her center as his lips and tongue moved down her spine.
“Oh…my…”
When Margie’s body shattered, dissolving into tremor after tremor of sensation, she cried out his name and was only dimly aware of him reaching his own release, while emptying himself into her depths.
Finally, Hunter rolled to one side of her, drew her in close and Margie snuggled into him, content in the circle of his arms. His breath dusted her hair, and she sighed, absolutely happy for the first time in her life.
“Better than Bali?” he asked.
Surprised, she tipped her head back to look up at him. “You heard about that?”