In Too Deep (6 page)

"Paradise is about twenty miles from here," Michael said conversationally, holding her eyes. A surge of heat traveled along her nerve endings, and her mouth went dry. "Well, it was a hell of a lot closer before the storm hit. Still, we'll head back there—that's where you're staying, right?"

Tally licked her parched lips and blinked, almost hypnotized by the intensity and heat of his gaze.
Whew
. "R-Right. It's pretty small, and private. But a beautiful place to stop off for a few days if you have the time."

"I'll make the time." He gave her a slow smile, and her pulse rate went up. "Will you be spending all your time with your father? Or did you show up on Paradise with a lover? Boyfriend?" He frowned. "Husband?"

Between his touch and the flattering assumption she'd traveled with a lover, she didn't know whether to moan or laugh. "None of the above. I'm alone, with about a hundred and fifty of my father's—of the inhabitants."

"Your father?"

"Trevor Church. He owns Paradise Island."

"Impressive. The boat selling must be lucrative. You didn't answer my question."

Tally wasn't sure what the question in his eye was; she wasn't adept at reading that kind of heat. "It seems I've arrived for our shared vacation ahead of my father. Apparently he's been delayed for another two or three days."

"And they say no good deed goes unrewarded," Michael said, still smiling, although his eye seemed shadowed.

"I thought it was 'No good deed goes unpunished'?"

"Not in our case. My reward for being there when you needed rescuing is having you to myself for those days. This is perfect. You can show me the sights while my boat is being repaired, and you wait for your father."

Be still my heart
. "I'm not sure how many sights there are to see, although it's breathtakingly beautiful. It's barely six miles long and three miles wide," Tally said dryly. "And while I'd love to play tour guide, I wouldn't be much good. This is the first time I've been there myself."

"Is that right? So this is a new acquisition for Daddy?"

"I think he bought it ten years ago. The timing was just never quite right for a visit. But here I am, so I'm going to enjoy every moment. We can explore together, if you like."

He paused what he was doing to look up at her, his large hand resting lightly on her thigh. "I like."

Tally had left the small reading light on when she'd crawled into the V-shaped bunk in the forward cabin. Now the light was out. She toggled the switch. Nothing. She fumbled in the dark and felt for the tiny lightbulb. Twisted this way, then that. Nothing. Damn.

She blinked back panic. The oddly shaped alcove felt microscopic, the blackness thick and weighted. Her heart began to race, and her skin felt clammy. "Here, Lucky," she whispered, hoping the cat would hear her and come bounding onto the bed to keep her company. "Come here, pretty boy."

Not a peep from the perverse animal. He was probably curled up on the foot of Michael's bed, dreaming of fat rats and endless ear rubs.

Michael Wright slept only ten feet away. There was absolutely nothing to be frightened of. As illogical as her fear might be, Tally's heartbeat escalated to a frantic rhythm, the precursor to a panic attack.

Not now
! "I'm okay," she whispered. "I'm okay. I'm okay."

She swung her legs over the side of the bed. Perhaps if she sat on the sofa in the stateroom, the feeling of space would negate the attack. Perhaps. She wiped a hand down her damp face with a shaky hand.

Past the kitchen, hand on the counter to aid her, Tally found the leather sofa across the small room. It wasn't any lighter in here.

Had she been home, all the lights would be on. She'd rattle around in the kitchen, make a pot of tea, curl up on her sofa, and read until she got sleepy.
You're not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy
, she thought dryly, staring into the darkness.

It had literally been years since she'd had a panic attack. And damn it, she wasn't going to have one now, either.
Breathe in. Breathe out
.

All she required was a faint glow to ground her. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to imagine the flicker of a small candle flame. She managed to conjure up a slim white taper with a glowing halo of light. The imaginary flame flickered, then died.

She jumped up and felt her way into the tiny galley and opened the oven door. No hope there, either. The power was out. Beneath her feet the boat gently rose and fell. If she really wanted to freak herself out, she could imagine she was riding on the back of a giant sea serpent…

"Stop it!" Frankly she was more afraid of the oppressive darkness than at the thought of being gobbled down by an imaginary beast.

Holding on to the counter to orient herself, she paced back and forth. "Here comes the suuuun," she sang under her breath.

God she
hated
the way her heart threatened to pound right out of her chest, and how damp her palms were. She hated the fact that she was frightened of the dark like a little kid. She banged her shin on the table as she passed.

"Ow, damn it. Here comes the's—this is
not
working." She wiped her clammy hands down the side of her shorts. That's it. She couldn't stand this.

She felt her way across the room until she stood outside the door to Michael's cabin. The door slightly ajar, she rested her hand on the latch. "This is a bad idea, Tallulah, a bad, bad idea," she whispered. "Be a brave little toaster and go back to your own bed."

She pushed open the door. She couldn't hear him breathing. Was he even in here? Her heart skipped a beat. Then another.

"Can't sleep?"

A relieved sigh slipped from her throat. Next to light, the second-best defense against the darkness was good old human contact. "The lights are off."

He'd heard her singing under her breath out there, and tamped down the ridiculous notion that he found her Godawful singing oddly charming. "Power's out because of the storm," he lied. He'd turned off all the electrical a few minutes ago. She couldn't snoop in the dark, and it served another purpose. He could take several days fiddling with the generator when they limped into port tomorrow.

"Oh. Sure. Right—do you by any chance have any candles?"

"On a boat?" he asked, amused.

"Flashlight?"

Several. "Nope."

"You're not real good in emergencies, are you?"

"Just go to sleep. It'll be light in eight hours." He could barely make her out in the doorway, and his night vision was terrific.

Silence pulsed. She didn't move. "I-I have a bit of a phobia about the dark."

Yeah. He'd noticed. How to use the knowledge to his advantage? "You could always come in here with me," he offered lightly. "I'll keep the boogeyman away."

She gave a small hiccuping laugh. "I'm not all that sure
you
aren't the boogeyman." But she didn't retreat shrieking in protest.

Michael patted the mattress. "Come on. It's a king-size. I'll stay on my side, if you behave yourself and stay on yours."

"This is probably not a good idea," she said in a husky little voice, taking the first step into his web.

"We're both adults. I'm not going to ravish you. We both need to get some sleep. If having company facilitates that, then go for it."

She padded over, bumped her legs on the foot of the bed, and felt her way around to the other side. Michael considered throwing the sheet over his nakedness, then decided not to. It was obvious she had lousy night vision.

The mattress depressed as she sat down, then swung her legs up. She lay flat. He almost expected her to cross her hands over her breasts like a Victorian maiden. Instead, she surprised him by rolling onto her side and facing him. "Thanks."

"No problem. Do you usually sleep with the lights on?"

"Pretty much." She was quiet for a moment. "I know it's silly. I just hate the dark. I normally have a night-light. As long as it's not pitch-dark, I'm okay."

"Some traumatic event in your past?"

"Not that I remember."

"Some traumatic event in your future?"

She gave a little laugh. "I don't think so."

"Will you be able to sleep now?"

"Hopefully. Thanks."

"No problem. 'Night."

'"Night."

Michael stacked his hands under his head and stared at the ceiling until he heard the soft sound of her even breathing.

Once, she'd known she was safe, she'd fallen asleep as quickly as a child.

Which was laughable. Without knowing it, Tally Church Cruise had presented herself like a sacrificial lamb stretched right out on his king-size altar. That Michael was going to use her was a given. He just needed to decide
how
.

Tally didn't usually remember her dreams, but even as she dreamed, she hoped she'd remember this one. The bed was incredibly soft, the darkness somehow comforting and not the least bit scary. Her back arched as a man's hand skimmed, soft as a whisper, across her naked breasts. The sensation was achingly familiar, as if she knew the man intimately.

There was no doubt this was a dream. Tally hadn't had sex in so long, she frequently imagined her body parts closing up from disuse.

Clever fingers found her nipples, pinching, rolling until the nubs felt engorged and tender. She moaned. It felt too good. His slightly rough hands were featherlight on her skin. He cupped each breast in turn, taunting her nipples until they ached.

The mattress shifted as he redistributed his weight. Then his hot, wet mouth closed around an aching peak.

Tally found her fingers tangled in the silk of his hair, holding his head against her breast. He sucked hard, drawing the nub into the furnace of his mouth. Tally cried out as sweet pain shot from her breast to her groin.

She was wet with desire, aching with need. She shifted her legs restlessly. Wanting him inside her, but knowing the anticipation was more titillating than the actual consummation. Tight as a bowstring, Tally arched her upper body off the bed when he bit down lightly on her left breast. Oh. God.

She grabbed his head and drew his face up to hers. The kiss was hot, out of control, a frantic mating of tongues and teeth.

Too good, too
real
to be a dre—

Chapter Four

«
^
»

Michael dragged his mouth away from hers. Tally moaned a complaint. "Is that a yes?" he demanded.

She breathed in the scent of him. Man. Heat. Need. "Y-Yes."

"Sure?"

In answer, she pulled his head down, and kissed him again.

Michael's knee nudged her legs apart as he slid over her; he rocked against the very heart of her desire, pushing inside the juicy opening of her body.

And slipped inside like a homecoming.

He was huge, rock hard, and moving the moment he sheathed himself. The sensation felt incredible. Unbearably aroused, Tally wrapped her arms around him. The muscles in his back were hard under satin-smooth skin. She reveled in the feel of him. Inside and out. Desire pure, sharp, and out of control made her arch her hips off the bed. He plunged all the way to her cervix, then withdrew. His mouth opened against her throat. He plunged again, sinking his teeth into her neck. Not hard enough to break the skin, but hard enough to send a bolt of pure sensation directly to where they were joined. His large hands clamped under her bottom, drawing her tightly against him as his fingers spread her cheeks.

"Wrap your legs around me," he demanded, breath hot against her sweat-dampened throat.

He withdrew; Tally followed the movement, raising her bottom off the bed, wrapping her legs high around his waist, opening herself for his penetration. He plunged deep.

The shocking intensity of her orgasm went on, and on, seeming to last forever. Tally's body trembled as each ripple of sensation ebbed and flowed, echoing back on each other, drawing out the pleasure until her mind blanked. Brilliant colors showered the darkness. Her arms tightened around him as the planet slipped off its axis.

When she finally came back to reality, head hung off the foot of the bed, she was as limp as an overcooked noodle, and Michael was still deep inside her.

"W—" Tally moistened dry lips, and tried again. "Wow. You're really good at that."

"I'm a man of many talents." His voice came soft against her ear, his breath brushing her cheek, her throat.

"How many talents?" she wanted to know. Just to be prepared, of course.

"How much time have you got?"

She smiled into the darkness. Hey, she didn't have a problem with his ego. Judging by what she'd just lived through, he wasn't bragging. "What happened to my clothes?"

With his weight on his elbows, Michael moved his hip in a maddeningly slow glide in. Out. In. "Technically they were
my
clo—Jesus. Do that again."

Tally contracted her PC muscle again, and had the satisfaction of hearing Michael groan. He withdrew, then pushed into her again. She was ready, her vagina tight and slick, as she pulsed around him. She relaxed the muscle until he was almost in to the hilt, then tightened it sharply. They groaned in unison as he pumped into her tight opening hard and fast.

He came in a hard, shuddering rush, then collapsed on top of her.

For several minutes the sound of their harsh breathing filled the darkness. Tally mustered enough energy to raise a heavy arm and stroke his sweaty face. Her fingers brushed his eye patch, but didn't linger. Poor, wounded warrior. She raised her head and pressed a soft kiss to the cool fabric of the patch. Michael captured her face between his broad palms and realigned her mouth downward.

"I love a woman with good muscle control," he told her thickly before crushing his mouth down on hers.

Tally demonstrated again just how controlled those muscles were. Michael groaned as he lifted his head. "Anything else you're afraid of?" he asked laconically, bracing some of his weight on his elbows.

Too weak to move, Tally's legs fell open on either side of his narrow hips. She liked the weight of him pressing her into the mattress. He was still semi-hard inside her, and her muscles flexed spasmodically around his shaft. "Thank God, no. And if I'd come up with this cure years ago, I probably wouldn't be afraid of the dark anymore, either."