The Castaway Bride (20 page)

But there was a way he could communicate with her that she understood only too well. Where no words were needed.

He pushed his rickety chair back and took the few steps around to where she sat. “Of course there is something else I can offer you for dessert,” he said, his voice deep, suggestive, husky.

He leaned down to her and trailed his finger over her lower lip. It was still damp from where she’d licked it. She went very still. Then he moved toward her breast. She shuddered and he saw her nipples harden before his fingers even reached them.

He’d have to let his fingers do the talking… and his tongue and that other part of his body she’d enjoyed so much.

Surely by now she’d know from that how he was feeling? What was that line from the marriage service?
With this body I thee worship
. That’s what he intended to do. Worship Cristy with his body. So she’d be left in no doubt that he would never let her go back to her groom. Or any other man.

He looked deep into her eyes as he pushed down the top of her dress and put his hands over her breasts, stroking them, squeezing them until her nipples were like hard little pebbles. A soft gasp escaped her lips and her eyes seemed to darken to a deeper shade of blue.

“Wh… what could you offer me that’s better than chocolate?” she asked in a breathy voice.

One hand stayed on her breast, he slid the other up her leg and toward the junction of her thighs. He leaned forward, nibbled on her ear lobe for a moment, and then in a deep whisper told her exactly what was on the menu.

A flush rose from Cristy’s chest, staining her neck pink. “I’ll have it all,” she whispered, winding her arms around his neck, pulling his head to her and kissing him, her tongue darting invitingly into his mouth.

Without breaking the kiss, he pulled her to her feet, kicked the chair aside and walked her backward toward the sleeping area.

He lowered her to the nest of blankets and sheets they’d built up on the floor, both the broken canvas bed and the other now propped up against the wall.

He undid her buttons and peeled the dress off her. She lay before him, her cheeks flushed and with her blond hair tumbling over her breasts. Matt was so overcome with desire he couldn’t get enough breath to speak.
I worship, I want, I…

But his thoughts faltered on the next word. He’d never before even thought the word “love” about a woman. “Let me look at you like I did today,” he said finally, “you’re so beautiful naked.”

“So are you,” she whispered. “So even the score, will you?”

Matt pulled the T-shirt over his head and threw it in the corner, followed by his undershorts. “That’s better,” Cristy murmured seductively still lying back, watching him. “Now tell me again what’s on that menu? Better still, why not start serving me?”

C
risty could scarcely believe she could act so boldly, make such sexy demands. But with Matt there was no need to play games. Their bodies were in a perfect harmony of sensual give and take.

Except, of course, that she was pretending she didn’t love him. Which got more and more difficult as all she could think about was how much she wanted to whisper the words to him.

He lay down beside her and rolled her to him. She pressed herself against his warm, muscular body, twining her legs around his, pressing her pelvis against the hard evidence of his desire. He felt so good, the roughness of his body hair exciting against her smoothness, her softness yielding to his strength. He had a fantastic body—and man did he know how to use it.

She sighed her welcome as he kissed her, his mouth gentle and playful at first, then strengthening into something deep and hungry. She kissed him back eagerly, fervently, her body melting into desire.

He pulled away from her mouth, and she moaned her delight as he blazed a trail of kisses down her throat, pausing to nuzzle where her neck met her shoulders, under her ears, all the spots she loved. So quickly he’d learned what turned her on.

When he took each breast in his mouth, teasing her nipples with his tongue, sucking and licking, the sensation was so intense she could scarcely bear it.

She held her breath as he kissed his way down her belly, pausing below her navel. She pushed her hips toward him but he stopped, looked up at her and grinned, then trailed with his tongue along the length of her legs.

He nibbled and sucked each toe and then caressed her foot. He stroked her instep just like he had on the deck of the boat. But this time he followed the stroking with kissing, sending shudders of pleasure through her body. Then he took each toe in his mouth, nibbling and sucking.

She started to laugh as he tickled the sole of her foot with his tongue. But it quickly became something so much more than ticklish. He grazed the pads of her toes with his teeth, nipping and teasing until she squirmed and pulled up into a sitting position. “Stop it. I can’t bear it!” she protested. “That wasn’t on the menu.”

“So you want to be more adventurous with your order?”

“Mmm,” she assented, shuddering in anticipation as she remembered his explicit, whispered, run down of what he intended to do to her.

Gently, he pushed her backward, then kissed his way tantalizingly up one leg and then the other, then paused, resting on her thighs. “Is madam ready for dessert?”

Wordlessly she nodded, trembling in anticipation. She gasped in wordless pleasure as he gently pushed her thighs apart and kissed her in her most private places. She wanted to wait to come with him but, as he used his lips and tongue to explore her, licking and stroking and sucking, her hips started to rock against him and the pleasure built until she exploded in ecstasy, calling out his name.

When she stopped seeing stars she looked accusingly down at him. Her breath was still coming in gasps. “Hey, no fair. I’m still ahead of you.”

He grinned as he sat up. “Who’s counting, Ms. Accountant? It isn’t me—if it was, I’d be the one who was complaining.”

“We’ll have to do something about that won’t we?” she said, laughing. She sat up and pushed him backward. He made no protest.

She lay beside him and started idly playing with the hair that grew in dark curls on his tanned chest. She wound it around her finger tugging gently before slowly circling his nipples. She followed her lips with her tongue, delighting in his groans of pleasure.

He lay very still as she kissed a path down his chest until she came to the hard shaft of his erection. She delighted in her power to please him as she took him in her mouth, pleasuring him with her lips and tongue, gripping him with her hand, exalting in her power to make him feel good.

Giving him pleasure, making him enjoy himself, suddenly became overwhelmingly important. She willed him to know she was doing this out of love, as a gift, though it rapidly became a turn on for herself. He shuddered, his breathing ragged.

Just as she thought he was about to come, he pulled out of her mouth, pausing only to roll on a condom before he entering her with one sure plunge. “I want to be inside you,” he said, “and don’t talk about evening the score.”

Talking was the last thing she felt like as he thrust upward, his fingers caressing her at the same time. She didn’t think she could bear such intensity of feeling. His speed as he climaxed made her come with him in an explosion of rapture that sent her almost out of control.

But not out of control enough to cry out
I love you Matt,
though the phrase echoed again and again through her head.

At last, replete, she lay forward on his chest, feeling his heart pounding against her, knowing hers was equally erratic. He turned her over so they faced each other side by side in their makeshift bed. Wordlessly, he pushed back the hair where it lay in damp tendrils against her forehead and kissed her tenderly.

His green eyes were warm with an emotion she couldn’t place. Was he feeling it too?

Her heart felt as though it was bursting, and she nearly blurted out those three never-go-back words. But then he smiled. “Was the service satisfactory, Madam?” he asked in a low, husky voice as he stroked her shoulder.

Choked by disappointment, she couldn’t speak. So, was it just great sex for him? Couldn’t he feel it was so much more?

“Exemplary,” she finally managed to get out. “But if that was dessert, I think I’ll pass on coffee.”

“There’s always breakfast,” he murmured, “a whole new menu.”

Cristy was too weary, too exhausted from the vigors of the day and his explosive lovemaking, to even attempt a reply.

She snuggled down beside him, breathing in the heady smell of him and their coupling. This was more than great sex. It went way beyond lust. Tomorrow, when they awoke, she would tell him she loved him, talk about where they could go from now. What did she have to lose?

If he felt in any way the same, they could move forward. If he didn’t—it would be worth the humiliation to know she had tried. She just had to tell him how she felt, even if he didn’t feel the same. And then when the rescue boat came, she could say goodbye, knowing she need never see him again and that she could get on with her life.

A
s Cristy lay beside him, Matt practiced saying the words over and over in his head. “I
love
you. I love
you
.
I-love-you-Cristy.”

Whichever way he said it in his mind, it didn’t come out right. He realized that he had never actually said the words before. No woman had ever inspired him enough. He’d mastered a clever way of replying when a girlfriend told him she’d loved him. “Ditto,” he’d reply adroitly and they wouldn’t even notice that he hadn’t committed himself at all.

Now he was determined to tell her how he felt about her. And he would follow that with a more complete explanation of his business interests. What it meant to be Matthew J. Slade. The entire extent of his company. He knew he could trust her.

He shifted to accommodate Cristy as she nestled into his shoulder with little murmuring sighs of satisfaction. He could feel her heart beating against his, smell the fresh salty smell of her hair. A long way away from scented soaps and perfumes she still smelled deliciously of roses—maybe this was her own, special smell. Not something from a bottle but pure essence of Cristy.

His heart started thudding. He was overwhelmed by how much she meant to him. He swore he could feel it contract. He had to tell her. Now. He took a deep breath. “Cristy,” he whispered. “Cristy, I—”

She gave a little murmur deep in her throat and nestled closer to him. Her breathing seemed to change down a gear, deep, slow and regular. Her eyes were firmly closed.

He’d missed his moment.

Cristy was asleep.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

The
noise woke Cristy—a loud, pounding noise that made the hut vibrate violently and the enamel mugs fall off the shelf and crash onto the floor. She sat up with a start, jolted right out of her dreams. Matt was awake too, listening intently.

“What—?” she started to say.

“Helicopter,” shouted Matt above the noise. He jumped up, grabbed his T-shirt and dragged it over his head. With one leg in his black undershorts and the other out, he turned back to her. “Our rescuers are here.”

Relief fought with a sharp disappointment. Rescue had come too soon. She’d prayed for a very slow boat.

Her shredded wedding dress landed on her naked lap, followed by her thong. “They’ve landed. Come on. We have to let them know we’re here.”

Hastily dragging on her dress—or what remained of it—Cristy slid her feet into her uneven flip-flops and ran outside after Matt, fumbling with the buttons at the back of her bodice as she went.

The thud-thud-thud noise outside was so deafening she had to cover her ears with her hands. The emergency services helicopter had landed a hundred yards or so away in the clearing, flattening all the foliage around it and generating the wind that whipped her hair around her face.

In seconds the people in the helicopter would be out and with them. Her time alone with Matt would be over.

She was overwhelmed by an urgency to tell him how she felt. No longer did she care about humiliation. She loved him and she wanted to let him know. If he pitied her, too bad. If he rejected her, tough. At least she would have let him know what was in her heart. Even if she never saw him again.

He was ahead of her, running toward the helicopter. She pushed the hair back from her face. “Matt!” she called after him but her words were devoured by the noise of the rotors. He didn’t turn around.

She ran after him, stumbling on her flip-flops. She managed to grab him by the arm. He turned. “Matt, I have to tell you something,” she shouted.

He frowned. “I can’t hear you,” he mouthed.

Cristy shook with frustration. She shouted so loudly her throat hurt. “Matt, I—”

At that moment, the helicopter rotors slowed and the noise level abated to a more bearable level. But before she could utter the words she so desperately wanted to say, two men jumped out of the helicopter and came running toward them.

The younger man wore a cop’s uniform. The other a pilot’s. Both men were tight lipped and grim.

The cop ran straight to her. “Miss Walters, are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” she replied, cursing his timing.

As he got closer, relief lit the cop’s face. “You’re okay. Thank God.”

Matt stepped forward. “Pete, am I glad to see you.”

The cop looked uncomfortable and stepped back from him, ignoring Matt’s outstretched hand. He looked instead to Cristy.

“Miss Walters, Sergeant Peter Nicholls. You sure you’re okay?” His voice was harsh with urgency.

She nodded. “I’ve been in good hands.”

Sergeant Nicholls frowned. “He didn’t hurt you?”

“Hurt me? Matt? Of course he didn’t hurt me.”

“He didn’t… he didn’t… manhandle you?”

Manhandle her? Well, Matt was a man and he’d certainly handled her. But she wasn’t complaining about it one little bit.

She looked from the cop to Matt and back again. She didn’t like the way he was glaring at Matt. “What’s going on?”