Tides of Love (Seaswept Seduction Series) (26 page)

"They are conspicuous things, showing sufficiently bold specific characters, and thus they are less liable to confusion."

C. Wyville Thomson

The Depths of the Sea

Noah left the laboratory site, head bent, gaze fixed on the wet planks beneath his brogans. The waves whipping the pilings almost erased the sound of Caleb's mockery. The promise of a storm scented the air and threw a solid punch into the wind coming off the sea. A fine mist struck his face and slicked his shirt to his chest. He crossed the deserted street and stopped to observe the flame wavering behind the globe of a streetlamp. Elle had mentioned petitioning the town committee for twenty and the insufficient approval for eight. Her cheeks had gone wild with color just talking about it.

He laughed, a sound that echoed off the warehouses looming on each side of him. No matter how much Elle troubled him, he was unable to deny her uniqueness, her inherent strength—or his fascination. Jocularity dwindling, he slipped his spectacles off, yanked his shirttail from his trousers, and swabbed the spotted lenses.

As a child, how had he missed those things about her?

He frowned and forced his spectacles into place. He'd squandered half his childhood running from her and the other half rescuing her from some farcical disaster. Who had time to wonder about—well, just to
wonder?
He had been doing ceaseless amounts of reflection since their passionate kiss behind the Nook. He touched his lips, imagining
her
fingers, her touch.

His heart picked up speed as his body betrayed him.

Cursing, he pulled the tattered scrap of paper from his shirt pocket and tipped it into the light, reviewing the list for the hundredth time. Five solid, irrefutable reasons to avoid Elle Beaumont, starting—

Lightning arced. A drop of rain pelted his cheek. Another smacked his chest, soaking to the skin. With a muttered oath and a shiver, he broke into a run. His brogans skimmed over a patch of shells, and he struggled to maintain his balance, his side beginning to throb in an impressive rhythm.

Relief poured through him when the next bolt of lightning illuminated Widow Wynne's pitched roof. Whipping off his spectacles, he slapped the gate back on its hinges. The heavy rainfall had unfurled a silver blanket, obliterating his view. Better that, he mused, taking the coach house stairs two at a time.

The key slipped from his hand twice before he jammed it into place.

Water streamed down his neck. He licked raindrops from his lips, the taste of salt invading his mouth. Shivering in the small entranceway, he ripped his shirt and undershirt over his head, and heeled his boots from his feet. He stepped to the landing and flipped the wet clothing across the length of twine he'd tacked between two posts.

A rumble splintered the air, and a chill claimed his body. He turned, tugging at the bandage circling his ribs.

A whisper of movement... a hiss of breath. Elle perched in the corner of the landing like a panther ready to pounce. A nightdress of cream muslin, drenched in all the right places, or hell, all the wrong ones, clung to her curves.

She may as well be naked.

The curtain of rainfall sheltered them from the world as they stared, immobile, seeing each other in a state neither had known existed.

Light illuminated her face: shock, curiosity,
greed.
She shoved her hair back, revealing brilliant eyes. Her lids fluttered, her gaze lowering to his chest. Her tongue peeked from between her lips, a promise intensely desirable in its innocence. In response, Noah exhaled, the sound muffling a distant thunderclap and the fierce thumping of his heart.

Passion scorched the air around them.

"What are you doing here?" he asked in a voice he hardly recognized.

When she continued to stare, he stepped forward, flustered and angry. His chest ached—longing, hunger, and pain. Repressed until he felt like a tin can ready to explode.
"What,
Elle?"

She hooked her arms beneath her breasts, unconsciously raising them above the drooping neck of her nightdress. "I wanted to make sure the roof wasn't leaking." Her chest rose and fell, adding fuel to the fire. "On your, your beautiful books."

He dragged his hand down his face, her goodness seeping into him.
I'm doomed,
he realized, and to prove it, effortlessly located her nipples beneath muslin. As he stared, they pebbled, tight and hard, as if he'd stroked his tongue across them. He swallowed, masking a groan, desire tensing every muscle in his body and melting in a leisurely slide to his groin.

Some of the lewd images spinning through his mind must have shown because broad spills of rose, much lighter than her nipples, stained Elle's cheeks. Her skin glowed, in a way he had never seen skin glow, how he imagined a newborn's would look.

Rejecting honorable intentions and prudent reluctance, he took a step closer, near enough to catch her fragrance. "Honeysuckle." He trailed his knuckle along her jaw, slipped his finger behind her earlobe. "Did you put it here?"

She swallowed and made a sound of fear or pleasure.

Noah discarded fear. Fear wasn't driving her to explore his naked chest, her look hot. "How about here?" He moved past her shoulder, circling her elbow, making a gradual sweep to her wrist. Her fist uncurled. Her pulse skittered beneath his fingertips. She gave a low gasp of surprise.

Rain coursed down her cheeks, a lock of cinnamon—hair he wanted spread under them while he plunged into her lithe body—lay tucked in the edge of her mouth. If he moved closer, he could use his teeth to peel it from her skin.

Take her.

"I want to make you mine, touch you everywhere, in every way," he said, surprising himself with the thread of need, the brutal honesty. His lips met her cheek, his tongue working the silken strand between his teeth, the taste of lemon filling his mouth. She arched and lengthened, dragging his lips over her jawbone to just below her ear. He brought his hand to her back, spread his fingers, and drew her near. "I want to explore your body in ways I've yet to explore, in ways I've yet to allow another to explore mine." The words rang true, yet he scarcely believed he voiced them. As it was with Elle, as it had always been, he could not hide behind a wall of indifference.

"Caroline," she said, and turned, presenting her back to him.

His arm circled her waist. "Never." His lips brushed her ear, skimming the nape of her neck. The faultless feel of her, the
completeness,
colored his desire in dark shades. A dizzying ribbon of anticipation wrapped itself around his mind and yanked, choking his fear. Defeated, he bent low and cradled her, her buttocks coming to rest against him.

"Never?" Her sigh captured him, tugged him deeper. Her cheek met his chest. She released a ragged inhalation that skated across his skin.

"Never." He tightened his hold and fit her to him. Like pieces of broken pottery, they slipped into place.

"I'm frightened."

"Don't be. Not of me," he murmured, fitting his fingers in the groove of her ribs, her heart pounding beneath his thumb as he swept it toward the rounded weight of her breast. He kissed from the sloped arch of her neck to her shoulder. A haunting chorus of sound, pelting rain and howling wind, mixed with their gasping breaths. A shiver shook her, her head lolling forward, inviting more. Unable to stop, he drew her skin between his teeth and sucked, hoping to mark her, a primal urge. She melted into him, her hand rising to cup his jaw. In turn, he breathed her in, her essence delicious and decadent on his lips.

"Sweet, oh, if you only knew how much I want you." She could have no idea how reckless, how savage and uncontrolled this was, to the exclusion of reason and rationale, the mainstays of his structured existence.

"How... much?" A shift of her bottom accompanied her question.

"Too much," he whispered, and returned the motion, rocking his hips into her. Leave it to this woman to find the precise movement to drive him mad. Pressing his face to her hair, the scent of citrus filled his nostrils, made him picture clear drops of pulp glistening on her lower lip, her dusky pink nipples.

He closed his eyes and pictured licking her clean.

What he could reach, he kissed, the edge of her mouth, her cheek, her jaw... starved, desperate, and impatient. He slanted his head, trying to seize her lips completely, thinking only to have more, much more.

Rising to her toes, she tangled her fingers in his hair and urged him closer.

A burst of liquid heat, passion in its most potent form, sparked and ignited. Bringing her with him, Noah swayed against the railing. He could hardly take it in. Could hardly believe his luck.

She hungered for him as desperately as he hungered for her.

Trust me,
he thought. Or did he say it? With the roar in his head, who knew? Lifting his thumb, he rolled it over her nipple. Once, twice, until it puckered and protruded, ready to suckle. He groaned in a mixture of frustration and pleasure, the angle he held her insufficient.

He took her waist in both hands and propelled her forward. Kicking the coach house door closed, he turned her to face him, dipped his head, and seized her lips, his fingers tunneling through her hair. They were
alone,
utterly, temptingly alone. The gleeful knowledge seared the edges of his consciousness. Images of the woman of his dreams swirled, dulling reason and firing his senses. Pleasures he dared share, pleasures he had never wanted to share with another.

He traced the front of her teeth, a brazen invitation. "Like before," he said, beseeching her to remember their kiss in the alley.

She hesitated for only a moment before showing him she did, indeed, remember. She flowered; tongues tangled, a kiss of promise, earnest and absorbed. Mindless, Noah dragged his mouth to her cheek, bent low and wrapped his arm beneath her buttocks, the other across her back. He lifted her against his chest and recaptured her lips. Claiming every inch of her made it worth the dull ache in his side.

Ducking through the doorway, he halted by his bed, and let her slide down his body. Before her toes touched the floor, he laid her across the mattress in a gentle sprawl.

Her hair, bright and sleek, contrasted sharply against the linens, a seductive flame on a sea of ivory. Her unblinking regard revealed frantic desire. Raw and intimate, emotions a husband should see, but instead a lover would.

Lightning slashed outside the window, a burst of brightness. Through thin muslin, her generous curves stood in shadowed relief. He fought to stay focused on her face. Every tiny crease, every smattering of freckles. She shifted under his perusal, her legs falling open, Down a more dangerous path. Truly, he couldn't possibly govern
this
urge. Hadn't he wondered—even at the decidedly naive age of fifteen—if her hair was red all over? With a boy's uncontrollable provocation guiding him, he found her... dark and glistening. Heart hammering, his cock swelled, straining against his trouser buttons.

He exhaled raggedly and wedged his knees inside hers. "Do you know what I want from you?"

She licked her lips and nodded. Her gaze dipped low. A burst of air left her as she centered on his arousal.

His pulse pounded in his ears, hard and furious. He didn't recognize himself, a man who stood there thinking only of what he could do to this woman, not what it would cost him.

Or what it would cost
her.

He vowed to go slowly and savor every damned inch of her. Tracing the delicate arch of her foot, he brushed his knuckle over each tiny, perfect toe. "If you're ever going to deny me"—he cupped her heel and raised her foot to his mouth, a delicious impulse—"deny me now." With a sigh, he trailed his lips over her ankle and up her calf.

She gasped, perhaps just realizing the man doing these wicked things to her was not her beloved protector. Wiggling from his grasp, she clawed at the mattress, digging her heels in. Her nightdress gathered in a sloppy roll at the bottom of her thighs. Unable, despite his warning, to restrain himself, Noah slid his hands behind her knees, lingered a moment to caress the rain-drenched skin, then stooped and jerked her forward. She glided across the sheets, legs dangling, muslin creeping higher, scarcely covering the triangle between her thighs.

He knew he should run as quickly as his quaking legs would take him. Instead, he tugged the last bit, the mattress edge cutting into her bottom. He angled his hips and burrowed. Warm velvet folds enveloped the strongest erection in memory.

"I know I asked you—" He swallowed, the words catching in his throat. Helplessly, he shifted to the right... to the left. So slight a movement, but he throbbed with each measure.

"Ask me again," she said, her hands sliding toward him. Her eyes snagged his, the eagerness in them stoking his hunger.

"Can I, sweet?" He skimmed his fingers along the outside of her thigh, hesitating over wadded muslin. He would never be able to sleep in this bed again, he surmised, curling his hand possessively around her hip. Not with the scent of lemon and honeysuckle and rich, brown earth driving peaceful slumber out, inviting carnal dreams in. "Can I touch you like I've dreamed of touching you?"

In answer, her lids skimmed low.

He inserted his thumb under the tattered hem and gave her thigh a languid stroke. "What would you do if I stripped this from your body?" He drew a deliberate circle. "I want to, if you're wondering.
Desperately."
He raised the nightdress an inch—an inch closer to ruin for both of them. "What would you do? What do you think I would do?"

A rushed breath; a raspy, meaningless sound. She tried again, a teasing accent threading her words. "I... I don't know... for sure. But, I think I'd like it."

He snapped his head up and slammed into a sizzling, emerald wall. A powerful surge, privilege inspired by her reckless words, ripped every remaining shred of caution from his mind.

The mattress dipped as Noah washed over her. Knee, hip, stomach, chest. Points of startling, scalding, rain-drenched contact. His hands skimmed her arms, her back, fingers tangling in her hair. She made a noise he must have mistakenly interpreted, because he halted, shoulders quivering, his face hovering an inch above hers. His jaw tensed, flushed skin stretching over high cheekbones. With a willful shake of his head, he leaned in.