Tides of Love (Seaswept Seduction Series) (30 page)

"Its sources are obvious."

C. Wyville Thomson

The Depths of the Sea

A jarring noise pulled Elle from the first genuine sleep she'd had in days. She hitched to her elbow and blinked. She patted her chest, realizing she had fallen asleep in her clothing. Must be the jigger of whiskey Christabel and Caroline had forced on her at dinner. Throwing her hand to the floor, she searched—

"Enough of that, sweet," Noah said and slid the glass out of reach with the toe of his brogan. Her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness as her gaze traveled his long, lean body. He dropped, grabbed her by the waist, and pulled her into his arms.

"What... whe—"

He seized her words and her mouth, throwing her into a tempest of emotion. Desperation and loneliness raged; passion consumed her. She groaned and melted into him. Demanding and rough, the kiss bruised her lips
and
her soul. She surrendered to her love and the need she could no longer contain. She delved deeply, devouring as he devoured her.

He circled her wrists, his fingers tangling in her cuffs, and pressed her against the chaise longue. Chest heaving, he lifted his head, a look of complete bafflement crossing his face. "Not here... I didn't plan to... oh, hell."

With an oath, he pulled her to her feet and down the hallway, out into the moonlit night, grumbling beneath his breath along the way. Something about inquisitive brothers knocking on doors and how on this night, of all nights, she had to be inebriated.

"I'm not inebriated." Unfortunately, she followed the denial with a hiccup.

He sighed but didn't reply, nor did he look at her or slow his pace. Exhilarated for no good reason, she leaned in and sniffed his sleeve: woodsmoke and soap.

No hint of liquor.

Trying to track his lengthy stride, she stepped on the edge of a shell and gasped in pain.

Noah paused and swept her into his arms, looked both ways, then sprinted down the alley leading to the docks. His heartbeat thudded beneath her breast. He lifted her, a subtle shift that brushed her mouth against the underside of his jaw. Quite helplessly, she kissed him there, her lips lingering.

Noah moaned and halted in the shadowed recess of the seamstress's shop, braced his elbows on the wall, and lowered his mouth to hers, trapping her in his heated embrace. She hardly had time to loop her arms around his neck and thread her fingers through the hair curling over his collar, before he pulled away.

"I want to talk with you. Just talk," he said, a shudder working its way down his arms. "Not here. Not this." Peeking from their hiding place, he loped across the street, pressing a tender kiss to her brow.
"Not yet."

She shivered at the intensity of his words and the alluring images they brought to mind, wondering how her clear sense of purpose had vanished so easily into the dark night.

The street was deserted. Other than the oyster factory, Noah's laboratory was the only structure on the eastern end of town. The lab stood tall and proud against a twilight sky, wooden shakes recently fitted to the roof. Aching deep inside at the look of completion about the place, she pressed her cheek to his chest, the warmth of his skin seeping past cotton and into her heart.

Stepping onto a narrow, little-used dock, he halted beside a skiff, secured and bobbing. He rolled her from his arms, his muscles tensing as he slid her down his body. Lids fluttering, he lowered his head.
Yes.
She tipped her chin, welcoming the rush of blood between her thighs, the tightening of her nipples. Oh... her body remembered, even if her mind sought to forget.

Mint and ripe apple riding his breath. Close...
closer.

He jerked, an oath muffled by the hand he swiped across his mouth. "
Chrissakes,"
he whispered and steadied her with unsteady hands. Yanking his spectacles from his pocket, he hopped into the skiff.

Never thinking to ask where he took her, Elle watched him work the lines, the muscles in his arms bulging beneath blue cloth, each movement exposing his chest through the neck of his shirt. Knees beginning to tremble, her gaze dropped to his flat belly, the material there tucked haphazardly into form-fitting trousers. She blinked, curled her fingers, nails biting into her skin. A mismatched button on his trouser fly gaped.

Juste Ciel,
she thought, and squirmed, a forbidden thrill racing to her nether region.

She lifted her head and encountered eyes the color of a stormy sea. The lines hung slack; his throat pulled in a long swallow. With a gradual movement, he extended his hand, palm up, fingers spread in invitation.

For a moment, she considered turning tail and running. From his rationalizations and the incredible power of his touch. She feared him in an elemental way, yet he remained a part of her, as essential as the blood coursing through her veins. Taking what he offered would not alter her love for him. Taking would only serve to heighten the pain of leaving him.

And, leaving him would be unbearable no matter what she did.

"I just want to talk with you, sweet. Please, come with me."

Decided by the faint tremor in his arm and the vulnerability on his face, she linked her fingers through his and closed them in possession. Stepping into the skiff, she ignored the warning her mind insisted on issuing:
the words he wants to say aren't likely to be ones you wish to hear.

He settled her between his thighs, his arms circling her as he searched for the lines. The determined desperation in his movements sent a glimmer of feeling,
his,
through her.

Under a billow of white canvas, the flex of muscle at her back, Elle pressed her cheek against his collarbone and struggled to hold apprehension at bay. She had placed the power in his hands. If this was not how she pictured their relationship ending, her clothes damp and clinging, her hair curling about her face and neck, her hands clenched to keep from reaching... well, at least
she
had made the choice. Finally, even if the decision ended in grave error,
she owned her life.

She owned her future.

Noah's chest expanded. He cleared his throat; his arms tensed.
Oh, heaven,
was he going to tell her he didn't want her in his life? Tell her he was leaving? That they had no future?

We're like oil and water, Elle, we don't mix.

Was he going to destroy her again?

She started, rocking the skiff. "Easy," he said, his lips against her ear. He drew back before he found himself tasting. She smelled different tonight, expensive and exotic. Almond and honey, a rich scent weakening his already weak resolve. "What's the new fragrance?"

"Caroline said you would like it."

Where had she dabbed perfume? Imagining
that
was sure to make him lose focus. Which he could not afford. He had planned precisely how he would tell her he loved her. Knew
exactly
what he would say. He had spent the last two days thinking about her every waking moment. Dreaming about her every sleeping one. He wasn't sure about the particulars, where they would live, and when they would get married, but he knew he didn't want to live without her.

Could not live without her.

The final determination had arrived last night. He had woken abruptly, his dream returning in fragments. Elle in the skiff with Leland and her father... a wave tipping them... her body tossed beneath the white-capped waves... a rapid descent into the depths of hell.

Expelling a terse breath, he fit her to his chest, his hands slipping on the lines, the awkward position making a laborious sail of a calm, easy one.

He didn't care; he wouldn't let her go again.

She shifted, and for a moment he feared he held her too tightly. Then, her lips grazed his neck, an arousing flutter, and he feared nothing at all. Her tongue, hot and rough, flicked his earlobe, her teeth digging in just enough to hurt. He leaned into the touch, his body kicking into gear, a frenzied rhythm it did not take long to find.

She kissed her way up his jaw, searching for his mouth. Her arms wound around his neck, giving him a plentiful view inside her gaping blouse. Of its own accord, his hand crawled higher, his knuckles, then the back of his thumb, brushing her taut nipple. She was exquisite, the wonder of her more extraordinary than all his dreams. Needing to prove she was real, he pressed his palm against her thumping heart as his fingers cupped her breast in blatant ownership.

She sought his lips, found them parted and ready.

Stop her before she makes you forget what you're supposed to be doing.

"Sweet." He grasped her wrists and pulled her arms by her side. "Please help me here." He struggled to speak. Blessit, he struggled to catch an even breath. With a quick glance off the starboard side, he saw they had almost reached the island. Another five minutes, and he could put his feet on firm ground, move a thinking distance from the warm, sweet-smelling bundle of seduction in his arms. "I can't think when you touch me."

Damn,
why had he gone and admitted
that?

She laughed—an empowered laugh that scared him a little—and did something he had never imagined her doing, even in his rowdiest dreams. She reached between his legs and slid her finger into the mismatched buttonhole he had caught her staring at on the dock. Not a bold touch by any means, more of a grazing, playful stroke.

It was the most erotic caress he'd
ever imagined.

Seizing her chin, he found her lips and plundered. She tasted of whiskey and citrus. She tasted glorious, and for a brief instant, he didn't care if he sailed them off course and out to sea.

Beneath her exploration, her innocent discovery, he swelled and throbbed. She unsnapped buttons, and he held his breath, his trouser fly spilling wide. He sailed them into shore as skillfully as he could with her hand closing about him, gently at first, then with a determined rhythm. His thin underdrawers presented little defense against her touch.

"Am I hurting you?" Her mouth skimmed his neck, a moist slide, her teeth catching, nipping.

He couldn't speak, but managed to shake his head as the skiff beached in the shallows. His collected plan, his grand design, disappeared in the sensual mist enveloping them.

Reclaiming her lips, he swept her into his arms, climbed from the boat and stumbled across the sand, never breaking contact. She worked the buttons of his shirt, one by one, palmed the exposed skin, then she paused to thumb his nipple. A woman had not touched him there and if one had, he definitely wouldn't have imagined it shooting a burst of heat to his loins. Of course, his vixen would find a way to arouse him to madness on her first try.

"What are you doing to me?" he asked in a rushed whisper as he approached the glowing fire. Shadows flickered and danced across the dune. The ocean rolled into shore, and somewhere in the distance, sand locusts croaked. Nothing penetrated but the sound of her blouse crinkling against his arm, the whistle of air past her lips.

She dipped her head and laved his nipple, tangling her fingers in his chest hair. She'd gone wild, and he loved it. "I want to know your body"—she sucked the hardened bud between her teeth—"as well as I know my own." She shoved his shirtsleeve past his wrist. "Better."

Before he lost the use of his brain and his vocal chords, he forced her eyes to his. He loved this woman. It all but knocked him from his feet to realize how much.

"Elle, I—"

She shook her head, covering his lips with her finger. Then she replaced her finger with her mouth. Aggressive and sure, doing all the things she knew he liked.

He could not deny her.

Not when he had, quite possibly, wanted her forever.

He walked the required distance, his makeshift pallet coming into sight. Cradling her against his chest, he dropped to his knees, the sand cushioning their fall. Her legs sprawled; he smiled. He liked the strange trousers she had worn of late. Liked them a helluva lot.

She tore at the cloth hanging from his shoulder, bucking her hips. He let her strip the damp cotton from his body. In reply, he slanted his head and deepened the kiss, taking her lower lip between his teeth and tugging, a sudden image of her lips tracing his arousal filling his mind.

"I want to press your body against mine. Explore every naked inch of you." He started at her collar, working the bone buttons free with systematic precision. He stopped himself from cupping her breasts. This time, he would wait until nothing stood between them.

She complied, guiding his hips up, tugging his trousers down, while her lips traversed his cheek, his nose, his brow. Tentative pillages, light nibbles and licks, sensation snaking into every exposed pore, setting fire to every nerve ending.

Although their fingers faltered often, it seemed easy to divest each other of clothing. Boots, he toed off. She wore none. Her divided trousers, he managed quicker than he could a complicated dress. She wore a simple shift, no corset in sight. He had dressed in a hurry to get to her and wore nothing but a pair of worn underclothing. She had no stockings; he had no socks.

The first touch of her skin against his sent was a shock to his senses. He lifted just enough to allow moonlight to cross her body. Overwhelmed, he could do nothing but stare—and appreciate his good fortune.

She had grown into an incredibly beautiful woman.

"Noah." Embarrassed, she reached for his spectacles.

He shied away, emitting a husky laugh. "Oh, no, sweet. I waited too long for this, not to see clearly."

Her hair a wild, crimson riot flowing over the tattered blankets in such vivid contrast to the ivory sand. Her breasts plump and capped to perfection, nipples budding beneath his scrutiny. Her slightly rounded tummy, the bellybutton so feminine he wanted to smile. The need to smile vanished, the need to touch outweighing all else as his gaze dropped to her hips. Creamy skin and a round birthmark on her pelvic bone. Below, a swirling tuft of hair between her thighs.