n’t get enough of you. Do you understand?”
She blinked slowly, savoring the passion in his aggression, in his hold. Because as powerful as he was, he was careful with it too. Gently he caressed her back down from the oversensitive heights of orgasm and then set about building her back up again.
“And we haven’t kissed anywhere near enough,” he muttered.
She moaned, giving herself up to his care completely. They were so entwined, it was beyond intimate. Beyond anything she’d ever experienced. Together they were one hot, slick mess of intensity. And the man could kiss. He framed her face, holding her, exploring her with a thoroughness, a leisurely passion that belied the demanding thrust of his hips. He possessed her in the most devastating way imaginable. That such a big man could hold a woman this carefully, this commandingly? That he could be this tender? This slow? This controlled?
She melted like wax in his hands. He was so much more than she’d expected. And she’d expected a lot. She relaxed and gave in to her own re-burgeoning needs. She explored him—touching where she wanted, tasting. Laughing, licking. Refusing to worry about the movement of the stars in the night sky—time was unimportant.
But slowly, her need to relieve him grew. Behind his tough, isolated exterior lay compassion and consideration. He was a protector, she understood that. He’d do anything to defend someone’s safety. And probably had.
She wrapped herself about him, pulling him impossibly closer, needing him to take every ounce of space she could give him. Wanting him to feel everything that he’d made her feel—pleasure, so much pleasure. She wanted to welcome him utterly. And she whispered just that—coarse, honest words. He closed his eyes and kissed her again. But she wouldn’t be silenced—not in words or action. Eventually—fantastically—he couldn’t hold back the savage, demanding desire of his body any longer. He lost control. Ramming wildly he groaned through the almost painful pleasure of orgasm. His body shook, curling into hers as he called her name in a guttural cry.
It was only then, despite those shattering orgasms she’d already shuddered her way through, that the last piece of the puzzle locked into place and she felt pure completion.
CHAPTER SEVEN
HUNTER WOKE WITH a sense of dread in the pit of his belly. He shouldn’t have fallen asleep—shouldn’t have wasted a second of the night. But he’d had the best sleep in years.
And woken to a nightmare. She was going to walk out on him this morning. She’d hold fast to her deal—one night—because she lived according to an arbitrary set of rules that she made to control what could and would happen in her life. As if life were anything that could be controlled? Not in any real sense it wasn’t. Sometimes things just happened—the only thing a person could control was whether to react, or not to react to the situation. This time, he was not going to react. He was going to let her make her choice. He was done with fighting her—because if she could walk away from this, she wasn’t the woman he’d thought she was. And if she was that determined to spite herself and deny them more of this incredible sex, then that was her loss.
But it was his loss too.
He waited for her to wake. Wondering if she was going to walk without even a kiss goodbye.
“It can’t be the morning,” she groaned as she finally stirred.
“Fraid so, sleepyhead.” He tried to inject a smile into his voice but failed.
She said nothing more.
He was stiffer than a freaking rock, aching for her but he knew she was strong. She’d walk out of here without so much as a backwards glance if she was ready. And she had to work soon. She’d stand at that damn bar making coffee and cocktails and smile and joke at all the guests—effervescent and beautiful. He closed his eyes. He wasn’t going to watch her walk out on him. He refused to see that.
He felt the mattress dip.
She threw the sheet back—pulling it from him as well as from her. Damn thoughtless woman. But then he felt her pulling at him. He rolled onto his back but kept his eyes closed. In moments she was astride him. He heard the tearing foil and felt her cool, clever fingers sheathing him. And then she was there—so wet. So hot. She just slid right on him. Enveloping him in her wicked, wild beauty. He lay back and let her do it all—refusing to open his eyes in case this was a dream. But she was tight and so, so sweet as she clenched on him. Then not so sweet.
“Open your eyes,” she demanded, low and throbbing and angry. “Don’t hide from me.”
When that was what she was about to do? He shouldn’t be angry. He shouldn’t damn well care. He didn’t. He was just greedy, that was all. And fuck it, he was angry. He clenched his fists, holding back from thrusting upwards. Making her take the lead this one last time. And she did—driving him ’til she couldn’t do it alone anymore.
“Help me,” she finally muttered.
He moved, gripping her thighs to steady her as he bucked up, opening his eyes to see her beauty as she moaned with pure, raw, pleasure. Her head was thrown back, her black hair wild and disheveled around her face. Her skin gleamed with the sweat she’d worked up in working him. Her gaze locked on him—showing trouble in such beautiful eyes. She didn’t break the intensity as ecstasy shuddered through her. He stiffened, his balls tightening as he couldn’t hold back a second longer. Satisfaction gleamed in her expression then.
She slid to lie down beside him with a soft sigh. He wasn’t going to kiss her. He wasn’t going to make this easy for her. Because it was so fucking hard for him he could do it no other way anyway. And he couldn’t just let this happen.
He reacted.
He had to make the choice himself—to turn and go. He couldn’t wait for her to leave him. Better to rip the plaster off quickly and end it. He slid from the bed and pulled on his swimming trunks. The sea wasn’t going to be cold enough to drench the anger grasping at him.
“You can tick me off your list,” he said shortly as he headed out the door.
A force stronger than gravity pulled on him with every step away from him. It was the hardest thing he’d ever done. But he had to. Because he’d promised her. And he wouldn’t renege on that promise. Not when he’d seen that emotional desperation in her eyes just then. Too freaking complicated already.
He heard nothing from her as he walked. Not even a drawn breath. Certainly not a goodbye. He’d had his night. He needed to write up his own fuck-it list.
He dived into the ocean, swimming hard back and forth along the length of the beach, his anger building with every stroke. He didn’t want to set eyes on any of those other guests—not in their newly wedded bliss. He saw others getting their ‘forever family’ and he never did. Didn’t belong—even when he’d believed he had it had been nothing but a betrayal. Maybe his mother was out there somewhere, but it had been impossible for him to find her or his father or any possible siblings. There was nothing in any DNA database. He suspected they were dead. And they were dead to him. They had to be.
It had taken so long to get over. Truthfully he probably was never going to get over it. He endured it, like an open wound within. He had no hope of ever finding his family and no he wasn’t gonna try make himself a new one.
He swam, pushing his tireless body despite such little sleep. Choose. He told himself. He’d choose not to react. Not to be bothered. Not to be hurt.
And then defiance and determination snuck in. He’d stick around and damn her. This wasn’t over yet.
* * *
Luisa made herself a triple strength coffee, which she totally didn’t need because she was already jumpy and couldn’t stop overthinking everything. He’d done as he’d promised. He’d walked away. He wasn’t chasing her any more. She saw him in the distance, sitting under an umbrella in the sand just outside his villa. Reading a freaking book as if he wasn’t bothered at all. One night. Just one night. That’s all she’d allowed herself. And she’d had it, so she couldn’t be angry with him.
But she was. She stomped across the sand, carrying a coffee he’d not requested but needing it as
a pretext to question what the hell he thought he was doing looking so damn relaxed lying on the lounger like that.
“You’re not going to go back to the mainland then?” she asked.
“Why would I do that?” A smile curled his lips but he didn’t look up from his book. “Would you rather I left?”
“Oh no. It doesn’t bother me,” she lied.
He looked at her then—skeptically. “This is my vacation. I’ve been looking forward to it for months.”
“All by yourself on a lover’s island,” she muttered sarcastically.
“I’m not bothered by that,” he drew in a deep breath and released a deeply satisfied sigh. “I like the serenity of the place. You hardly see them.”
But she saw him. And it was hard seeing him and not having him. There was no serenity to be had. She gritted her teeth at her neediness. Surely she could act professionally and do polite conversation? She was good at her job. Brilliant in fact. She could treat him like any other customer. This could be easy, right?
She tore her gaze from his and glanced at the cover of his book. “It’s a good story?”
He nodded. “Series one of my friends got me into.”
“Brutal murder series?”
“Fantasy actually. But yeah, brutal. Everyone dies.”
“Every one does. Eventually.”
He looked at her coolly. “My friend taught me how to read properly. I missed some schooling in the middle there and needed some catch-up.”
A morsel of information that she couldn’t help but be fascinated by. “Why did you miss school? Were you unwell?”
“Do I look like I was ever unwell?”
“Appearances can be deceptive.” She looked away from him. This she knew deeply.
“I moved around a lot when I was younger,” he said.