Dead Calm. Lindsay Longford
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Название: Dead Calm
Автор: Lindsay Longford
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Ужасы и Мистика
Серия: Mills & Boon Intrigue
isbn: 9781408946800
isbn:
“Too far,” she gasped.
“I can run.” He pulled her to her feet and lifted her off the sand, snugging one arm under her behind and staggering to his feet.
“If you think so.” She locked her legs behind his waist and buried her face in the crook of his neck, breathed and went dizzy with the feel of his skin against her cheek. “Go for it, tiger.”
He lurched with her up the slope of sand and sea oats toward the shadowy house. The rise and fall of his chest matched her own. “Damn. How much farther?”
“Two hundred yards. More or less.” She nipped at his ear and ran her hand down from his belt as far as she could.
“Not much farther, big guy.” His arousal surged against the heel of her hand, and she moved coaxingly against it.
He stumbled. She slid down his body. The soggy fabric of his jeans rubbed against her, sent sparks shooting through her.
“We’re not going to make it,” he muttered, frustration in every syllable.
Laughing, she let all the night’s misery drift away in the wind. “You don’t have to look so grim.”
“You don’t know the half of it.” He still held her snagged against him as he marched her backwards toward her house.
“Really?” she whispered slyly. “How…impressive.”
Stomping onward, he glowered at her. “What? What?”
“Nothing.” She stroked her hand down the hard front of his jeans, felt him throb into her curving palm.
“Oh.”
“Oh, indeed.” She laughed again. She could never have hoped for this kind of ending to the horrible night. In Finnegan’s arms, all the destruction of the ER melted away.
Here was life. Here was pleasure. She moved her flat palm against him again. Here was power. His.
Hers.
Laughter kept bubbling up from deep inside. Her body fizzed and sparkled, everything inside her coiling and tumbling. And still he marched her relentlessly backwards, bumping against her, struggling with the waistband of her suit bottom as he kept moving. Trapped by his arms, the sides of her open vest bent back under her arms.
The wind blew against her bare breasts, tickling her with sand and cold. Her nipples brushed against his wet shirt, hardened.
“This is crazy, Sophie.” But he didn’t stop. Didn’t stop touching, didn’t stop moving her back to the house, his bare feet tangling with hers at every step, his pants legs flapping against her bare calves and knees.
Sensation everywhere. She was drowning in touch and smell. Drowning in Judah.
Careening backward, she tripped on the root of one of the pine trees and fell, a dizzying swoon of gray sky and his blue eyes.
Landing on the cushion of pine needles with Judah coming right after her, his arms still wrapped around her, she couldn’t stop laughing at the silliness of it all. Oh, she’d needed this, this laughter, this touching, this. How could she not have known how much she needed his touch? She slid her palms under his wet jacket, let them slip down wet skin, traced the contours of muscles, felt their response to her touch. Some rawness in her soul eased under the balm of touching and being touched and laughing.
And in some distant place in her brain she pictured them tangled together on the beach, a mess of sloppy wet clothes and sandy bodies and she laughed again.
“What’s so funny, Sophie?” His tongue traced the curve of her mouth, gently, dampening her lips, and the wind touched them, too, and everything in her shivered with delight.
She just wished Judah didn’t look so grim.
So lost.
She didn’t want him lost. She didn’t want emotion now, not his, not hers, only this physical exhilaration that blanked out memories and thought and everything except this.
“Easy,” she murmured. She smoothed the frown between his ocean-blue eyes. “It’s not the end of the world.”
Not answering, not meeting her gaze, he lowered himself over her, fitting his pelvis against hers, sliding his arms under her. “Any chance of getting this damn bottom off?”
“Finnegan, if I’ve learned one thing in this life, it’s that there’s always a chance.” She squirmed encouragingly, every nerve ending in her thighs and belly quivering with pleasure, with life. “If there’s a will, there’s a way.”
Tomorrow would come soon enough.
And in the meantime, here was Judah, filling her world with taste, with touch, with himself.
Easy, for the moment, so easy to let herself forget the ugliness. So tempting, this surrender to feeling, to the physical anodyne of what they were doing. Surrender to the power, to the wave of pleasure.
There were worse ways to end a day.
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