His Last Defense. Karen Rock

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      NOLEE WAS LYING on warm, gritty sand, water circling around her toes, breathing in the Alaskan summer fragrance of salt water and dense cedars. There was a delicious, decadent taste in her mouth—berries and chocolate, and possibly wine. She lifted her head and the afternoon sun glinted off the blue ocean so brightly, she had to squint through sparkles of light to see her feet in front of her.

      Her toenails were painted a deep rose. Girly and sweet. Not her style at all. And the nail polish had even been applied well. No smudged cuticles or bumpy surfaces. Someone was lying next to her, propped up on his side. Someone she cared about, who made her laugh, with big feet, nails unvarnished and clipped.

      Dylan.

      He stroked her bare stomach with a firm hand, the circular touch languid, deliberate, filling her with teasing heat, a pleasant ache beginning between her thighs.

      Somewhere in the distance, gulls cried and the cool ocean thundered as it crashed ashore, swirling up and over her calves, then suctioning her skin as it receded. A throaty chuckle sounded beside her. She curved toward it, her body fitting against Dylan’s instinctively, her toes curling in delight when his hand skimmed lower still, sliding along the edge of her bikini bottom.

      “Nolee,” he whispered in her ear and she tipped back her head at the rich sound of his voice.

      “Dylan,” she murmured, but could not be sure whether his name was flooding her thoughts or she had spoken it aloud.

      “What are you thinking?”

      She pressed her lips together. Stopped herself from revealing how she really felt and explaining why she’d been quiet on their summer outing. If Dylan left her, her heart would break, but he couldn’t know that.

      She started to say something flippant, and then he reached around to cup her ass, bringing her hips to his, the heat of him emanating through the thin nylon of his shorts. Her skin burned fiercely against his everywhere they touched, and she was incapable of speech, or of thinking anything at all. Shivering hunger took hold. She craved more.

      Skimming her hands up the curves of his strong arm, she absorbed the tension of the muscles beneath his hot skin. She glanced at his handsome warrior face. Reached to trace the straight bridge of his nose, to touch the scar just above his arched right eyebrow and the tiny dimple in his square chin. She met his scorching green gaze. He had that way of looking at her. Intently. Passionately. With heated promise, as if he knew all of her erotic fantasies and intended to make each one come true.

      It undid her.

      He lowered his face. “You’re driving me crazy,” he whispered directly into her ear, his warm lips grazing the sensitive lobe.

      “Me, too,” she gasped as he continued stroking her, slowly, tantalizingly, eliciting a lush heady response to his touch so that her heart clattered.

      “Tell me what you want,” he rasped, his voice an edgy growl.

      “You,” she groaned, a dizziness taking hold as her hand smoothed along his ridged abdomen. “I want you, Dylan. Always.”

      She felt him brush the hair back from her temples. His unsteady fingers conveyed the same need that licked through her.

      “You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice insistent. Husky. Then he slid across her, inch by inch, like a tide, and she lay back so that she was flat on the sand, sinking into it.

      In the sizzling afternoon, she could smell the sea on him, feel the faint grittiness of the salt on his skin as his muscular body shifted over hers, firm and solid. And then, she could feel his breath, the shocking, numbing firmness of his mouth a moment later as Dylan’s lips melted into hers.

      He kissed her, slowly and tenderly, his weight easing onto her so that she was overwhelmed with lust, the hardness of his body against her. His lips lingered and sampled. Tasted and nibbled. When his tongue glided over hers, the sensual contact triggered waves of pleasure that rippled to her toes. Her fingertips.

      She nipped at his lightly bristled jaw, his ears, her fingers brushing over his dark, close-cropped curls. He cradled her head as his mouth whispered along the sensitive length of her neck. The delicious caress stopped at the birthmark at the base of her throat. Lingered. Nerve endings short-circuited, flash-bang, beneath her skin.

      She couldn’t possibly get enough of the feel of him.

      “Dylan,” she moaned, her voice loud in her ears.

      * * *

      “NOLEE,” SHE HEARD him answer, his voice rising as if it were a question. Her lashes fluttered. Lifted. Dylan’s face swam into focus. He peered down at her, his pupils dilated, the black blotting out most of the green. His face pale.

      She reached for him, needing him to anchor her when she suddenly felt so loopy. The effect of their incredible sexual chemistry, she supposed. She drew his face close and pressed her lips to his again, inhaling his sweet breath, feeling the heat of his skin as he responded to her, kissing her deeply. Ardently.

      Adrift on this blissful current, her lashes fell to her cheeks. She felt Dylan tunnel his fingers through her damp hair and its weight surprised her. Took her aback.

      They hadn’t gone swimming. Not yet. Or had they? Why couldn’t she remember?

      She caressed his smooth jaw.

      Smooth.

      Her fingers stilled.

      Then she noticed something else that wasn’t right. Something thick and heavy separated them.

      A blanket. No. Blankets.

      And the automated sound of beeping machines filled her ears, not the ocean, the salted air now smelling of antiseptic soap and disinfectant.

      The dream or memory or whatever it was dissolved and vanished, like a reflection on water. Nolee’s thoughts sharpened, and she willed herself to open her heavy eyes.

      She was in a small white box of a room lying on an uncomfortable mattress.

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