short work of his own trunks, positioning himself over her, staring down at her with tousled hair and dark eyes, like some kind of sea god bent on conquest.
His fingertips trailed down the slight indentation of her belly, and she squirmed beneath him, holding her breath, waiting, anticipating. He stared deep into her eyes and smoothed over her curls, parting her thighs and easing his finger into her body.
She sucked in a breath with the exquisite pulse that came to life deep inside her. She slid her own hand down his body, cupping him, controlling him, pulling him toward her to satisfy her growing impatience.
He swore under his breath.
Then he pushed her hand away and flexed his hips, pressing himself at her entrance, widening her, stretching her, sliding slick and thick and hot inside her, inch after delicious inch as his hands tangled with hers and their mouths fused once more.
Primal passion took over.
The birds called in the treetops, the waterfall cooled the raging fever of their skin, and Alex’s rhythm matched the pulsating waves taking over their gleaming stretch of beach.
He sped up, then slowed down, and she bit her lip, pushing back against his hands, arching her spine and tipping her hips to bring his thrusts faster and harder against her.
Then the world seemed to freeze. Her breathing stopped, and the sun disappeared, the trees went silent and she cried his name as the rainbow sensations washed over her again and again and again.
His own cry was guttural, and the parrots took flight above them, a cacophony of surprise and confusion. Then his weight finally settled, pressing her into the warm sand, his arms, his breath, his heartbeat surrounding her.
By the time they made it back to their bungalow, dusky pink clouds were gathering above the island.
Then, while the maitre d’ sat them in the resort’s open-air restaurant, the first fat raindrops plunked on the palm leaves and turned the wooden deck a dark mottled brown. Lightning flashed in the distance, and the growing rainstorm clattered against the restaurant’s thatched roof.
Grateful for the cool air, Emma settled back in the cushioned teak chair, dangling her sandal from her toes while the cool breeze swirled around her cotton print dress. The hurricane lamps on the tables seemed to brighten as the orange ball of the sun disappeared below the horizon.
Emma gazed at the flickering light on Alex’s handsome face, hardly believing they’d so thoroughly consummated their marriage.
“What are you thinking?” he asked.
She grinned. “That I’m married to the best-looking man in the room.”
He glanced around. “Okay,” he said slowly. “But the other guys are mostly over sixty.”
A waiter in a pristine white jacket approached. “Mr. and Mrs. Garrison. I am Peter, the restaurant manager. The chef was delighted to hear you would be dining with us tonight. He has asked if he might present some additional entree suggestions?”
Alex stood up and shook the waiter’s hand. “Good to meet you, Peter. Please, tell the chef we would be delighted to hear his suggestions.”
“Very good.” With a smile and a nod, Peter retreated, only to be replaced by their cocktail waiter.
“Champagne?” Alex raised his eyebrows in Emma’s direction.
“For our wedding night?” she asked with a stupid, sappy grin. But she couldn’t help it. It was still Saturday and, if the expression in Alex’s dark eyes was anything to go by, they were about to spend a glorious night together.
He nodded to Emma, then turned to the waiter. “Cristal Rose? The ninety-six?”
The waiter nodded sharply. “Excellent.” Then he swiftly removed their red and white wineglasses and left the table.
Alex reached for her hands and took a deep breath. “So, you want to talk about this? Or do we just let it happen?”
She let the warmth of his touch penetrate her skin. “The champagne?”
He shook his head, stroking his thumb over her rings. “No. Not the champagne.”
“Let me see.” She tilted her head. “The chef?”
“No. Not the chef.”
“Your inability to steer a catamaran?”
“Hey.”
“You nearly took out those two tourists.”
“Their dive to the left was incredibly sudden.”
“They were scattering in terror.”
Alex paused, then he sobered. “May I assume your redirecting the conversation means you just want to let it happen?”
His words sent a shiver through her, and she leaned forward, lowering her voice. “I’m not even sure what ‘it’ is yet.”
He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze. “I am,” he said softly.
An unaccountable panic burst through her belly. “Don’t-”
“I won’t. Not tonight.”
“Mr. and Mrs. Garrison,” Peter interrupted. “May I present Chef Olivier.”
Alex released Emma’s hands, and she tucked her hair behind her ears as the wind picked up another notch.
Alex got to his feet. “A pleasure,” he said to Chef Olivier, shaking the man’s hand.
“The pleasure is mine,” the chef replied.
“Are you cold?” Peter inquired of Emma. “Shall we close the shutters?”
“Please, don’t,” said Emma. There was something wildly beautiful about the pounding rain, the distant lightning, and the crazily undulating palm fronds. There was a potent storm brewing out on the Pacific, and a potent storm brewing inside her. Both were frightening, unpredictable and exhilarating all at the same time.
Eleven
“I want to say it,” said Alex, propping himself up on one elbow in their huge four-poster bed.
“You can’t say it,” Emma responded, her sun kissed breasts glowing a golden honey against the stark white sheets.
“But I mean it,” he insisted. He’d realized hours ago that he was madly, passionately, incredibly in love with his wife.
She reached up to place her index finger across his lips. “You promised.”
He drew her fingertip into his mouth, turning the suction into a kiss. “Bet I can make you say it.”
She shook her head in denial, but he knew that he could. The right kiss, the right caress, the right whisper in her ear, and her secrets were his for the taking.
It wasn’t ego. It simply was.
He feathered his fingers up the length of her thigh.
“Don’t,” she gasped.
He smiled. “Say it.”
“Play fair.”
“All’s fair in-”
He moved his hand and kissed the tip of her nose. “I’m just messin’ with you.”
“Well, I don’t like it,” she said tartly.
“Sure you do. At least give me that.”
Her mouth twitched in a reluctant half smile.
The telephone next to the bed jangled in his ear.
