Captivated

compared it to earlier.

He leaned down and dropped a hard, openmouthed kiss on her lips. Then his lips were gone and he was no deeper inside her than he had been a moment before.

'Robert'

He smiled, a crooked smile. 'You can sigh, Abigail. Or you can cry.'

He slowly sank into her, another inch, not enough, two inches, still not enough, three inches, not nearly enough. Then he pulled all the way out, teased and prodded her with the engorged head, never quite entering her, never quite leaving her.

Just when she thought she would scream with frustration, he smiled that crooked smile again.

'Or you can scream.'

And lunged forward.

Abigail screamed.

She could feel their pubic hair meshing, he was so deep inside her,and it still was not enough.

A wall of paper blocked Robert's face. She blinked at the black print.

'Read.'

The outspread journal shook and shimmied in her hands she was trembling. Or perhaps it was he who trembled, buried inside her body so deeply that she could not tell where he ended and she began.

She took a calming breath and read.

' 'Now he again draws himself out to the head, and slowly enters again. Again he draws out, and again enters, till the friction caused by the luscious tightness of the rich flesh which clasps tightly his foaming pego causes such delicious sensations that he is no longer master of himself.' '

It was Abigail who lowered the journal at the end of the paragraph. He would finish this, or by God, she would.

His gaze locked with hers. Still wearing that crooked smile, he dug his fingers into her hips and drew himself out, slowly, so slowly she could count the inches. And then he was easing back inside her, an inch at a time. Nine inches, all the way in. Nine inches, all the way out. Smoothly, rhythmically, until she was so wet and open it did indeed feel as if he was foaming inside her and she was coming, coming,coming

Sweat beaded on Robert's forehead, trickled down his temple. He threw his head back toward the rafters while his body thrust into hers, almost hard enough, almost fast enough. The muscles in his neck and shoulders bulged as he fought to keep the self-imposed rhythm.

A pace that he would keep, Abigail suddenly realized, until one of them died or she finished the literary sequence of events.

She pushed up the journal.

' 'He lunges with fierceness into her,' ' she panted, body contracting, opening and closing, seeking its own release even as she forced out the words that would gain it for her, ' 'the crisis of pleasure approaches; he feels it coming, he drives it home to her deeper, deeper. At last it comes' '

Abigail closed her eyes and cried out as her body arched under its own volition.

The journal flew out of her hands. She could not have heard what she thought she heardit sounded like the snarl of an animal tormented beyond endurance. Blindly she grabbed at a muscular arm, a shoulder, a neckand knew that, like the description in 'La Rose D'Amour,' the man pumping and grinding himself into her body was no longer the master of himself.

The wooden chair rocked and creaked in time to his lunges. Dimly she wondered if she would get a splinter in her behind. No sooner did the thought enter her head than her entire world exploded and Robert exploded with her, his flesh inside her spasming while it spurted liquid fire and she was falling, falling

Onto the cold plank floor. Pulled there by Robert. He locked his arms about her as they labored for air.

A rumble started up inside his chest. Abigail dazedly wondered how he could laugh when she was dying.

He plunged his hands into her hair and held her face up to his. Hot breath filled her nose, her mouth. 'That's one hell of a secret life you live, Miss Abigail.'

Abigail suddenly felt renewed. The shame that had tainted her entire adult life dissipated.

She opened her eyes and stared at his naked chest that continued to heave up and down for air. 'Let's walk on the beach.'

'In a storm?'

'I love storms. I want to walk naked on the beach. I want to feel the rain kiss my breasts. I want to see what color your pego turns when it's immersed in the ocean.'

No sooner were the words out of her mouth than she was on her feet and, together, they opened the door to the rented cottage and walked naked into the storm.

The rain was no colder than the showers she had been routinely subjected to when growing up. Waves washed the shore. Distant thunder rumbled in the sky.

The storm was wet and beautiful and wildthe way Robert made her feel.

Breasts bobbing, giggling like one of her small nieces, Abigail raced down the path to the beach, enjoying the mud squishing between her toes and the rain pelting her naked skin. Robert sped after her, a not-so-little boy with a blue, pitifully shriveled manhood.

She triumphantly reached the foaming froth that was the English Channel. It was too much to resist. Bending over, she plunged her hands into the water that curled around her knees

'That's one hell of a mighty lance you have there, Colonel Coally. It is blueand must be all of two inches long. You might be able to spear a minnow, but I do not think you will be parting any seas with it.'

and splashed him.

Robert leapt after her into the roiling ocean

'I have always fantasized about giving a woman a saltwater douche, Abigail.'

and proceeded to wrestle her down into the waves.

It was a gamehad Robert exerted himself, Abigail would have been flat on her back at the edge of the ocean in one second flatand they both knew it. Instead, their water-slickened bodies slipped and rubbed together until suddenly it did not matter what he put inside her. Just when she reached for him as a lover instead of a playmate, he put a leg behind hers and tripped her. Only to catch her and arch her backward over the water.

'You were saying something about parting seas, Abigail?' he growled playfully.

It was ridiculous. It was exciting. It was as if twenty-two years of Robert's life had been erased and they were two not-so-innocent children frolicking on the beach.

Her laughter rang out over the crests of the waves and the spray of the surf and the steady patter of the rain. It almost drowned out the sound of a neighing horse and a frantic shout.

'Miss Abigail! Miss Abigail! Where are ye? Miss Abigail!'

Abigail covered her mouth with her hands. Then she wriggled free and covered more prestigious spots.

'Robert! It is Mr. Thomas! Robert! Our clothes are in the cottage. Robert,we are naked!'

chapter 6

Abigail's left arm shielded her breasts while her right hand cupped her womanhood. She looked as tempting as a sea nymph. And as frigid as a virgin debutante.

Robert wanted to strike down the man called Mr. Thomas for turning the wildly sensuous woman who had shared with him her body and her fantasies into this woman who looked as if she had never needed or desired a man in her life.

It was too soon. He needed more time. He needed more

'Miss Abigail!' The man started down the path leading from the cottage to the beachan elderly man, judging by his stooped shoulders and halting gait. 'Be that ye down there? Miss Abigail-'

Robert caught Abigail as she turned to run into the dangerous waves behind them. 'Stay. I'll take care of