Her head snapped up. “Why? Why do you think that?”
He shrugged. “Because I know how strong you are. I saw it in Italy. Your determination, your refusal to quit despite insurmountable odds. Where did that Isabelle go?”
“I don’t know.”
He stood, went to her, lifted her chin so she was forced to look at him. “I want that Isabelle back. Fight for her.”
“I don’t know if I can. I’m afraid, Dalton. I’ve never been afraid before, and I hate this feeling. What if I lose myself? What if I hurt someone?”
“I won’t let it happen.”
“You can’t guarantee that.”
He could do more than she thought. “No, I can’t, but I can help you if you let me. I won’t let them get to you. I won’t let the demon inside you take over. I won’t lose you.”
She grasped his arms, laid her forehead against his chest. “I don’t want to lose you, either. I’ve never allowed myself to care about anyone before.” She tilted her head back and looked at him, her eyes clear and guileless. “I care about you. I have all these feelings rolling around inside me, and they’re all centered around you. I think that scares me most of all.”
He sucked in a breath and held it. This was the worst thing that could have happened. He shouldn’t want Isabelle to care for him. But he did. Because he had feelings for her, too. Feelings he had no business having. Not with what needed to happen between them.
Talk about lousy timing. The cosmos had a warped sense of humor sometimes. He tilted his head back and stared up into the heavens, wondering if after all this time he’d found love, only to have to make the biggest sacrifice of all.
He looked down at Isabelle, and everything else went away. He didn’t care that they stood in the middle of the swamp, that it was night, that he should get them both back to the house.
“I don’t ever want you to be afraid to care about me.” He pulled her against him and pressed his lips to hers.
She let out a soft sigh, her lips opening under his. He tasted mud, and smiled against her mouth as he pressed more firmly, sliding his tongue inside to lick against hers. He wanted-no, demanded that she be his. He wouldn’t take anything less.
Something about Isabelle always called to the more dominant, darker side of himself. He stopped questioning it, stopped fighting it, and let it take over.
This bayou, where secrets hid and darkness lived, was the perfect place. He held her and dropped down on the mossy bank, pulling her on top of him, needing to feel the full length of her body stretched out over his. She moaned against him, splayed her hands over his chest as she wriggled into position on top of him, then pulled her mouth from his to stare down at him.
She had the face of an angel, and when her lips curled, the smile of the devil himself. Wicked, tempting him to want things he knew he shouldn’t.
He wanted them anyway.
“I’m covered in mud,” she said, rocking her pelvis against his cock.
“I don’t care. Undress.”
She cocked a brow. “Demanding, aren’t you?”
He tightened his fingers around her hips. “Not much patience. Do it.”
She pushed up into a sitting position, smiling down at him. “You sure change personalities in a hurry, Dalton.” She teased him by taking her time, reaching for the bottom of her tank top and slowly baring her stomach as she lifted it. “Sweet and oh, so gentle one minute, harsh and gruff the next.”
His fingers bit into the fabric of her shorts as he waited, fast losing tolerance. “You gonna do it or am I going to have to do it for you?”
She had started to lift the shirt, but she paused. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like it slower, more like a strip tease?”
“I’m warning you, Isabelle.”
She laughed, the darkness of it so erotic he felt it in his balls, tightening them as if she had squeezed them with her hands. He lifted, arching up against her.
Her eyes darkened. “Okay then, faster it is.”
She pulled off her top and tossed it onto the hill. Her breasts were bare and he reached for them, sliding his palms over her nipples. The feel of the metal piercing her nipples never failed to excite him. Her nipples were hot to the touch and already hard as she leaned into his hands and whimpered.
“Yes. More. I want more of that. Touch me.”
Her words didn’t help his patience. Nor did her hands as they crept over his body, lifting his shirt and smoothing over the bare expanse of his stomach and chest, claiming him in ways that defied explanation. Even with mud clinging to her skin and hair, she was beautiful, his angel with the devil inside. He arched up and pulled her down to him, needing the touch of her lips against his, the smoky fire that churned inside him whenever they connected mouth to mouth.
He pushed at her shorts, wanting her naked, no barriers between them. She wriggled out of them, stretching flat over his body as she kicked them off, then set to work unsnapping his pants and pulling them down his legs while he drew his shirt off. When she spread her body over his again, he hissed at the heated contact of skin to skin. Her body was always hot, as if she had a fever.
“You’re nothing like a demon. Demons are cold to the touch. You’re like fire.”
Her eyes glazed with a golden shimmer as she took a deep breath, her breasts pillowed against his chest. She pushed against him, sliding her sex along his shaft. “You make me melt inside. Feel me.”
She grasped him with her hand, guiding his cock inside her wet sheath, surrounding him with that molten heat that threatened to make him explode all too soon. He fought the sensation, gritting his teeth as she gripped him in a tight vise of pleasure, then began to rock against him.
His world narrowed to just this woman. It didn’t matter where they were. They could be in a lush bed, sunlight streaming in on their bodies, or this dark marsh, covered in mud, and he still would see only Isabelle, her body over him, her breasts moving as she rode him, her thighs clamped tightly to his, her head tilted back as she sought her own pleasure and gave him the greatest he’d ever experienced.
And as she tilted her head forward and her gaze met his, he realized that with Isabelle it was different because it was much more than physical. He felt her in so many more ways than just being inside her. He was with her, feeling her; he knew her like he’d never known another woman. With her it was easy like it had never been easy before, as if he’d been created to be with this one woman. Where she was dark, he was light. Where he was midnight, she was his dawn.
She smiled down at him, smoothed her hand over his face and hair. “You’re doing it again.”
“What?”
“Glowing.”
He stilled, frowned, not knowing how to stop it. Not when he had all these feelings pouring out of him.
“Don’t.” She caressed his bottom lip with her fingers, then bent down to slide her lips across his. She whispered against his mouth. “Don’t make it stop.” She clenched her fingers against his shoulders and lifted, then slid down his shaft in a way that made him forget about the light pouring from him, made him forget everything but making love to her, taking her to that place where she’d forget, too. He gripped her hips and lifted her, set the rhythm as madness took over.
Isabelle gasped as he held her tight against him and lifted into her with a hard thrust. She rocked back and forth, clutched his arms, and whimpered, her sheath tightening around him. He watched as she came apart and then he couldn’t hold back, going with her. And then he saw it, too: light bursting all around them as he poured forth everything he had. He lifted up to wrap his arms around Isabelle, taking her mouth in a kiss that spoke of everything he wanted to say, but couldn’t.
He held her like that for a long time, both of them sitting up, wrapped around each other. It seemed like neither of them wanted to let go, but he knew they had to.
“We need to get back,” he said, murmuring against her neck, kissing the soft column of her throat. He was still inside her, still throbbing with the aftereffects, and more than ready for round two.
