Roarke's Kingdom

She had slept with him last night. Explored him with her hands and mouth, but she hadn’t really seen him.

Now, she did.

The muscled shoulders and arms. The washboard abs. The taut

thighs and long legs. And the part of him that was pure male, that was rising and hardening as he looked at her…

Until that second, she’d been so caught up in admiring her lover’s body that she’d forgotten she was naked.

“Oh,” she whispered. “You said Scout’s honor…”

He caught her hands as she started to cover herself.

“What I didn’t say was that I was never a Scout.”

She laughed. Or tried to, but the way he was looking at her, the heat is his eyes, the promise of that proudly erect male flesh…

He took her in his arms, brought her down with him on the warm teak deck.

“You are so beautiful,” he said softly.

His skin was hot, satin-smooth over his taut muscles. Touching him sent a tingle through her fingertips.

“Roarke,” she said again, but this time the word was a sigh.

“Yes, love,” he whispered. “That’s right. Touch me, while I—” He caught his breath as his hands moved over her. “Ah, Jennifer. Your skin is as hot as the sun. You feel so—”

She moaned as he cupped her breasts in his hands. His thumbs moved across the nipples and she arched toward him, eyes closed in ecstasy.

“Look at me,” he said. Her breath caught when she did. His face was taut with desire, his eyes black with need. “Tell me you want me.”

“Yes,” she said unashamedly. “Oh, yes. I want you.”

“Tell me you love me.” He lifted her face to his and looked deep into her eyes. “Tell me,” he said fiercely.

The words burst from her throat. “I love you,” she said, and when she saw how her admission transformed him, she felt a swift surge of joy. “I love you, love you, love you…”

His head and shoulders blotted out the sun as he kissed her—deep, deep kisses that drove all rational thought from her head.

She gasped as his hand moved over her, stroking her flesh until it bloomed with desire, and she moaned softly against his mouth. Her arms lifted and wound around his neck, her lips parted, and she began kissing him, too, each kiss wilder and deeper than the last, until nothing mattered but Roarke and this moment.

His fingers stroked lightly between her thighs where she was wet with wanting him.

“I want to taste you,” he said thickly, “to imprint your scent and your heat on my soul.”

She cried out as he put his mouth to her. A kaleidoscope of colors danced inside her closed eyelids and she sobbed his name.

He made a growling sound of triumph.

She tasted of woman and passion, of everything he had ever dreamed or wanted.

She was trembling beneath his touch, his kisses, and when he drew back, she made a little whisper of protest and reached for him.

“Wait,” he said thickly.

She watched as fumbled for his jeans, found his wallet and a condom and sheathed himself in it.

“Jennifer.” His voice was hoarse with desire. “Look at me. Watch me make you mine.”