Wildstar

"Garrett."

"Garrett, please . . ."

His hips began to move then, with restrained passion and devastating tenderness. Slowly, slowly thrusting . . . slowly, slowly withdrawing. Again . . . again . . . until Jess instinctively caught his sure rhythm. Until the shy undula­tions of her body became a bolder demand for fulfillment. Until the pleasure became so exquisite it was a pain of its own.

Jess clung to him, her nails digging half-moons into his bare, sweat-dewed back, as a hot, bright feeling burgeoned inside her, heating every nerve, every pore, every sensate inch of her body. She couldn't bear it. This pleasure was too keen, too fierce to be borne.

"Noooo . . ." she whimpered in protest.

"Yes," Devlin demanded, "yes, love." He felt the trem­ors begin inside her, felt her shake with raw passion, and helplessly the spasms became his own. His body con­vulsed, a vast and wild sweetness exploding through him like fire. Shuddering, he poured himself into her, losing himself, his harsh, guttural moan mingling with her stran­gled cry, shattering the silence.

The echoes of their passion faded slowly, leaving behind only the erratic, rasping sounds of gasped breaths. Slowly in the darkness sanity returned and Devlin managed to shift his weight so that he was no longer crushing her. But that was all he was capable of doing.

Long moments later, he stirred again, lowering his lips to her swollen mouth, tasting it gently. "Are you all right?"

Not answering, Jess lay beneath him, numb, limp, and more complete than she'd ever been in her life. She'd never felt so right. Devlin had made her feel like a woman . . . desirable, passionate, enticing. She'd never felt so de­liriously feminine, so wanted. . . .

"Jessica?" His lips moved lightly over her flushed face, over her throat where the pulse still hammered wildly. "Jess, are you awake?"

"No . . . I'm not even alive."

His hoarse chuckle reverberated softly in the darkness. When he rolled onto his side and gathered her in his arms, Jess went willingly, her face buried in the smooth, sweaty silk of his bare shoulder, her legs threaded with the long, corded length of his.

She had never known such passion existed. She'd never even imagined the possibility. She sighed with exhausted pleasure. She was safe in the arms of this potent, beautiful man. Safe and cherished.

It had been worth it, throwing away her innocence. If she died tomorrow, she would go content.

Chapter 11

She didn't die, but neither did her contentment last. At the first sounds of rescue, the pleasant dreams Jess had been having dissolved, and she came awake with a start. In the pitch-blackness she could hear the faint but unmistakable clink of metal on rock. Men digging. Jessica stiffened.

"Ah, help is at hand," Devlin murmured in her ear with a sleepy yawn. "What did I tell you?"

Jess stirred uneasily. She'd slept for a time in Devlin's arms, her body pulled tightly against his, warm under the layers of petticoats and skirts. But their nakedness now seemed scandalous, wanton. The danger wasn't entirely over, but it was likely that they would live to see another sunrise. And she would have to face Devlin.

The realization of what she'd done, what they'd done together in the darkness, swept through her with humiliat­

ing force. Dear Lord, had she really thrown herself at him and begged him to make love to her?

Abruptly, Jess untangled herself from Devlin and sat up, clutching a petticoat to her bare breasts. The unfamiliar tenderness of her nipples made her wince. She shut her eyes. It had really happened. Last night she had lost her innocence. Devlin had awakened her body to passion, had made her fully a woman. The twinging ache between her thighs attested to that undeniable fact, while her mouth was swollen from his caresses.

"We have to get dressed," she blurted out, her voice un­naturally high and edged with panic.

"There's no hurry . . . it's still the middle of the night. And clearing away the rubble will likely take hours."

His hand reached out to stroke her naked back in reas­surance, but Jess pulled away, her face flaming in embar­rassment. She had been so bold, so brazen last night. Devlin must think her incredibly cheap, no better than the worst sort of saloon girl. She wanted to sink through the rock floor.

She heard Devlin stretch lazily, and glanced involuntar­ily over her shoulder just as he struck a match. The tunnel was flooded with flickering golden light. In alarm Jess averted her gaze, though not before she glimpsed a power­ful male chest and shoulders rippling with lean muscle. Below the waist he was buried in petticoats—thank God— but that didn't detract one bit from his stunning mascu­linity.

He lit a candle, and then there was silence.

"Jess. . . ." His tone was soft, hesitant, regretful.

She didn't want to hear what he was going to say. She didn't want him telling her that what they'd done was wrong. She didn't want him to make light of it, either, or brush off with a laugh what had been the most incredible experience of her life. She didn't want him to say anything at all.

"I hope they get us out in time for breakfast," Jess forced herself to exclaim cheerfully. "I'm starving to death."

She felt Devlin's intent gaze burning into her back, but she couldn't look at him. Instead, she fumbled for her che­mise.