The cool afternoon air washed over her body. Shivering, she curled into Drake, seeking and receiving his warmth.
“You’re beautiful,” he whispered into her hair, as he pulled her close against his side.
For the first time in her life, Hope believed it. In his arms, she felt beautiful.
His hand slipped down her back, over the scarred flesh, settling on her hip. He let his tongue slide in a hot, moist path down the column of her throat, hesitating on the hollow where her pulse beat out a frantic tempo, then slipping lower. The soft curves pressing against him were enough to drive Drake to distraction, but he held his fervent passion in check, slow and steady, as his lips settled on a rosy bud.
Hope tangled
her fingers in his hair. A throaty moan escaped her softly parted lips as she closed her eyes and surrendered herself fully to the warm, throbbing need that pooled in her stomach and spread lower at an alarming rate.
One foot slipped up the back his calf. The coarse golden curls that clung to the skin there tickled the delicate arch of her sole. Her foot rose higher, gliding over a firm thigh before she wrapped her leg around the lean hips. A tremor passed through him, and she savored the provocative realization that her effect on him was equal to the tantalizing effect he had on her. The knowledge was heady. It fed her determination to return the pleasure his caresses brought, tenfold.
Coyly at first, she extended her range of exploration. The feel of his skin gliding beneath her palm brought forth a tingling sensation all its own. It was enough encouragement for her timid strokes to grow bolder. The firm path of his side passed beneath her hand, as did a sinewy hip and the back of an upper thigh.
She gloried in the feel of his weathered flesh, the clean rainwater scent of him. His fingers forged a trail of their own, and she quivered wherever he touched her. His strokes seared a torrid path between the sensitive flesh of her inner thighs. She opened to him without restraint, arching against his hand.
Skillfully, he kindled her passion until Hope thought she would go crazy with want. Shifting his weight, his hands retreated, gripping the sides of her hips. His mouth caught her gasp of surprised ecstasy as he slipped between her thighs, plunging into the warm, moist recess of her soul.
Hope stiffened. Bitter disappointment formed crystal tears in her eyes, as the sharp pain pierced her. What cruel trick of nature was this?
Drake shifted so his weight was supported by the elbows flanking her shoulders. He lifted his head and lost himself to the tear-filled, brown velvet gaze. Once he was sure the pain had subsided, he began carefully moving inside her. His heart plunged, then rose to the highest peak when he saw the betrayal leave her eyes, replaced by a hooded passion that made her gaze come alive once more.
A tempo older than time was struck, and she met each thrust with a frantic desire. Every beat of his heart led her higher, pulling her into a spiral of ecstasy that promised eternal gratification with each glorious thrust and retreat.
They topped the clouds as one, soaring together, their passion simultaneously exploding into pulsating bursts of rapture.
Hope clung to the wondrous sensations as long as she could, reluctant to abandon the waves of satisfaction that washed over her body. Her body basked in the aftermath of the deliciously erotic sensations, and when Drake groaned and collapsed atop her, spent, she accepted his weight without complaint. Never in her life had she felt anything as wonderful as the male hardness pressing against her.
Wrapping her arms around his back, she hugged him close. She was afraid to let go, afraid she would wake to find their love had been nothing more than a dream.
“No,” she cried when he started to pull away. Her voice was still low, still husky from newly quenched passion. “Please, don’t leave me. Not yet.”
Every muscle in his body tightened as he withdrew from her softness. Relaxation returned only after he had stretched out on the cloak of black wool and pulled to his side the soft body that glowed with the contentment of their lovemaking.
“I’m not going anywhere, sunshine,” he whispered, his breath in her ear as he nuzzled her neck.
Hope snuggled against him, provocatively draping a leg over his thighs as she pulled the edge of her cloak over the lower half of their bodies. There wasn’t enough free material to cover them completely. It didn’t matter. The feel of his warm arms around her, and the drumming of his heart beneath her ear was all she needed. The air around them could have registered thirty degrees below zero, and still Hope doubted the blood pumping through her veins would have acknowledged the cold.
“Keep wiggling around like that and Luke will have to build another shed. We won’t be leaving,” he teased his voice thick with passion.
Hope grinned. Her teeth nipped playfully at a hard male nipple as she reached across him and plucked up a stalk of hay. Slowly, she ran it over the rich pelt of hair lining his chest.
Drake closed his eyes and sucked in a ragged breath, groaning as the piece of hay traveled the taut line of his stomach; and lower still.
Her wrist was snatched in a steely grip. In one lithe motion she was tossed onto her back, with Drake’s eagle sharp face looming above.
Instead of fear, her gaze twinkled with mischief. “Why, Mistah Fraziah, whatever are ya doin’?” She batted the thick fringe of lashes as her dark brows rose in feigned innocence. “Surely y’all wouldn’t think a takin’ advantage of a sweet little gal like mahself?”
“That’s exactly what I’m thinking. Come here,” he growled, snatching the stalk of hay from her fingers and lowering his lips to hers.
She giggled as she surrendered herself to the searing demand of his kiss, and his own sensuous form of revenge.
Sitting with his back propped against the sturdy trunk of a maple, Tyrone Tubbs pulled one knee up and rested his elbow atop it. A half-smoked cigar dangled from his fingers and a cloud of smoke poured from his lips, floating up to join the gray thunderclouds marring the sky.
An occasional drop of rain threaded its way through the branches overhead, but for the most part the lush ceiling of leaves kept him dry, if not warm. It didn’t matter. Wet or dry, warm or cold, his job was almost at an end. By tomorrow he’d be aboard a ship set for Boston, eager to claim the second portion of his fee, money for a job well done. And by tomorrow, his job would be done.
Sighing, Tubbs took another drag off the cigar. It was a cheap brand of tobacco that left a bitter taste on his tongue. Today it was all he could afford, but tomorrow would be different. Tomorrow he’d have the money to indulge in a box of the richest cigars San Francisco had to offer. It would be his first order of business, after he’d booked passage on the elegant clipper ship slotted to set sail at noon.