"This is a tricky button," she said, her voice breathless, her fingers brushing his bare stomach. His abdomen contracted, muscles tensing at her light touch.
He could imagine her fingers on him, could imagine her soft hands against his erection and he felt nothing like controlled logical Morgan Grady but another man altogether.
God, he wanted her. He wanted to touch her, taste her, discover her.
He hadn't felt this kind of hunger in years. He wanted his palms on her breasts, her nipple in his mouth. He wanted to slide his hands beneath the snug flesh tone panties and cup her bottom. He wanted to touch the satin span of thigh, the warmth between her legs, to make her as hot for him as he was for her.
"There, got it," she exclaimed, victorious. "Now maybe we can swim."
She stood up and took a step back, her breasts perfectly round. The moon bathed her in the most delicious white light and Winnie glowed from head to toe. Her hair shone, her skin looked luminous, her shape so wonderfully distinct that he felt like a primitive man wanting a cave, a fire, and his very own woman.
He could see her stretched out on a bearskin rug; picture her in a soft leather wrap that barely covered those amazing breasts. He'd peel the loincloth from her pale hips and kiss his way from her ankle bone to the moist silk above.
Morgan shook his shirt off and, standing, he unzipped his khakis, stepping out of them. Now it was Winnie's turn to covertly watch him and his erection grew harder, bigger; his whole body ached.
He saw her gaze drop to his white briefs. There was no way he could hide his attraction now.
She bit her lower lip, worried it a little and then her gaze lifted, back to his face. She looked thrilled and afraid all at the same time. "That just leaves the underwear."
Her husky voice just about did him in. Did she know the effect she had on him? Did she do this to everyone?
"My turn to go first," he said hoarsely, wondering when and how everything had changed on him. He'd wanted Winnie because he'd thought they'd have a simple relationship, an uncomplicated relationship, but what he was feeling now was far from simple or uncomplicated.
He wanted her, desired her, cared for her.
He cared for her.
Morgan swallowed. Everything was different. Everything was changing.
As he took off his briefs she slid her own panties off, bending over to step out of one leg and then the other.
Morgan groaned. She had the most shapely bottom, the fullest most gorgeous curve of breast he'd ever seen on a woman. In the twenty years he'd been sexually active, he'd never been turned on like this.
Morgan dashed across the sand, waded thigh-deep into the water before diving under the surf. He swam a distance under the surface, arms pulling hard, feet kicking, trying to bum off some energy. The water wasn't cold but it felt significantly cooler than the fire raging inside his skin.
He was in trouble. St. Jermaine's was far removed from the world outside. St. Jermaine's made anything feel possible. Including keeping Winnie.
After a moment he swam an easy breaststroke back toward the beach. He met up with Winnie halfway. She was treading water, hair wet and slicked back, shoulders bare, globes of breast barely visible.
"Feels great out here," she said, arms drawing circles beneath the surface. "It's warmer than I expected, almost like bath water."
And he could see himself taking a bath with her, bathing her. He could see himself spending a long, long time with her.
He floated next to her. "I've owned St. Jermaine's three and a half years and I've never done this before."
Winnie sank a little lower in the water, her chin disappearing. "Why not?"
"I don't know." He swam closer, lashes lowered as he studied her pale face in the moonlight. "It never felt right before."
Her lips curved. "And it's right now?"
It was right, he thought. At that moment, everything felt right. For much of his life he'd felt alone, distinctly cut off, but somehow with Winnie he never felt alone ... or lonely. Something about her made sense to him. Winnie made sense. Even that wasn't rational or logical, simply a gut response. A heart response. Instinct.
And his instincts were never wrong.
The moon's reflection glinted off the water, back onto Winnie's oval face, gleaming shoulders, and pale skin.
He reached out, water running down his arm, and very gently touched her cheek. "Is it possible I've been waiting for you?"
She was staring straight at him. Her eyes were enormous. Her cheeks darkened, pink slowly staining her skin. "Morgan," she said his name softly, breathing shallowly.
Her eyes had turned very green, a sage green, and were growing darker by the moment. From the pink of her cheeks to her parted lips, he knew what she was feeling. He was feeling it, too. And he was having a damn hard time keeping his hunger in check.
"Morgan," she repeated.
Her sexy pitch turned him inside out. His body strained. His head felt light. He'd never wanted anyone like this.
"Talk to me," she whispered, as she slowly, tentatively, reached out to touch him beneath the water and her hand brushed his thigh.
Heat shot through him as her fingers glided over his leg. Hot, sharp heat, and his body tightened all over again, fresh blood surging. He was close to exploding with pleasure and pain. Stifling a groan, Morgan wrapped a hand around her upper arm and pulled her toward him, water swirling between them.
He hooked a leg around her leg, braced her against his chest, his hands encircling her waist. The water was cool but she was warm. She drew a deep shuddering breath and he could feel her tummy convulse, ribs expanding.
She'd be lovely beneath him. Lovely on top of him.
Lovely every which way known to man.
He drew her even closer, her wet soft breasts crushed against his chest, her nipples pebbled and grazing his own. He wanted to be inside her. He needed her mouth, needed her wet, needed her open.
She made a soft whimpering sound as his palm cupped her breast, his fingertips massaging the nipple. "Oh, Morgan-"
"You're beautiful, Winnie. You're the most beautiful woman I've ever known."
Tears filled her eyes and she pressed her hands against his shoulders. "Don't say that. You don't have to say that."
"It's true."
"Annika-"
"Nothing compared to you," he murmured, sliding his palm up, over the peak of her breast to her collarbone and down again.
Then he couldn't stand it a minute longer. He had to have her, had to taste her and his head descended, mouth capturing hers.
She tasted cool and hot, salty and sweet, and beneath the pressure of his lips she whimpered, her hands moving, caressing his shoulders, his chest, his back, his triceps. It was as if she couldn't get enough and he couldn't get close enough and water splashed and swirled around them as their legs twined below the surface, hip pressed frantically to hip.
"Do you want to go in?" she mouthed against his ear, her hands at his nape, fingers in his hair.
He loved the way she touched him, loved everything about being with her. "A little way in," he said, and turning onto his side, he swam closer to shore, carrying her along with him.
Once he could feel the sandy floor, and stand with ease, he lifted Winnie up, parted her legs and brought her close against him. He wrapped her legs around his waist and he cupped her below the water, her smooth round cheeks fitting perfectly in his hands.
She gasped as he caressed the curve of her backside, fingers stroking out and then in until he found the very hot soft part of her.
"Morgan," she choked, wriggling against him, "I don't know about this."
He felt the delicate shape of her, the petal-like lips, the tiny hooded nerve. "You don't like this?"
Like? Winnie thought, burying her face against
Morgan's damp warm shoulder, desperate to get even closer. What was there not to like? She felt wild, her senses taut, her nerves screaming. He was making her feel desperate desires. She wa
nted him to touch her. She wanted him to do everything to her. "I think I like it too much," she answered, her lips pressed to his neck, his skin warm and fragrant.
"I don't know if that's possible, not if you care about the person you're with."