Tags:
Fiction,
General,
Erótica,
Romance,
Islands,
Contemporary,
Fathers and daughters,
Revenge,
romantic suspense,
Romantic Suspense Fiction,
Missing Persons,
Young Women,
Marquesas Islands (French Polynesia)
advantage? "You could always come in here with me," he offered lightly. "I'll keep the boogeyman away."
She gave a small hiccuping laugh. "I'm not all that sure you aren't the boogeyman." But she didn't retreat shrieking in protest.
Michael patted the mattress. "Come on. It's a king-size. I'll stay on my side, if you behave yourself and stay on yours."
"This is probably not a good idea," she said in a husky little voice, taking the first step into his web.
"We're both adults. I'm not going to ravish you. We both need to get some sleep. If having company facilitates that, then go for it."
She padded over, bumped her legs on the foot of the bed, and felt her way around to the other side. Michael considered throwing the sheet over his nakedness, then decided not to. It was obvious she had lousy night vision.
The mattress depressed as she sat down, then swung her legs up. She lay flat. He almost expected her to cross her hands over her breasts like a Victorian maiden. Instead, she surprised him by rolling onto her side and facing him. "Thanks."
"No problem. Do you usually sleep with the lights on?"
"Pretty much." She was quiet for a moment. "I know it's silly. I just hate the dark. I normally have a night-light. As long as it's not pitch-dark, I'm okay."
"Some traumatic event in your past?"
"Not that I remember."
"Some traumatic event in your future?"
She gave a little laugh. "I don't think so."
"Will you be able to sleep now?"
"Hopefully. Thanks."
"No problem. 'Night."
'"Night."
Michael stacked his hands under his head and stared at the ceiling until he heard the soft sound of her even breathing.
Once, she'd known she was safe, she'd fallen asleep as quickly as a child.
Which was laughable. Without knowing it, Tally Church Cruise had presented herself like a sacrificial lamb stretched right out on his king-size altar. That Michael was going to use her was a given. He just needed to decide how .
Tally didn't usually remember her dreams, but even as she dreamed, she hoped she'd remember this one. The bed was incredibly soft, the darkness somehow comforting and not the least bit scary. Her back arched as a man's hand skimmed, soft as a whisper, across her naked breasts. The sensation was achingly familiar, as if she knew the man intimately.
There was no doubt this was a dream. Tally hadn't had sex in so long, she frequently imagined her body parts closing up from disuse.
Clever fingers found her nipples, pinching, rolling until the nubs felt engorged and tender. She moaned. It felt too good. His slightly rough hands were featherlight on her skin. He cupped each breast in turn, taunting her nipples until they ached.
The mattress shifted as he redistributed his weight. Then his hot, wet mouth closed around an aching peak.
Tally found her fingers tangled in the silk of his hair, holding his head against her breast. He sucked hard, drawing the nub into the furnace of his mouth. Tally cried out as sweet pain shot from her breast to her groin.
She was wet with desire, aching with need. She shifted her legs restlessly. Wanting him inside her, but knowing the anticipation was more titillating than the actual consummation. Tight as a bowstring, Tally arched her upper body off the bed when he bit down lightly on her left breast. Oh. God.
She grabbed his head and drew his face up to hers. The kiss was hot, out of control, a frantic mating of tongues and teeth.
Too good, too real to be a dre—
Chapter Four
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Michael dragged his mouth away from hers. Tally moaned a complaint. "Is that a yes?" he demanded.
She breathed in the scent of him. Man. Heat. Need. "Y-Yes."
"Sure?"
In answer, she pulled his head down, and kissed him again.
Michael's knee nudged her legs apart as he slid over her; he rocked against the very heart of her desire, pushing inside the juicy opening of her body.
And slipped inside like a homecoming.
He was huge, rock hard, and moving the moment he sheathed himself. The sensation