...He smelled like the sea, slightly salty, musky and natural. His warm, intoxicating mouth tasted the same way. She couldn’t get enough.
He broke away first. Somehow, she’d known he would.
Amy let out an involuntary sigh and gathered her courage to look at him. She wouldn’t apologize for what had just happened. Sure, she’d only just met him, but there was nothing forbidden about what they’d shared unless he was married, or engaged, or otherwise spoken for. She bit her lower lip and closed her eyes, feeling foolish.
His sigh seemed to carry a lifetime’s worth of pent-up frustration. “Christabel.”
There it was again, that name she couldn’t seem to escape. She’d first heard it on the coble, just before she’d plunged into the icy depths of the ocean.
The coble!
She sat up in his arms, suddenly alert. This time she must have squirmed a little harder than she’d intended, because she felt her heel connect with something soft. He grunted and loosened his hold, and she slid out of his arms to land on her feet.
“I’m sorry,” she stammered, lifting her hand to shield her eyes from the glare of the sun and stare out at the shoreline. “I had a little coble. Where is it?”
“A what?”
“A boat. The last thing I remember is being in it. Well, I was…and then I wasn’t.” She clenched her fists at her sides, knowing how stupid that sounded and unable to do any better.
She hesitated, then turned back to him. Her breath hitched and her heart beat wildly in her chest. Blinking hard, she rubbed the heels of her palms against her eyes, then opened them once more. The view hadn’t changed.
The man who’d carried her, whose body she’d been pressed up against for the past twenty minutes, was remarkably, unabashedly, naked.
The lean lines of his deeply tanned body made her mouth go dry. She could still feel the lingering heat everywhere his solid flesh had touched her.
He looked like he’d been sculpted in the image of a Greek god, all firm planes and solid muscle, each dip and valley a work of art in its own right. She knew she should look away, but she couldn’t. Her gaze was irrevocably drawn to his comfortable, slightly spread-legged stance, to the dark patch of hair at the apex of his thighs, to the erect cock jutting upward from the mass of dark curls.
Sharp pressure mounted the entrance to her cunt, making her inner walls press tightly together. God, but he was gorgeous. It was gorgeous, she corrected herself. His rod, long and thick, thrust out boldly in front of his flat stomach. Blue veins snaked along the pale shaft, toward the shiny, dusky tip. Before she could catch herself, she licked her lips, the urge to bend down and taste it almost too much to bear.
It took all the self-control she didn’t know she possessed to tear her gaze away from the magnificent display of masculinity he offered her. Fighting against the blush she knew had to be turning her cheeks a very unflattering shade of crimson, she gave him a shaky smile. “I think it’s about time you told me your name, don’t you?”