Page 116 of Love, Rekindled

“I know exactly what I want to do with you.” He closes in until his scent and heat curl around me. “You should be asking yourself if you can take it.”

My mind and my eyes drift inevitably to theitin question, the lengthened steel between his legs, an obvious erection within seconds of being in my presence. A dirty reply waits on my tongue, but when I look back up at him, my breath stalls at his expression. Yes, a devouring hunger roils behind his eyes, and his huge hands curl into fists at his sides like he’s two seconds from snatching me up, bending me over the nearest rail, and fucking me senseless. That’s all expected, but there’s something else. Somethingtenderthat I’m not sure what to do with. It has no place in a two-week fling, which is all this can be.

I stare up at him, blinking in both confusion and understanding. I’m a romantic at heart. I wouldn’t keep trying every dating app known to man if I didn’t believe in love—didn’t believe there was someone out there for everyone. But even I, horny, heart-y romantic that I am, never imagined a man orchestrating a situation like this just to see me again. And the longer we stand here staring at each other, saying so much without words, the higher the stakes of this thing seem to climb.

“I want to be very clear,” I tell him, holding the heated stare that hasn’t left my face. “I’m only here for…”

I should say I’m here for the food, the good times, the free trip through the Mediterranean, and to make new famous friends. Hell, I could even say I’m only here for the dick. I could say all of that, but it’s nottrue. At least, it’s not the whole truth. I don’t completely understand the magnetic pull that sprang up between us when we met all those years ago—don’t fully grasp how it endured. I do know it’s stronger than anything I’ve felt with anyone else. It’s sharp and deep and quick, like a knife tossed to the bottom of a barrel. It’s real, and in a sea of catfish profiles, dead-end dates, and unsolicited dick pics…something real feels like a miracle.

“You were saying you’re here for…?” He takes another step forward, urging me farther back. I don’t speak but bite my lip and glance down at the floor between us. I’ve always got something to say, am ready with a comeback, but there are no words for the way he’s invaded my thoughts since the fashion show. All the dreams, fantasies this man has spurred are secrets, and I can’t bring myself to say any of them out loud.

“How about if I tell you why I brought you here?” he asks, taking another step that backs me over the threshold and into my cabin.

“That’s a good idea,” I whisper, never breaking our stare. “Tell me.”

“Because,” he says, kicking the door closed. His wide, warm palm cups my face, and his long fingers brush the nape of my neck. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

“You mean since the fashion show?”

He bends until our foreheads touch, his insanely long lashes flicking up to show me the full measure of heat in his eyes. “Longer.”

He tips my chin back with his thumb and lowers his head, hovering over my lips. “I’m glad you came.”

Some invisible thread pulls me up on my toes, straining to close the tiny bit of space left between our lips. Mere millimeters from his mouth, I say, “So am I.”

He grips my nape and slams our lips together. This is no uncertain kiss or tentative touch. Naz plunges his tongue into my mouth, licking at me with possessive sweeps, sliding his hands over my shoulders and molding my back with his palms. His hands pause at the cinch of my waist, at the swell of my hips.

“I want to touch your ass,” he says, his voice low and hoarse against my lips.

Breathless at his words, at the thought, I laugh. “Do you always ask first?”

“It feels like I should…with you.” His hands tighten at my waist. “It’s like…I’ve known you a long time, but not really. And I’ve kissed you before, touched you before, but it feels like that was a different world. Like maybe we’re different people now.”

“The person I am now wants you to touch my ass.” I slide my hand down his stomach, over the taut muscles evident even through his shirt until I reach the dense curve of his butt. “As long as you don’t expect me to ask before I touch yours.”

His lids hang heavy over a hunter’s gaze. If I’m his prey, he may not realize it, but he’s caught me. Any reservation and every hesitation I had about coming and being with him, if only for two weeks, melts beneath the steam rising between us. He takes my ass in two big handfuls and squeezes, maintaining eye contact. The tight squeeze sends a jolt straight to my core, and I slide my hands up over mountainous shoulders, linking my hands behind his neck. I’ve never been a shy bitch. Neevah once joked that raunchy was my middle name and bold was my first. I may not be able to keep him, but I can have him for now—can temporarily block out the one huge reason this can’t go beyond two weeks on the high seas.

“I’ve thought about you, too,” I confess, the words so low I’m not sure at first I said them aloud.

“What did you think about?”

I trail my fingers back down his chest and place my hands over his where they still rest on my ass. “I was thinking about these hands. These fingers.”

“What about them?” His eyes darken, and the incongruously long lashes lower to half-mast.

I tip up on my toes and draw his ear down so I can reach. “How they’d feel inside me.”

I lower to my feet, pull back to watch his response. One corner of his wide, full mouth quirks up, but there’s no laughter in his eyes. Only lust and need.

“You came all this way,” he murmurs, gliding his hands over the curve of my ass to the hem of the loose, short dress I traveled in. “Shame for you not to find out.”

“I agree. It would be?—”

My words die a quick death on a harsh breath when the blunt tips of his fingers skim the skin inside my thighs. He charts a steady path toward my panties and, without hesitation, pushes them aside and strokes one rough finger over my clit.

“Jesus,” I gasp, closing my eyes and dropping my head to his chest.

His breath mists the skin at my temple as he rubs slowly, adding pressure before urging my legs a little wider and inserting three fingers. My thoughts scatter. I’ve had dicks smaller than these three fingers. He pushes in and out, in and out, using the other hand to lift my chin and force the intimacy of our eyes connecting.

---