Page 97 of Bad Rio

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All day as they traveled, Rio had only dropped kisses into her hair, or on her temple, but he hadn’t sought her lips. His eyes blazed often into hers. She’d reveled in his heated skin, in his whispered compliments.

“You’re so beautiful,” he’d told her in the car. “I have to have you.” On the plane, he told her quietly, “I want your breasts on my chest, in my mouth.” As she’d blushed, he caressed her fingers and when the plane landed, he whispered, “I’m dying to be inside you ... and to have you on top of me. In every way possible, I want you.”

“Yes,” she whispered, overwhelmed.

With every glance, his hot eyes burned in banked sensuality. Focused on her, he made her feel like the only woman on earth, madly desired, insanely attractive. She tried, and failed, to keep her own excitement to a low sizzle.

Impossible.

She wanted him with an ache only he could assuage.

By the time they arrived at the scooter, it was past nightfall. As before, riding behind him on the Vespa, Becca clung to his warm back. She laced her fingers together over his flat belly, loving touching him, loving being with him again.

She loved him. Whatever came of this trip, she would accept. For two long months she hadn’t been able to take a deep breath, to get air. Her chest had hurt so much that breathing had become difficult.

Now, touching him, hugging his big body, she realized exactly why: Rio was her oxygen. Gladly, she drew him in. He felt like life.

During their long drive and flight, she’d seen iron-clad control in his locked jaw, in his tense and furrowed forehead. It was obvious he was holding himself in check. A magnificent male animal, his blood was up. In a primal instinct as old as time, her body recognized his silent need. She swore she could smell his pheromones, and her own responded in kind. The urgency was almost unbearable.

At last they arrived at the cabin door. Desire drenched her body, consumed her mind. Rio dropped his rucksack and she let her own bag, filled with her colorful new clothing, fall to the ground. He gathered her close and for the first time in months, he kissed her. His mouth ravaged hers, taking and giving. His tongue swept inside her mouth and she moaned. Stabbing her stomach, his hard-on demanded attention.

With his strong hands, he held her head. She felt his shaking fingers ... and understood why. Without words, she knew that until they reached their destination, he hadn’t been able to trust himself. She thrilled to the knowledge that he wanted her so much.

Lost in his kiss, Becca trembled, too.

“Buttercup,” he whispered against her mouth, “I’ve missed yousomething awful.”

“I know,” she replied, and they both smiled.

He pulled her inside, lit the lantern and latched the door. Before he turned to her she yanked off her top and sweatshirt, and cast them aside. He paused, stared at her breasts.

“Oh, my,” he said, his voice strangled.

His gaze on her nipples, he encircled her small waist, his thumbs just below her breasts’ luscious weight.

Placing her palms on his chest, Becca lovingly traced his muscular pectorals. She cupped his shoulders, smoothed her palms down his biceps. Each contour of his masculine body, all hard angles and rigid muscle, was so different from her soft shape. He intrigued her.

“I’m so hard right now,” he told her, “I could plow a field.”

“Mmm. Maybe you could just plowme.” She touched the top of her upper lip with her tongue, the same move she’d used months ago just before giving him oral sex.

His eyes lit, remembering. “If I don’t get inside you soon I’m going to die,” he said. “But I want to tell you one thing first.”

She blinked, and held her breath.

“I love you, Becca,” he said simply. “When we were apart, it felt as though a piece of my body was cut off. Like something vital was missing. It didn’t feel good. I didn’t like it. Being separated from you was wrong—all wrong.” As though he were surprised at himself, a flash of wonder crossed his face. “Do you know what I mean?”

“Oh, yes,” she breathed, and pulled his head down to hers.

Falling to the bed, they clawed at clothing, kissed every inch of newly revealed skin, re-learned each other in frenzied, sensual explorations.

Becca felt wild, frantic, needy. How she’d missed him, suffered the loss of his touch. She couldn’t get enough of this man.

Because he wasRio.

He made her feel splendidly beautiful, his touch both tender and demanding, as if she were delectable, delicious, and he was desperate for her. The wanton female inside her knew joy and she gloried in her womanhood.

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