When Zeke stripped the nightgown from her shoulders, baring her to the waist, she felt no shame, only a shivering delight at the hunger that burned in his eyes. He cupped both her breasts, molding them to the rough texture of his fingers with a gentleness that left her breathless, feeling as though it was her heart he cradled in his hands.
He followed each caress with his kiss, fire-hot, insistent, as though he would brand her forever as his. With each touch, he evoked new sensations, so pulsing, so warm, Rory ached with the wanting all the way to the center of her core.
Tentatively at first, then growing bolder, her fingers skimmed over him, exploring the taut contours of his skin, his muscles rippling like tensile steel beneath.
He kissed her again, hard and fierce, but it was a fierceness that was belied by the tender way he eased her onto her back. Poised over her, he panted for breath and Rory could sense him trying to leash the passion that had been building in him.
“You seem so small,” he whispered, caressing back her tangled strands of hair. “Too fragile for me.”
Rory smiled up at him, her mouth trembling with desire. She would have thought that Zeke knew better than that by now. She would simply have to teach him. Gliding her hands over the expanse of his hair-roughened chest, she went lower still, daring to caress that most secret part of him.
As Zeke’s breath snagged in his throat, she wrapped her arms about his neck, and pulled him insistently downward, kissing him, her lips both pleading and demanding, restoring the urgency of his desire.
There was no fear as she opened herself to him, only a throbbing need, a hushed expectancy as he eased himself inside her. She accepted everything, even the initial pain of his entry. Somehow it all felt so right, so natural that their bodies should join, become one, no more barriers between them, their hearts sure to follow.
As Zeke moved inside her, that first pain gave way to a most exquisite pleasure. Rory moaned, writhing beneath him, half-closing her eyes, the image of his face flashing before her like streaks of lightning, his eyes dark, storm-ridden. Like the god of thunder she had once proclaimed him to be, he swept her off into a whirlwind of passion. Ever a creature of the skies herself, she matched his every movement, following him without fear.
Zeke strained with all his will to go slowly, be gentle, but sweet Christ, Rory wouldn’t let him, this tormenting sprite ofa girl who seemed both angel and woman, earth and spirit. Her nails raked his back, her kisses hot, feverish as though demanding he hold nothing back, give all he had to give—not just the power of his body, but his heart, his very soul.
The feeling was too strong to resist, and he was forced to surrender, the sweetest surrender he had ever known. His entire body shuddered with the release as he spilled his seed deep within her.
Long moments after the storms of passion had subsided for both of them, Zeke lay collapsed upon Rory, his face buried against her neck, their thundering hearts still beating as one. By degrees, his pulse slowed to its normal rhythm, and he shifted, fearful he might be crushing her beneath his great weight. Gazing down at her, he saw that her lashes had fluttered closed as she strove to take deep, even breaths. She looked so slender, so pale, was likely even bruised from the force of his lovemaking. The first niggles of remorse ate at Zeke.
“Rory,” he murmured, stroking the velvety-soft line of her cheek. “You were a virgin. I shouldn’t have”
Her eyes fluttered open to regard him anxiously. “Why? Wasn’t I any good at it?”
The question, so outrageous, so thoroughly Rory, provoked him to laugh in spite of himself. He rolled over onto his back, pulling her with him, so that she now rested atop him, her hair spilling across his chest.
“You were—” He paused, trying to find the words to tell her all the wonderful things she had been in his arms, but there were none adequate to describe all he was feeling in his heart.
“You were incredible,” he finished lamely, tangling his fingers in those glorious chestnut curls. “I only meant that for your first time, it should have been different. In a bridal suite with satin and roses and champagne, on the evening of your wedding day.”
“Pooh!” Rory raised herself, splaying her hands against his chest. She arched her head, looking down at him. “You’re starting to sound like my friend, Gia, talking about weddings. Wouldn’t I look silly all tricked out in a lace veil?”
“You would look like an angel.”
“These are mighty strange remarks, coming from a man who once asked me to be his mistress.”
“That was when I barely knew anything except how badly I wanted you.”
“And do you still?” Her question came so soft he could barely hear it, the quiver of her lips betraying her sudden fear, her uncertainty.
By way of answer, he tightened his arms about her, pulling her down for a long and very thorough kiss. If there only was some way to make her understand exactly how much he did want her for now and always. One look into her eyes was enough to rouse his desires all over again, desire and another emotion that cut so deep it frightened him.
“Ah, Rory,” he murmured, “There was a moment back there, when we were both in the sea, that I lost sight of you. I thought you were gone from me forever. If that had happened, I realized I would have lost everything and the sea might as well have taken me.”
When she raised her head to look at him, her eyes were misty, but she smiled. “What a silly thing for you to have worried about. Didn’t I ever tell you that I visited a gypsy on Forty-second Street? She read my tea leaves and said I’m going to have a long life, at least a dozen children.”
“Banshees, fortune tellers,” Zeke grumbled, but he returned her smile. “Is there anything you believe in?”
“I like to keep an open mind.” After a pause, she added, “I believe in you.”
Her statement made him uncomfortable, as Rory had feared it would. But in the depths of his eyes, she read a real gratitude as well.
“Then marry me,” he said huskily.
“What?”
