Page 89 of Coming Home to Sturcombe Bay
“Remember our secret beach?” Her voice was a husky whisper.
“I’ve never forgotten.”
“Nor have I.” She glanced down over the stone balustrade. “It’s high tide.” A hint of regret. “It’ll be under water.”
“It doesn’t matter.” He smiled slowly, a promise, and put his hand in his pocket. “I have a better idea.” He drew out a key card.
“What . . . ?”
“It’s the room Tom and Vicky were using. Tom asked me to hand it in to reception, but I hadn’t got around to it yet.”
“Oh . . .” Her breath jerked in her lungs. All she could think of was the way he had kissed her, and how much she wanted him. “Well, that would be . . . a lot more comfortable than the beach.”
“It would.”
He held out his hand to her, and she placed hers in it. Together they slipped through the doors and across reception, swift and silent, laughing as they ran up the stairs to the first floor.
Up here all was quiet — everyone was downstairs in the ballroom. Suite 10 was the first door at the top of the stairs. As Liam drew her over to it she felt the craziness spiralling throughher. She hadn’t intended for this to happen — it was the last thing she had expected.
But as he spun her round and crushed her against the door the excitement spiked inside her, sweeping away any uncertainty. And then he was kissing her again, his mouth hard and hungry. And she was kissing him back. This was all she wanted, all she needed.
She heard the scraping as he struggled to fit the key card into the lock, then the door opened and they fell inside, stumbling over their own feet, laughing and breathless.
The elegant sitting room with its stunning view of the bay was wasted on the pair of them. They didn’t bother to notice the half-empty champagne flutes on the coffee table, the scatter of rose petals that had fallen to the floor.
Somehow they made it to the bedroom, and on to the bed. Cassie was fumbling frantically to unfasten the buttons of Liam’s shirt as he dragged down the zip of her dress. As he laid hot kisses on the sensitive column of her throat she twisted herself like a pretzel to unfasten the ankle-straps of her silver sandals and kick them to the floor.
He was shaking with laughter as he drew the dress up over her head, the long flow of the chiffon skirt seeming endless. “What is this?” he protested. “A marquee?”
“Rude!” She was laughing too as she fought her way out of the fabric. “It’s the most expensive dress I’ve ever owned.”
“And a beautiful dress it is too.” His dark eyes gleamed. “But nothing like as beautiful as what’s underneath.”
With the tip of his finger he traced the lacy edge of her bra, then reached round behind her back to unhook it, casting it aside, his hot gaze scalding her skin as he let it slide over her naked curves.
“You too.” Her voice was husky and impeded, her pulse racing, her fingers fumbling as she unfastened the buttons ofhis shirt and dragged it back over his shoulders. She could have returned the compliment as for a long moment they just gazed at each other. Anticipation was locking her breath, clenching her stomach.
With a growl that was almost feral he bent his head and his mouth claimed hers again, deep and demanding, fierce and hot. And she responded with equal heat, her tongue sparringsinuously with his. She stroked her hands down his back, feeling the ripple of hard male muscle under her palms, and she moaned softly, her heart fluttering.
Her fingers tangled in his hair as she curved her supple body against his hard length. Soaring through the air on a bungee rope had nothing on this — wild, out of control. His hands were rough, impatient, as they slid down over her smooth skin.
His kisses were tracing a scalding path down the long column of her throat and into the hollow behind her collar bone as her hard white teeth bit into his shoulder.
She dragged in a ragged breath, all her senses focused on his touch as he caressed the firm, ripe swell of her aching breast, tormenting the tender nipple, pinching it lightly, rolling it between finger and thumb, sending a spark like static electricity sizzling along her taut-strung nerve-fibres.
And then he bent his head over her ripe breasts, his hot tongue lapping around the exquisitelysensitisedpeaks, his teeth nipping first at one, then the other, before his lips closed over one, drawing it deep into his mouth as ripples of pleasure flooded through her.
She closed her eyes, losing herself in the magical world he was spinning around her. This had been all her dreams for the past ten years. But this was real, and far, far beyond anything she could have dreamed.
His hand slid slowly down over her slim midriff, and her breath caught in her throat as she felt him ease her dainty lace briefs down over her slim thighs.
She barely noticed as he shed his own clothes until seconds later he was as naked as she was, his skin as hot as hers, his breathing as ragged. She was conscious only of the subtlemale scentof his skin, drugging her mind.
His hand was smoothing up over her slim thighs and slipping between, his strong, sensitive fingers coaxing their way into the soft velvet folds hidden beneath the cluster of dark curls at the apex.
His touch was as light as a butterfly’s wing as he found the secret core within and stroked over it. A gasp became a moan as with exquisite skill he stirred a wave of heat that surged through her veins.
At last she could stand it no longer. “Now — please.”
