Karen Robards - Desire in the Sun

"Never?" His voice was suddenly meek.

"Never!"

"Not once?"

"No!"

"And you'd like me to?"

"Yes!" It was a hiss.

"I do."

"You do what?"

"You know."

She literally ground her teeth. "Jocelyn San Pietro, if you do not tell me, now, this minute, that you love me in so many words, I am going to go straight home and marry Kevin! Do you hear me?"

He smiled then, a slow-dawning smile that was as charming as any she'd ever seen. He gripped her hands, pulling her a step closer so that she was standing right up against him with only their clasped hands between them.

"Would you really marry what's his name?" The anger had totally left his voice; he sounded almost as if he was teasing her.

"Yes!" Then, an instant later: "No."

There was a pause. Then she said, "I'm waiting."

He looked down at her, his grin going all lopsided. "I have trouble saying the words."

"Oh?" The single syllable was definitely not encouraging.

"I've never said them before."

"Never'?" That caught her attention, softened her. She looked up at him, up at the big handsome man whose wife she'd promised to become, and felt her heart catch. "Is that the truth?"

"Suspicious little thing, aren't you?" The grin still lurked around the corners of his mouth, but his voice turned serious. "It's the truth, I swear."

For a long moment she just looked at him. "I'm still waiting," she prompted when it seemed as though he'd stand there, silent, all night.

His lips quirked. He opened his mouth, closed it again.

"All right," she said, suddenly obliging. "I'll help you."

She freed her hands from his, stood on tiptoe, slid her arms around his neck. He was still wet, but as she pressed against him, she didn't even notice.

"I…" she said, drawing his head down so that she could brush his lips with hers.

"Love…" She deepened the kiss, stroking his lips with her tongue tantalizingly, forging within to probe at the hard smooth line of his teeth.

"You." She pulled her lips away. When he followed them with his own, his hands tightening around her waist, she shook her head at him.

"Say it!"

"Help me some more," he said, his voice husky despite the amusement that laced it.

Lilah looked at him, at the night-black hair that was wet beneath her fingers, at the hard, handsome mouth, at the green eyes that darkened and glittered as they moved over her face, and felt her breath catch.

"All right," she whispered, and lifted her mouth to his again.

When she kissed him this time, employing on him all the devastating little tricks he had taught her to such good effect, his hands slid down over the backs of her thighs, bare beneath the hem of her chemise. He ran them up again, over the buttocks, to caress the silky bare skin of her waist, his hand forging under the one garment she had left to her. But when his hands tightened on her and he would have bent her backwards, taking control of the kiss, she pushed against his shoulders and pulled her mouth free.

"Oh, no. Not until I get what I want. Say it, loss. A big strong man like you can't be afraid of three teensy little words."

Though his eyes had heated, his mouth quirked in a teasing grin. "Going to torture me, are you? Go ahead. I think I like the idea."

"Mmmm." She pressed tiny kisses along the bristly line of his jaw, down over his throat, along his shoulders. His skin was warm, wet, and just faintly salty, and she loved the taste of it. Her lips could feel the blood pulsing beneath his skin.

Fn her sudden fascination with the taste and texture of his flesh, she quite forgot that her object was to coax a confession of love from him. She bent her head, followed the line of his breastbone down, her lips brushing over crisp curls of hair, over hard muscles and flat planes. In her lingering exploration of his chest she encountered a male nipple peeking out at her from its bed of black hair. Intrigued, she touched it with her tongue, flicked it. To her pleased amazement, it hardened just like her own did. He drew in a sharp breath as she took it between her lips, nibbling. His hands clenched on her waist. Her lips traveled across his chest to his other nipple, performed the same exercise on it.

"Lilah…" Her name was more groan than anything else. She glanced up at him, saw that there were flames in his green eyes. She realized with some surprise that his whole body had gone rigid with tension. The idea that she could have such an effect on her worldly tutor in lovemaking made her smile like a cat with a bowl of cream.

"Ready to surrender yet?" she purred, straightening to nuzzle his neck while her fingers stroked the nipples she had just thoroughly kissed. Pressing her body against him, feeling the heat and strength of him, sent a thrill of excitement through her. His chest was hard against her nearly naked breasts, and she could feel her nipples tighten in response. Against her bare thighs she could feel the tantalizing abrasion of his coarse cotton trousers. Farther up, pressing against her belly, was the steely strength of his manhood, swollen and ready.

At her half-teasing question he managed a laugh, though the sound was thoroughly shaken.

"Never."

"Be warned, I take no prisoners," she murmured, and she proceeded to show him what she meant.

Her hand slid down the front of his chest, stroking his heated flesh, and her lips followed, planting little stinging kisses along a line to his belly. As she kissed him above the low-riding line of his trousers, he sucked in his breath, his hands coming up to weave through her hair and press her face closer yet. She found his navel, explored it with her tongue. He pulled her head back, his eyes hot, and she suddenly realized that she could pleasure him as he had pleasured her.

The thought was shocking, exciting, wanton.

She knelt, barely conscious of the damp ground, and tugged at his trousers. They slid down over his hips, past his thighs, to crumple about his feet.

He was naked, vulnerable… and hers.

Acting on instinct, her hands cupped the hard roundness of his buttocks, and her mouth kissed gently that part of him that had made her a woman.

"Sweet Christ!" The words were a gasp, uttered as though he were dying. She looked up at him inquiringly, to find that he was staring down at her with eyes that smoldered, burned.

Then he was pushing her onto her back on the soft carpet of moss, yanking the chemise up out of his way and parting her thighs with his knee in a single violent motion.

She clasped her arms around his back and lifted her hips to meet him as he thrust wildly inside her.

At last, when he had brought her trembling to the brink and then pushed her over, she got what she wanted. As his body convulsed inside her he groaned the words in her ear: "I love you, I love you, I love you."

Over and over, like a litany.

Later, much later, he helped her dress, grinning lazily as she teased him about the words she still could not get him to say outside of the throes of passion. Then he pulled on his own trousers-again!-and wrapped a hard bare arm around her waist as they made their way back along the path that led to the slave compound. She leaned against him as they walked, enjoying a rush of pure happiness unlike anything she had ever known.

She was sure of it now: Falling in love with Joss was far and away the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to her. Whatever the difficulties, whatever it cost her, she wanted to spend her life with him, loving him. As his wife, and the mother of his children. At the thought of children a dreamy smile curved her lips. She'd like a little boy who looked just like Joss. Or a little girl for that matter. Or both. A whole tribe! On that giddy thought, she giggled.