by Amy Andrews
‘Alex!’ Isobella cried out as her underwear fell away. She wanted to feel him in her. She needed it. Needed it more than she needed anything. Right now if someone offered her the secret formula she’s been searching for the last two years she’d dismiss it out of hand. Only Alex mattered.
Alex kissed his way back up, stopping to lave her breasts with more attention, pulling her nipples into his eager mouth, wishing he could gaze upon their splendour. Would her nipples be rosy or dusky? And how would they look after he’d worshipped them, all swollen and moist?
She whimpered, and he raised his head to kiss her mouth, swallowing another noise of desperation coming from the back of her throat. He knew how she felt. He was lost in a swirling vortex of pleasure mimicking the cyclone outside, helpless against its pull, at the mercy of its whims.
They were both too needy. It would be too quick. But he didn’t know how to slow it down. His sex nudged hers, and he shuddered as slickness and heat enveloped the head of his throbbing shaft.
Isobella tensed. This was it. The moment she’d been waiting for. She felt a moment’s hesitation. It had been so long. What if she wasn’t…adequate?
Alex’s mouth broke from hers. Pressed against her this intimately, he had sensed her slight recoil. ‘Isobella? What is it?’
Cold feet? Second thoughts? Oh, God! He leant his forehead against hers, struggling to control his breath. He didn’t know how to put this tiger back in its cage.
Isobella too gulped for air, amazed at his ability to interpret even her slight hesitation. She thought about saying nothing, but this close—their foreheads touching, their noses touching, their lips a whisker apart—she couldn’t do it. If ever there was a moment for honesty this was it.
‘It’s…it’s been a long time…for me.’
Alex hissed out a breath. Was that all? He remembered her celibacy comment. He kissed her. ‘How long?’
Isobella shied from the truth. She and Paolo had been lovers for six months before the day of her accident. He had been her first and her last. Anthony had fled in horror before they’d ever consummated their relationship. Would Alex think that terribly gauche of her? One lover sixteen years ago?
‘Years,’ she finally admitted, shying from putting an actual figure on it.
Alex barely heard her whispered response above the noise of the storm. ‘Oh, Isobella,’ he murmured, running his nose across her cheeks and over her eyelids. He kissed her forehead, feeling greatly honoured to be the man to reintroduce her to the pleasures of the flesh. ‘We’ll take it slow. I promise. Wrap your legs around me.’
His gravelly request twisted her pelvic floor muscles, and as he kissed her again she did as he asked. His pelvis settling into hers as if he’d been made to do so.
‘Easy, now,’ he whispered, his mouth at her ear as he positioned himself and slowly sank into her tight, moist heat. Her nails clawed at his back, and it shot a streak of molten desire straight to his groin.
Isobella groaned as he filled her, stretched her, completed her. He whispered something she didn’t understand in her ear—was it in his mother tongue? She swallowed as the gravel in his voice enhanced his accent, grazing her body from the tip of her toes to the top of her head.
He felt good. So good inside her. How had she denied herself this for so long? Or maybe she’d just been holding out for the right man? And as Alex moved inside her, with slow, gentle pushes that were tender and heartbreaking, with restraint trembling through his shoulders, she realised that she’d been waiting for him.
His voice growled low and husky in her ear, murmuring words she didn’t understand. His voice was even more erotic, more sinful in the pitch-black, whispering who knew what. Were they endearments? Or something more risqué? He gave her lobe a gentle bite and she cried out, digging her nails into his naked back, her pelvic muscles contracting around him.
Alex felt her pulse against him and buried his face into the side of her neck. He couldn’t remember sex ever being this good. This…all-consuming. Usually it was just his body that was engaged. It knew the moves and performed them on auto-pilot.
But this was different. He wasn’t used to having the woman in his head. Her generosity touching his heart. Maybe it was because he’d confessed everything to her, told her things he’d never told anyone else before. Maybe he actually felt something for her that was deeper for a change. Deeper than sex.
‘Alex.’
He heard her whimper and felt her tighten around him, knew she was close to the edge. He slowed further, drawing it out, making it unbearably erotic, impossibly sweet.
‘Alex!’
He smiled at her tortured exclamation. Winced at the nails digging into his back. Gripped the mattress in an effort to control his strokes. ‘Hush,’ he murmured.
‘I can’t,’ she cried. ‘I can’t. I think I’m…Oh, God! Oh, Alex!’
He felt the second she snapped, her breath rushing out in a gasp, her body bucking against his, clamping down on his length. She cried out his name and he held her earthbound as pleasure rained down around her almost as violently as the torrential downpour outside.
Her muscles stroked him, pulled him deep inside her, sucked him in further, closer. His own desire was spinning out of control, rushing up to meet hers. He wanted to hold out, to give her centre stage, but her abandon was his complete undoing and he followed her into it.
His orgasm hit him square in the solar plexus, making it impossible to breathe, impossible to do anything other than mindlessly pound into her like the waves beating against the shore. Every muscle tautened unbearably. His chest ached, his heart thundered, racing against the storm, trying to outlast it and failing miserably.
‘Alex,’ Isobella gasped, her breathing still ragged as the last of her climax undulated through her internal muscles. She felt another little shock wave and revelled in the feel of Alex still filling her.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered, staring into the black night in front of her, the contours of his face barely visible.
‘No,’ he murmured, kissing her nose, her cheek, her eyelids. ‘Thank you.’ Her response had been gratifying on a whole other level. He hadn’t known sex could be so utterly fulfilling.
Isobella smiled, her eyelids fluttering closed as a languid lassitude infused her bones, making them heavy. Somewhere in her consciousness she could hear the storm still raging. ‘Stay with me,’ she whispered.
Alex heard the drowsiness in her voice and felt a similar lethargy infect him. He moved off her and turned as she turned, pulling her close. They spooned, his arm around her, his fingers firmly interlocked with hers. And when he shut his eyes he let memories of their lovemaking carry him into slumber.
Isobella woke to a grey light throwing an eerie gloom into the room. She could hear the wind and the pound of the surf, although it seemed to have settled considerably. She wondered what the time was and swallowed against a dry throat.
She was alone in the bed. Alone with her thoughts. Her demons. She hadn’t moved since she’d fallen asleep with Alex wrapped around her. Her bra was still skewed, although her shirt had ridden down to cover her breasts. Her knickers were God knew where, and she was pleased to find a sheet covering her. They hadn’t gone to sleep covered, so Alex must have pulled it up.
She looked down at the scarring on her abdomen and thanked God that she’d still been facing away from Alex when he left. He had learned a lot about her last night, wrapped in their dark cocoon, and it hadn’t seemed real. But in the cold light of day some things were still too private. Some things were still out of bounds. If they’d been entering into a relationship—maybe? But a roll in the hay on a stormy night?
She wondered where Alex was. No doubt somewhere completely freaked out about them giving in to temptation last night. How would he be when she saw him again? Would he avoid eye contact, or maybe just avoid her, period?
He had nothing to fear from her. She knew the score. Yes, something special had happened between them last night—a
t least it had for her. Something she was not going to analyse for a long time. But he was a man. A catch-kiss-and-throw-back man at that. And he was her boss, and they had to work together. They’d crossed a lot of lines. It was time she assured him that she knew where the line was and how to get back behind it.
She showered quickly, donning her standard lab geek camouflage. She hoped her reversion back to her usual dress would convince him of her serious intent to put what had happened last night behind them. Actions spoke louder than words, didn’t they?
Although that was a kind of a dangerous notion to explore at the moment. What had her actions told him last night? What had his actions told her? That it was more than illicit sex between colleagues or a way to pass a stormy night? He had touched her reverently, been gentle and restrained. Understanding. His actions hadn’t said catch-kiss-and-throw-back. What they’d actually said she wasn’t sure, but they hadn’t been those of a man interested only in seminar sex.
She exited the building to find everyone up and about. The wind blew against her body and she braced herself. But whilst it was strong it was obviously not gale force, and though the sea was still choppy and the waves against the shore were sizeable, Cyclone Mary had moved on. The rain had also stopped. For now.
She performed a quick visual survey of the nearby buildings, pleased to see they appeared to have escaped Mary’s wrath unscathed. There was a lot of felled foliage—branches and general green debris—but no major damage was evident.
She swivelled her head towards the beach and the pounding surf. A line of thick seaweed marked the shore, obviously spewed forth from the churning seas along with some driftwood. The tide was going out. The deeper water looked a menacing grey.
Her gaze fell upon Alex, a little further down the beach, staring out over the waves, his dark hair blowing in the wind. His fingers were buried deeply in his pockets, his shoulders were hunched. Was he wishing himself off Piccolo?
She hugged herself as she walked towards him. The air was cooler now the immediate low pressure system had moved away, and the strong wind was caressing her exposed forearms. She shivered—was it the wind, or her trepidation as Alex grew larger?
Isobella drew level with him. He didn’t acknowledge her, and they both stared out to sea for a few moments. ‘Hi,’ she finally greeted him, raising her voice a little to be heard over the crash of the surf.
‘Hi.’ He didn’t turn to look at her. His thoughts churned as restlessly as the ocean.
‘The island appears to have escaped relatively unscathed,’ she said.
‘Yes. Mike and I are going to go for a reccie a little later on, but everything seems to have come through okay.’
Isobella nodded. They’d been lucky.
Alex cleared his throat. ‘About last night…’
For a moment her heart stopped. It stuttered to a halt in her chest before kicking in again at a faster rate. His voice scraped deliciously along her nerves. She ignored it, placing a hand on his arm as she took a measured breath. ‘It’s okay. I know what you’re going to say and I really don’t need you to.’
‘Oh?’ Alex certainly hadn’t expected this. Even seeing her in her don’t-look-at-me clothes and glasses he felt his desire return. It was no use now—he was always going to know the secrets of the body under her white coat. Always going to want it.
‘Please, Alex.’ She turned to him, forcing a casual smile. He looked devastating this morning. He was wearing a white shirt unbuttoned, flapping in the breeze. She wanted him to take her again. Right here, right now. ‘It was a one-off. I was scared. You were comforting me. One thing led to another.’
He frowned. ‘It did.’
‘I understand. What happens on Piccolo stays on Piccolo. You don’t need to worry.’
‘Right.’
Alex was answering automatically, unsure of his place on the page. He’d been practising his own speech since he’d risen this morning, with her round naked bottom tucked into him. How inappropriate it had been. How wrong. All the reasons why it couldn’t be any more than it was. The same words he’d said to a lot of women. But then she’d joined him and memories of last night had clawed at him and the words had withered.
Isobella frowned at the uncertainty in his voice. ‘Isn’t that the way you like it—catch-kiss-and-throw-back?’
Usually, yes. Usually it was exactly the way he liked it. His frown deepened as the scary thought that maybe for once he wanted more entered his consciousness. No. He wouldn’t give another woman power over him again. Sonya had cured him of that. ‘What if you’re pregnant?’
Isobella gasped. ‘What?’
Alex was a little shocked himself. He hadn’t been expecting that to come out of his mouth. He shrugged. ‘We didn’t use any protection.’
Isobella placed a hand on her stomach. They hadn’t, had they? She’d been too frightened to think logically—contraception had never crossed her mind. Her womb suddenly ached at the thought of carrying Alex’s child. ‘I doubt that’ll be an issue,’ she said, her lips twisting.
Alex heard the derision in her voice. ‘Oh?’
Isobella shook her head. ‘Wrong time of the month,’ she lied. It was easier.
Alex nodded, surprised at how disappointed he was. ‘So you’re okay with all this? Just act like it never happened?’
Isobella steeled herself to look at him with absolute assurance. ‘Perfectly. Aren’t you?’
Alex snorted. He did this habitually. He knew the rules better than anyone—he’d written them. ‘Sure.’
‘Good,’ Isobella confirmed. ‘I’ll see you later, then.’
She turned away and trudged up the beach before she changed her mind, determinedly leaving behind the best time she’d ever had.
CHAPTER NINE
IT WAS two days before they could leave Piccolo. Two days before the seas calmed and the sun came out. Isobella watched the island grow smaller from the back of the boat, a jewel sitting amongst crystal waters. She hugged herself. Whatever else happened in her life, she would always have Piccolo.
The last two days had been…strange. Pretending nothing had occurred had certainly sounded easy at the time, but hadn’t been so easy in practice. She’d been hyperaware of his every move, his every rumble, his every breath. He had been painstakingly polite, collegial, professional, but occasionally he had looked at her, and she’d seen desire slumbering in his gaze and heat had scorched her insides.
The nights had been the worst. Continuing rain had prevented his return to the beach, so having him directly above her had been a particular brand of torment. He hadn’t come to bed until long after her, but if his plan had been to sneak in after she was asleep then it had failed miserably. Sleep had proved elusive. For him, too, if the frequent creaking of the bed had been any indication.
She turned away from the island, facing the activity on the boat. Alex was talking to Mike as he drove. His profile was strong, almost regal, and she wished she could go to him, wrap her arms around his waist and have him look down at her and smile.
Theresa was squatting next to Sam, redoing the life jacket clips over his red T-shirt. The impish toddler looked set to become the next Houdini. Theresa stood ruffling her son’s hair, and Isobella watched as Sam’s chubby arms encircled Theresa’s bare brown leg. He looked up at his mother and gave her a grin that could melt a glacier.
Her hand went to her belly as Alex’s comment about her being pregnant revisited. How she’d love to look down into the face of her child and see such unconditional love beamed back at her. To feel a chubby hand on her leg, soft, downy hair brushing her thigh, her palm.
She sighed, turning away to look out to sea. Was her work ever going to be enough now?
The boat headed for Temora Island. Isobella and Alex’s plane was scheduled to take off at midday, and Mike and Theresa needed to pick up supplies. Piccolo Island had survived the cyclone relatively intact, but there were a few minor repairs that needed carrying out, and Mike had radioed his requir
ements ahead as soon as he’d assessed the damage.
The cruiser made several stops before heading for its final destination, checking on the various submerged experiment stations dotted between the two islands. Mike and Theresa were eager to see if the equipment had held up under the onslaught of the turbulent ocean. Sam, life jacket firmly in place, had been put down in the cabin for his nap so his parents could work unhindered.
They dropped anchor at their last stop, having been delayed by some running repairs required at the previous two. Isobella watched as Alex helped Mike haul up some equipment attached to a buoy via a heavy chain. They placed the dripping tank on the deck and proceeded to check the various monitoring components were all in working order.
Isobella watched Alex. The bunch of his powerful quads as he squatted beside Theresa was truly magnificent. The play of muscles in his bronzed arms as he fiddled with a thermometer was fascinating. The rumble of his voice as he asked questions was as lulling as the warm sun beating down on her shoulders.
She looked away as memories of his naked body on hers the other night swamped her. Not that she had seen his nudity, but she remembered the feel of those muscles, the contours of his frame, and still shivered at the memory of his sexy voice whispering sinful things in his mother tongue.
She was pleased she’d worn a light cotton button-up caftan shirt. It was sleeveless and allowed for the free flow of air and she certainly needed that right now, between steamy thoughts of Alex and the hot midday sun. A sea breeze ruffled the thin white fabric and it felt good against her heated skin.
Alex’s cerulean gaze had darkened as he had taken it in when he’d offered his hand to help her on board, and a blush had stolen up her cheeks. It was probably the most feminine thing she owned that she wore with any regularity. Apart from her underwear.
It was plain, if rather form-fitting, emphasising instead of hiding all those features she usually avoided exposing to the world. Her full breasts, her flat stomach, her toned arms. The yoke was lightly embroided with white stitching and decorated with crystal sequins, complementing the truly feminine cut. Tiny pearl buttons ran all the way up the middle, right up to the mandarin collar, securing it safely high on her neck.