COOL UNDER FIRE

by Justine Davis

  She colored at his words but never released his gaze. "Have you looked in a mirror lately yourself?"

  He flushed, that hot burst of pleasure flooding him again. He couldn't deal with this, he thought. He was out control; she was doing things to him he didn't understand. She was making him feel things he'd never felt, and she was doing it with words alone; God help him if she ever really touched him.

  "You said I've waited a long time," she said softly. "And I have. Because no one ever made me feel the way it was supposed to feel. And now you're asking me to take the chance that somewhere, sometime, I just might find someone else who … does this to me?"

  He groaned, his body clenching so fiercely that it was all he could do to keep from curling up against the ache of it. He had given up trying to hide what she was doing to him; in the clinging nylon of the damp running shorts it was impossible.

  Shiloh saw in his face the fierceness of the battle raging inside him. And quite suddenly nothing mattered to her except easing the pain, stopping the damage he was inflicting on himself.

  "Stop, Con." Her voice was a husky, gentle whisper that did nothing to ease his condition. "It's all right. Forget it. I understand. I'm sorry."

  His eyes closed. Somehow that quiet, loving whisper was the last straw. He couldn't fight it anymore. It was over. "Shiloh…" It was a mere breath of sound.

  "Quit tearing yourself apart. I had no right to put you in this position. I apologize for … throwing myself at you."

  His blue eyes snapped open then. "As I recall," he said hoarsely, "I'm the one who keeps throwing you."

  She just looked at him for a moment, aware of the new note in his voice. And of the heat of his gaze. It took her a moment to recognize the difference, that now, suddenly, nothing was at war with that heat, that there was no sign of his battle to fight it down.

  When she realized what that meant, her breath left her in a rush and a small, tight kernel of matching warmth began to expand in that deep, low place inside her she hadn't known existed before him.

  Con read the understanding in her eyes and saw her soft lips part on that explosive little breath. When she dropped her gaze, he slipped off the rail and stood before her.

  "Look at me, Shiloh." Her lashes came up, and he saw the moment when they hesitated, her eyes focused on the swollen evidence of the desire he'd tried to smother since he'd first opened his eyes to her. Then she raised her gaze to his face, two patches of high color in her cheeks the only sign of her awareness of his condition.

  "You … have to be sure," he said tightly. "I … can't make any promises about stopping. Not now. Not anymore." He took a breath, then let it out. "I want you too much."

  She stood up then, not touching him, even though they were bare inches apart. "You have to be sure, too." She sounded a little breathless. "I never meant to… I didn't realize what I was doing to you. Not that," she said at the wry twist of his lips." I mean… I don't want you to feel…"

  She paused, biting her lip. When she went on, her voice was strong and steady. "I'm a big girl, Con. I make my own decisions and take the consequences. If you can't believe that, if you're going to feel guilty, then it's not right."

  He looked down at her with an expression of mingled amusement and exasperation. "If you're changing your mind, you picked a hell of a time."

  "Don't joke, Con." She refused to be swayed. "I won't put you through that, too, on top of what I've already done."

  "Now who's feeling guilty?" His voice was soft, warm, almost a caress.

  "I am," she answered honestly. "I didn't realize—"

  "Do you realize you're driving me crazy? That I don't care about anything anymore except that if you don't kiss me I'm going to jump ship and look for the nearest shark?"

  Shiloh wasn't conscious of moving; she knew only that the inches between them vanished. She was up against the hard wall of his chest, and his arms were tight around her. The damp cloth of her swimsuit might as well be nonexistent; she could feel every hard, muscled inch of him, and the thin barrier of the nylon shorts did nothing to restrain the surging hardness she felt pressed against her thigh.

  She lifted her head, lips parted for breath; there suddenly didn't seem to be enough air in this open, airy place. When she looked up at him, she saw his nostrils flare as if he, too, were feeling the lack. Then such a minor thing as breathing faded into insignificance as his mouth came down on hers.

  All the urgency, all the need he had been suppressing were poured into that kiss, and Shiloh shivered with its intensity. She could taste the salt of the sea on his lips, and then only him, only the hot, wonderful taste of him. His hands slid up to cup her face, to tilt her head back as his tongue plunged forward into the honeyed warmth of her mouth. And she met him hungrily, her mouth seeking, wanting, her hands lifting to lock behind his neck, to hold him close.

  She heard the low sound he made, a rumbling groan that came from deep within his chest. His mouth left hers, but before she could draw breath to protest a tiny gasp escaped her as his lips traced a fiery path along her cheek to her ear.

  She could feel the warmth of his breath, and it sent a shiver through her. He felt it, and his arms tightened around her. The shiver rippled through her again, stronger this time, when she felt the tip of his tongue lightly trace the curve of her ear. Her hands went to his shoulders, her fingers digging into hard muscle. He circled the sensitive opening lightly, delicately, and her fingers tightened as a small, breathy moan broke from her.

  Suddenly he stopped, pulling her tight against him, pressing her head to his chest with a hand that was oddly unsteady. He leaned down to lay his cheek against the damp silk of her hair.

  "Con?" She heard him draw in a breath, but he didn't speak. "If you ask me once more if I'm sure, I'll push you overboard."

  The rumble came from low and deep in his chest, and when he laughed she thought she'd never heard such a wonderful sound. No more, she promised herself. He wasn't going to keep it locked away anymore.

  And then, in one swift movement, he swept her up into his arms. She wasn't sure how he managed to get down the narrow stairway to the cabin, but by then his lips had claimed hers again and she didn't care. She supposed she should spare a thought for the fact that he was carrying her toward an irreversible moment in her life, but she was so certain deep down in her heart that it was right that it didn't matter; all she felt was eagerness.

  He carried her to her bunk, sweeping aside clothes and blankets with the arm that had been supporting her shoulders before she locked her arms around his neck. His lips were alternately hot and demanding, then soft and coaxing, but always sending growing ripples of flame along nerves that had discovered a new function. He laid her down with exquisite care, his mouth never leaving hers.

  Somehow the knowledge that this time would be different, that this time it would not end in hurt, angry frustration, added fuel to the fire he was kindling within her. She clung to him as he lay down beside her, wanting him closer, wanting to hurry even as she wanted this to go on and on. Her head was whirling, and only when she felt the long, naked length of him against her, felt the unfettered strength and heat of him, hot and swollen against her, did she know that he had peeled off the damp shorts.

  He trailed little kisses down her neck, lingering at the hollow where her pulse was beginning to beat wildly. His mouth moved downward over silken skin to the rise of her breast, teasing with those little feathery kisses.

  She couldn't bear it, she thought. Already her breasts felt swollen and heavy, her nipples taut and aching for him. The memory of how his mouth had felt on her leapt like a living thing along her sizzling nerves, and, helpless to stop herself, she lifted her hand to press his head to her.

  As if he'd been waiting for that sign he moved quickly, reaching for the narrow straps of the shimmering green swimsuit. He began to slide them off her slender shoulders, and she wriggled eagerly to help him, rolling the damp fabric down and kicking it away, baring herself to his heated
gaze, trembling a little in her shyness.

  He groaned, his hands trembling slightly as he reached for her. He cupped the full, soft flesh of her breasts in his palms, lifting the silken weight, and with a convulsive movement he buried his face in the valley between those lush curves.

  "Shiloh," he murmured against her skin. "I've wanted this ever since I woke up and found the tomboy I expected had turned into the most incredible woman I've ever known."

  Her shyness vanished. She threaded slender fingers through the dark, heavy silk of his hair.

  "I've wanted it all my life. Even when I wasn't sure you existed. I'm so glad I didn't have to wait forever."

  She realized her words were rather cryptic, but when he lifted his head and she looked into blue eyes darkened with passion, she knew he'd understood. She reached for him, her mouth hungry for the taste of his once more, but he shifted suddenly, raising himself up on his elbows. When he spoke there was a compelling note in his voice.

  "I don't want to hurry, not now, not … your first time, but I don't know how long I can hold out. It's been a long time." He wet his lips. "Just let me…"

  He couldn't finish, and his head dropped to her breast with a ragged moan. Eagerly he sought her nipple, catching it between gentle teeth and flicking it with his tongue. He licked away the salty taste, and when he had reached the sweetness beneath, he closed his lips around the taut peak and suckled deeply.

  She gasped at the hot, searing pleasure that shot through her, arching involuntarily as her aching flesh begged for more. The feel of her supple body lifting for him, offering her breasts to him, sent a glowing, molten shaft of heat ripping through him. His hands clenched, knotting into fists as he fought for control.

  He wasn't going to make it. He knew it as surely as he knew that he'd never tasted anything as sweet as the tight little crest that was rising to his tongue. The next time she moved like that, the next time she made it so achingly, sweetly clear that she wanted him, it was going to be all over. He was no better than some fumbling teenager who'd just discovered sex, and he was going to last about that long.

  He clenched his jaw fiercely. He would hold out, damn it. She was giving him a gift beyond price, something more precious than anything he'd ever been given in his life, and he wasn't going to spoil it for her. He'd never been with anyone so innocently inexperienced, only with women who knew exactly what they wanted, just as he did: fleeting physical gratification with no strings attached. Although he hadn't wanted the responsibility, he was beyond stopping now. But he would make it good for her, and if he died in the process, so be it.

  With an effort that made sweat pop out on his forehead, made every muscle in his body ripple in protest, he fought down the pulsing, demanding urge to bury himself in her and ease his throbbing need. With a slowness that spoke of tight control rather than an intentional building of anticipation, he lifted his head and moved to her other breast.

  Swept up by the storm of new, unexpected sensations, Shiloh was unaware of his struggle. Every nerve was overloaded, sending rapid-fire bursts of pleasure to every part of her, radiating out from the rigid peak that had found a home in the wet heat of his mouth. She had no room for anything but growing awe at what she was feeling, at what her body was capable of. For him. Only for him. She knew somehow, in that hidden part of her that had lain dormant for so long, that part of her had waited for him even while she doubted his existence.

  Con shifted to his side, keeping one leg thrown over her, trying to ignore the silken caress of her thigh against his rigid, throbbing flesh. He drew her eager nipple deeper into his mouth as his hand slid down over her slender ribcage, lingering, stroking the smooth satin of her stomach. He tugged with his lips, teased with his tongue, at that taut crest while his hand circled, petted, caressed her silken skin. He felt the moment when she began to move again, her hips lifting to his hand, and smothered a shuddering groan against the soft, full curve of her breast.

  When she felt his hand move, slipping down her body until his fingers tangled in the reddish curls at the top of her thighs, Shiloh tensed instinctively. But then an older, much stronger instinct took over, and she parted her thighs eagerly for his touch.

  "Oh, Shiloh," he murmured as his fingers reached her smooth, ready warmth. She heard him but was too caught up in her own revelations to do anything except marvel at her body's response.

  She felt, with a shuddering intensity that rippled through every part of her, the first delicate touch of his fingers inside her tender flesh. She knew by the way he touched her, by the way his caress was so smooth, so easy, that she was slickly wet, and she shivered in wonder at how completely her body was readying itself for him.

  The very fact of that readiness nearly shattered the tenuous grip Con had on what was left of his tattered control. The moment his probing fingers had found her wet, her body waiting for him, that slick heat beckoning, it had taken every ounce of self-discipline he'd ever had to restrain himself. His mind was fighting his body, and with each innocent movement she made, each indication that she was as eager for him as he was for her, the haze of pleasure clouded his mind a little more, leaving less to fight the battle he didn't want to win in the first place.

  She was writhing now, her hips undulating in time with his caress, her face a mask of awed disbelief at the sensations he was drawing from that untouched center that had come pulsingly alive beneath his touch. Her breath was coming in quick, desperate gasps, every other one a soft, ragged moan. She clutched at him, her eyes widening as the heat from his mouth, which had returned once more to her swollen breast, streaked downward to join with the fire erupting beneath his fingers. She was arching, striving, mindless to anything except that he was pushing her to the very edge of bearable sensation.

  "Con!"

  "I know," he whispered, pausing in his words to move to her other breast and suck fiercely, wringing another gasp from her. "Go with it, Green-eyes."

  The sight of her, her eyes full of the shock of what she was feeling, her body dancing to his touch, gave him back the determination he'd nearly lost. That he could do this for her, that he could shatter that unnatural control of hers, filled him with a new resolve that he would wait, he would somehow hold on. He had to hold on, because he knew with certainty that his inflamed body would not wait once he was inside her, that the moment he was sheathed in the slick, wet heat he had touched, he would be lost.

  She cried out once more and bucked wildly beneath his hand. He never stopped that circling, massaging caress, but he lifted his head, seized with an irresistible need to watch it happen for her, this first time.

  He had expected it to be erotic, to drive him to the brink of sanity, to make the need to drive himself into her silken heat unbearable, but he had never expected that watching her in that most vulnerable of moments would make him feel so utterly and completely humble.

  And then she was there, her eyes hot with passion and surprise as her body reached the precipice and went flying over. She cried out his name as the spasms took her, a hot, sweet shivering sound from deep in her throat. It sent an echoing ripple that caught him by surprise, and it took every remnant of his control to stop himself from following her over the edge right then. He groaned, beyond being embarrassed at his own failings where she was concerned.

  He wanted to wait, to let her savor it, but the sound of his name in that tone of amazement, of delight, of glorious pleasure, shattered his fragile control into splinters. He moved over her, dreading that moment when he knew he would have to hurt her, but unable to stop. He only hoped that now, when the echoes of pleasure were still pulsing through her, the pain would be less.

  When she felt the first touch of his hardened flesh between her thighs, Shiloh looked up at him through lowered lashes, too languorous to move. He'd wanted it that way, she realized with the first glimpse of his face; even drawn tight with need, his concern for her was plain.

  A surge of tenderness swept over her, so strong that, coming on the heels o
f the incredible sensations she'd just experienced, it left her breathless. Only now did she realize the meaning of the strain in his face, the rigid tautness of his muscles as he had gently, sweetly shown her the way. Only now did she realize how much he had held back for her sake, and what it had cost him.

  "Please," she whispered, her hands going to cup his face, her legs lifting instinctively to caress his lean hips.

  With a harsh, strangled cry he moved, his hardened shaft probing the wet heat he had created in her. He had eased his own way, and she opened for him eagerly. He nearly cried out again at that first touch, astounded that the sensations could be so intense when he had barely begun, had not even breached that final, thin barrier.

  He tried to go slow, hoping to spare her some of the inevitable pain, but her hands slid down to his waist, then his hips, and she urged him forward. His body, strained to the point of shattering into a million pieces, surrendered to her silent entreaty, and he thrust forward.

  He felt the resistance, then felt it yield, felt her slender body tense beneath him as she bit back a cry. Then he was inside her, surrounded by searing, gripping heat, and he couldn't stop the gasp of pleasure that escaped him. He had thought that once he was sheathed by that giving yet clasping flesh he would find it impossible to be still; now he doubted if he could move. She was so hot, so tight; impossibly, he could feel himself growing even harder inside her.

  Her languor forgotten, Shiloh stared up at him in awed wonder. The pain had been sharp, tearing, but it had eased to a dull ache that faded to insignificance beside the incredible feel of his body inside hers. She knew now what that hollowness, that aching longing for something she couldn't name, had been. It was this, this wonderful, astonishing fullness, this sense of completeness she'd never felt before, that she had been yearning for.

  Instinctively she moved, shifting her hips, wanting to know, to feel, every inch of him. Just that slight movement of welcome sent him careening out of control and he had to move.