by Ginna Gray
"Oh...please." R was both a cry for mercy and a plea for more.
Lowering his head, he nibbled the sensitive skin beneath her jaw. With a slow undulation, he moved within her. The warm, moist heat of his breath filled her ear as he whispered, "Ah, Abbey, love. You're so tight. So perfect." His tongue dipped into the fragile shell, wetting it, stroking it, the tiny thrusts matching the rhythm of his rocking hips.
Abigail made a desperate little sound and arched her neck. She kneaded his back, her fingernails digging into the hard muscles.
David grunted. Abruptly he abandoned his teasing torment. His breathing grew harsher, his movements stronger, more deliberate. Abigail wrapped her legs around him and matched his urgent movements, her hips rising to meet each powerful thrust."Oh, Lord, Abbey! Yes! Yes!"
"Da... vid!"
The delicious tension became more than they could bear, and as their hoarse cries blended, the world shattered in an explosion of pleasure.
They collapsed together, spent and sated, their legs tangled, their bodies boneless and as limp as melting caramel.
Abigail heard David's labored breathing in her ear, felt the press of his expanding chest against her breasts, his weight pushing her deep into the mattress. He was so heavy, she could barely breathe, but she was too tired and too satisfied to care. A heavenly lethargy seeped into every cell of her body. Her eyelids drooped as though weighted with lead. Making no effort to fight the pull of sleep, she drifted off, content.
Sometime later, she emerged from the depths of slumber just enough to be aware of David lifting her in his arms and carrying her.
"Mmm, what...?"
"Ssh. I'm just moving us to the other bedroom. This one stinks like burned feathers. Just go back to sleep, love."
Abigail needed no urging. She was barely aware of being carried through the connecting bathroom. When David laid her down on the bed, she sank into oblivion the instant her head touched the pillow.
***
Waking in the morning was not something David relished, or did with good grace.. .or speed. Resentfully aware of the trill of birds beyond the window and the light that tried to penetrate his closed eyelids, he made a sleepy sound and rotated his head on the pillow.
Damn. He had to quit smoking. He felt as though he had a five-pound weight on his chest. A warm, furry weight.
He yawned, then paused, scowling. Furry?
With painful slowness, his eyelids lifted partway, and he found himself staring into Chelsea's button eyes just inches from his face.
He blinked and started.
The dog lifted her lip and growled.
Ah, hell! The little fur ball was perched on his chest, snarling as though she meant to savage him.
The Yorkie's manicured toenails dug through his chest hair and into his skin. David was certain her doggy breath would peel paint at ten paces.
His first instinct was to shove the mutt aside. He lifted his hand, intending to do so, when it occurred to him that Abbey wouldn't be thrilled if he manhandled her precious pet. After what happened between them the night before, the last thing he wanted was to upset her. The sight of those bared little needle teeth, just inches away from his face gave him pause, as well.
"Abbey?" he said with a warning edge in his voice. "Abbey, do something about this animal, sweetheart. She seems to think she's some sort of vicious attack dog. And to be honest, I don't like the way she's looking at my nose."
Chelsea's growl grew more threatening, but from the other side of the bed came only silence. David reached out to shake Abigail.
"Abbey. Abbey, honey, wake up. I—" His hand patted bare mattress, and his heart lurched. He forgot about the dog. "Abbey?" His head snapped to the side, but all he saw was a dented pillow and rumpled sheets. David's eyes grew wild. Holy hell! She was gone!
He grabbed the gun from under his pillow and bolted out of bed in one great lunge, tumbling the tiny dog to the mattress without a thought. Stark naked, he flew across the room and jerked open the unlocked door, nearly tearing it off its hinges. The wooden panel crashed against the wall as he pelted down the hallway. Chelsea came streaking after him, barking and snapping at his heels:
David ran for all he was worth, arms and knees pumping, muscles straining. His heart pounded somewhere in the region of his throat. Oh, God, Abbey. Abbey, baby! Dammit, if they hurt her somebody would pay!
He rounded the corner at the end of the hall and burst into the living room at full speed. Momentum carried him to the center of the room before he caught sight of Abigail in the kitchen and skidded to a halt.
Dressed in Elise's white terry-cloth robe, she stood stock-still, gaping at him over the counter, her expression startled. In one hand she held a slice of toast, in the other a knife with a glob of butter on the end. "David! What in the world—?"
"Dammit to hell, Abbey!" he exploded. "What are you doing in here?"
"Ma-making breakfast. I found bread in the freezer but I had to raid the Freewind's refrigerator for the butter. I hope you—"
David spit out a vicious curse that made her jump. He stormed the rest of the way across the room to the counter and glared at her over its surface. "You mean you went out to the boat!" he raged. "In broad daylight? Alone?"
"Well... yes. But just for a min—"
"Dammit, woman! I told you to stay in that bedroom with the doors locked!"
"But that was last night. This morning when I woke up you were still sleeping, so I thought I'd cook breakfast, and—"
"Breakfast, be damned!" He stomped around the end of the counter and towered over her with his hands on his hips and his bare feet spread wide. "Woman, you don't have the sense God gave a goose! What the hell were you thinking of, sashaying outside in broad daylight after all you've been through?"
He was not in the least self-conscious about his nakedness. If anything, he appeared unaware that he was storming around, ranting and raving like a madman, without a stitch on. Abigail, on the other hand, was acutely aware of every glorious inch of him.
The sight of that hard, battle-scarred body, the memory of how it felt to run her hands over him, to bury her face against his hairy chest, to make love with him, caused every nerve ending in her body to jump and hum. Standing so close, she could feel his heat, smell his musky scent. She swallowed hard, remembering the slight salty taste of his skin.
She had awakened feeling unsure of herself, and a little shocked at her own wanton behavior. And now her disturbing reaction to his brazen lack of modesty rattled her even more. It was that, as much as his domineering tone, that put her back up.
Her mouth primed, and her chin lifted. "I'll thank you not to talk to me in that manner," she said in her haughtiest librarian voice.
"I'll thank you not to talk to me in that manner," he mimicked back in a nasty singsong. Bending, he stuck his face so close to hers their noses almost touched. "You can just knock off the prissy old-maid talk, sweetheart, because it doesn't work with me. Not after last night."
Abigail gasped and stepped back. "Oh! You... you... Oh!" She spun on her heel and stalked away. "I should have expected something like that from a... a ruffian."
"Like what? Something like what? Hey! Where are you going? Come back here! I'm not through talking to you, Legs!"
"Well, I'm through talking to you. And don't call me Legs! And, for heaven's sake, put some clothes on!" Ignoring his low curse, Abigail marched through the living room and down the hall. David stomped along right behind her, his bare heels thudding against the wooden floor like blows from a rubber hammer.
"What the devil are you angry about? I'm the one who almost had a heart attack when I woke up and found you gone."
"What am I angry about? What am I angry about?" At the door to the bedroom they had shared she whirled to face him, and he almost cannoned into her, "I don't appreciate that crack about...about last night. That's what I'm angry about, as if you didn't know.''
David looked puzzled. "Crack? What crack?"
"Oh!" Incensed, A
bigail slammed the door in his face.
She had taken two steps when the door was thrown open again so violently it crashed against the wall. Abigail jumped and whirled around in time to see David stomp into the room in all his naked fury.
The righteous indignation, embarrassment and insecurity that had fueled her defensive ire fizzled under that blistering look. She backed up a couple of steps, but two long strides brought him to within inches of her. He loomed over her, glowering down from his great height. A muscle along his jaw twitched and his nostrils flared and whitened. "Woman, don't you ever slam a door in my face again," he ground out through his clenched teeth. "You got that?"
"Don't... don't you dare tell me what to do, David Blaine," she sputtered with her last gasp of false bravery.
"Oh, I'll tell you all right. But we'll argue that point later. Right now I want to know what has you so bent out of shape."
"Oh, please. You needn't pretend you don't know." She gave him a cool look and her mouth drew up as though it were on a pucker string. "Male chauvinist that you are, I suppose I should have expected you to evoke the old double standard and accuse me of being a... a... loose slut!"
"What! Are you crazy? I didn't do that!"
"Oh, really? It wasn't you I heard say that my 'old maid' talk didn't work with you... after last night?"
"Arid you thought I meant...?" In a blink, David's irate scowl melted into an expression so tender Abigail grew flustered and could not meet his eyes. She looked away and firmed her mouth to keep her chin from quivering like a hurt child's.
"Ah, Abbey, honey. All I meant was that I know all that prickliness is just a cover-up. That the woman I held in my arms last night is no snooty ice queen. I don't think you're loose." He angled his head to one side and tried to make her look at him, but she blinked and stared at the opposite wall as though it were the rhost fascinating thing she'd ever seen. "I happen to think you're pretty wonderful," David added in a husky murmur.
Abigail sniffed and cut her eyes around at him. "Really?"
"Really." A blunt finger beneath her chin brought her face around to his. "But I meant it about doing as I tell you. From now on, when I say stay put, you stay put. Got it?"
Abigail nodded, and he bent and pressed a soft kiss to her lips. Her toes curled, and she felt a tiny zing of electricity race through her body.
"Okay. Now that we've got that settled, why don't we go back to the kitchen and eat that breakfast you made."
He slipped an arm around her waist to propel her toward the door, but she hung back. "David... wait. Uh... don't you think you should.. .well.. .put some clothes on first?"
"Why, Abbey. You're blushing." Chuckling, David wrapped his arms around her and hauled her close in a rough, tender embrace. "Aw, sweetheart, you're a wonder. One night you seduce me and the next morning you're embarrassed to see me naked."
"I didn't seduce you," she mumbled against his chest.
"You didn't? It sure felt like you did."
"Well, I didn't. I was going to, but then you took charge and I never got the chance."
"Did I? Oh. Well, in that case..."
"David!" she squawked when he gave the cloth belt on her robe a quick jerk and the borrowed garment spread wide. Underneath she was as naked as he was. Grinning, he grabbed the lapel edges and pushed the robe off her shoulders before she could stop him.
"David, for heaven's sake, what are you—"
He stopped her dithering protest with a hard kiss. Tightening his embrace, he lifted her up, walked to the bed with her hanging in his arms. Twisting, he fell backward onto the mattress with Abigail sprawled naked on top of him.
He kissed her long and hard, and when their lips parted, he spread his arms wide in exaggerated surrender and grinned. "I'm all yours, sweetheart. Now's your chance to have your way with me."
His look was so wickedly sensual, Abigail felt fire lick through her belly. Lying atop him, feeling his body's response, seeing the suggestive challenge on that sexy, lived-in face, she experienced a giddy sense of power that was new to her. It was exhilarating, and Abigail found she wanted to indulge herself to the fullest.
Her slow smite was pure provocation. He answered it in kind, his hot gaze daring her, luring her. Accepting the challenge, Abigail's eyes grew heavy-lidded as they locked with his and she began to move, her body shifting and arching, undulating against him in a slow, sinuous stretch.
Every muscle in David's body tightened. His eyes darkened and narrowed. His nostrils flared as his breathing grew harsh.
Abigail experienced a rush of excitement. Her sense of power burgeoned and her teasing grew bolder. She blew an intricate pattern through his chest hair, trailed her fingertips along his shoulders and neck, traced the outline of his lips, shifted from side to side so that her breasts swayed against his chest, watching all the while for his reaction.
Through it all, David lay motionless with his arms still outstretched in docile acquiescence. Only the tenseness of his body and the hot glitter of his eyes betrayed him.
Finally Abigail held his face between her palms and slowly—oh, so slowly—lowered her mouth to his. She kissed him with unabashed hunger, her open mouth rocking over his as though she would devour him. Her lips nipped and rubbed, her tongue swirled in his mouth, darting in, retreating, darting in again.
David remained passive and supine, luxuriating in the kiss and the lavish attention with all the greedy self-indulgence of an eastern potentate.
Letting herself go, Abigail bit his shoulders, his earlobe, the side of his neck. Her fingertips explored his biceps, the tender skin at the bend of his elbows. The soles of her feet rubbed sensuously up and down his hairy calves.
Her pointed tongue delved through the springy curls on his chest and drew a wet pattern on his skin. David groaned and twisted beneath her. "Oh, yes, sweetheart. That's it. That's it."
Abigail raised her head and looked at his flushed face, and smiled, experiencing another rush of power. "You like that, hmm?" she murmured, mimicking the sweet torment he'd dealt her the night before.
"Yes. Lord, yes!"
"And this?"
"Yes. Yes."
She lifted up on her hands and knees. Her aquamarine eyes burned down at him with sultry heat, and as she slowly lowered her hips, David groaned.
"Ahhh, Abbey. Sweetheart!"
Chapter Eleven
The day that followed was the most wonderful Abigail had ever known. For twelve hours, beyond keeping a lookout for unwanted visitors, they gave little thought to their situation—not to the danger they faced, nor to the men on Alhaja Verde who pursued them, nor to the reasons why. For that brief space of time Abigail and David pushed aside everything else and concentrated on each other.
Wearing borrowed terry-cloth robes belonging to David's sister and brother-in-law, they ate breakfast, smiling all the while into each other's eyes, trading bites and sips of coffee, and stopping often to kiss and touch.
Afterward, while doing the dishes together, a playful nudge in the ribs escalated into an all-out tickling match, and they ended up making love on the kitchen floor.
When they floated back to earth and the hardness of the tile floor registered, Abigail made no protest when David scooped her up and carried her back to the bedroom wing.
There, for the first time, Abigail experienced the sensual pleasure of sharing a shower with the man she loved. She washed him and he washed her, drawing the chore out, both luxuriating in the freedom to touch and explore, to learn every line, every texture, every hard muscle and sinew, every soft curve and dip of their lover's body.
Inevitably the activity lead to another round of lovemaking. The warm water sprayed down and steam roiled around them, but neither noticed. With David's palms braced flat against the wall on either side of her hips, Abigail stood with her back pressed against the cool tiles, one leg hooked over his arm, lost in an erotic haze of pleasure as their soap-slick bodies rubbed together in the sinuous rhythm of love.
&n
bsp; In the way of new lovers since time began, when passion was spent they talked for hours, learning secrets, making discoveries, sharing hopes and dreams.
David told Abigail about growing up in the small east Texas town of Crockett, about hot summer days spent at the local swimming hole, about the rambling old house his family had lived in—that his parents still lived in—where the doors were never locked and which seemed to always be overflowing with relatives and friends.
Abigail told him what little she could remember about her early years with her parents, and about Aunt Harriet's immaculate, pre-World War II house filled with a profusion of bric-a-brac, which had to be dusted at least twice a week, and the stiff, uncomfortable furniture, which her aunt had sworn promoted good posture and encouraged one to sit in a decorous manner.
He told her about his old-fashioned mother who still knitted her own sweaters, canned fruits and vegetables from her garden, and taught Sunday school every week. He told her about his father who was an attorney, in partnership with Travis's dad, and was the "salt of the earth" type with strong notions about things like honor and ethics and doing what was right, notions he'd done his best to instill into his children.
"Once when I was eight, some of my buddies and I, out of boredom more than anything else, stole some watermelons out of old man Buxton's patch," David reminisced. "He must have been about eighty at the time, and every summer, to supplement his retirement income, he sold watermelons from a little stand out in front of his house.
"Well, we ate a few of the melons we took, but most of them we just used for target practice. We all had BB guns and slingshots, and for about an hour we had a high old time busting those melons to smithereens... until my old man caught us. Dad turned my friends over to their parents, and they either got their hides tanned or a lecture and had to pay Mr. Buxton for a share of the melons we'd taken. But not me. Every spring and summer after that I had to hoe old man Buxton's garden once a week," David recalled with a wry chuckle.
"And of course, you resented it." Abigail smiled. She could imagine David as a barefoot, sweaty, freckle-face boy in overalls and a straw hat, chopping weeds in a garden.