Love Under Fire

by Frances Housden

  “Touch me, Rowan. I want to feel your hands on my skin.” The husky timbre of her voice sent his temperature up five notches. His hands slipped under the collar of her robe, pushing it aside until he found the smooth warmth of bare skin. Satin under silk. That’s how it felt to his hands.

  She exhaled a long drawn-out sigh. “Ooh, that feels soo goood.” Her voice fell like soft rain, bathing his senses, lulling the need for self-preservation. A word…an emotion trembled on his lips, but he kept it inside. He’d lost control of his body, but a small portion of his mind clutched at reason and wouldn’t let go.

  Perfume, hers, and the overpowering scent of sexual musk exuding from his pores combined and filled the cabin, filled his head. He undid the belt of her robe and it flowed to the floor in a puddle of silk round their feet.

  Her breasts rose on an indrawn gasp of air and her lacy bra scratched his chest until he disposed of it as well.

  Jo’s fingers grasped the tab of his zip, jerking it down until she heard him catch his breath and cry. “Easy now. Easy.” She realized he wore nothing under them. Hair brushed her knuckles as she slowed down, holding her fingers between Rowan and the teeth of the zip. Air whistled through his teeth as he sprang free into her palm.

  She stifled her own gasp as she discovered the length and breadth of him. One small squeeze and hot steel pulsed in her hand. His chest shuddered and she couldn’t help asking, “Better now?”

  “The only place I’d feel any better, is inside you.”

  “Go for it, Rowan. Make yourself feel real good.”

  The brief respite while she made sure not to damage him was over. Resting the tips of her fingers on the sleek skin, sheathing his collarbones allowed Rowan free rein of her body. Darkness added an extra dimension to his touch.

  He turned them both round until the bed brushed the backs of her knees, then cupped her breasts, but she was blind to the movement she’d parodied in the mirror. Her hands were too smooth to simulate the scrape of masculine calluses.

  She moaned as the hair on his top lip feathered the tips of her breasts and exclaimed out loud as his teeth scraped their furled crests. Rowan’s hands skimmed her sides, hooking the top of her panties. To touch her, he only had to move his hand.

  One finger.

  Her skin crawled with anticipation. She held her breath. Then his shoulders slid from her hold as he knelt at her feet and kissed the silk keeping them apart.

  Rowan started to pull down her panties, memorizing the curve of her hip as he did, breathing her in all the while. How would he ever lose the scent of her now? It was imprinted on his synapses. A panicky thought of any other man getting this close to her reared into his imagination. She was his now. Fear erupted in a feral growl as he grasped silk between his teeth, baring his path to her female center and buried his face in her softness.

  “Dear heaven,” Jo gasped, her hips thrusting forward. “I can take all you’ve got of that and more.”

  With her taste on his lips Rowan drew back. “One last thing, what’s the color of this scrap of silk and lace?”

  “Scarlet.”

  Rowan’s libido spat out a prayer inside his head. Red panties. He’d never forget how she looked in them. He could see it now. Who said fantasies never come true?

  He’d said one last thing, but he’d lied. How did Jo really feel? In his imagination when they made love it wasn’t with him in heat and her in cold blood.

  She had to want this as much, if not more than he did. As much as she’d ever wanted any man. More. He wanted it all.

  The fervent cries. The impassioned moans.

  He wanted her the way she’d been that afternoon in the circle of trees, climbing into his skin because she couldn’t get close enough.

  Stripping her of the last of her covering he clasped her to him by the hips. His breath was a caress that said, “Open for me, babe.” Who would have guessed this morning how the day would end?

  He nosed her thatch of hair aside and laid her bare to his mouth. Jo trembled as he placed an impassioned kiss at the core. Her insides turned soft as ice cream and began to melt.

  “You taste so sweet, I won’t ever get enough.” Seemed whatever kind of ice cream she was serving, he was buying.

  Then his tongue parted her folds and found the spot.

  Way back in her mind she thought she heard someone whimpering, then realized she was the culprit.

  Weakness invaded every bone in her body and the lock she had on her knees was the first to come undone.

  “I don’t think I can hold up much longer. I’m going to fall,” she squealed. As her legs began to cave, Jo’s fingers kneaded his shoulders and did damage with their nails.

  Agony and ecstasy.

  “Just hang in there, babe. I’m going to make you so happy.”

  “I don’t think I could get any happier.”

  “Give me a few seconds to prove you wrong.”

  He found his target and circled it with his tongue as he had the pearl in her ear. Fastening his mouth over her he sucked gently, drew it into his mouth. Into the soft, wet darkness like the shell that had formed it in the depths of the ocean.

  “Now! Rowan, now!”

  Her impatience caught up with him and he set up an uneven rhythm, fast, slow, soft, hard. Then he slid one thumb partway inside her to join the dance.

  She screamed, falling backward onto the pillows in a tangle with him sprawled across her belly.

  “Hold me, Rowan. Just hold me.”

  He climbed over her and hauled her into his arms, wrapping her up in himself, hugging her close while the aftershocks ripped through her. The tears streaming down her face were a surprise. He lapped at the saltiness with his tongue, then covered her damp face in small kisses until her harsh breathing subsided.

  She’d never experienced anything like it in her life. It was almost as if, after thinking herself experienced in matters of sensuality for most of her adult years, she’d finally lost her virginity.

  Although he couldn’t see them, Rowan brushed the last tears from her eyes with a thumb. “That bad, huh?”

  She almost started bawling at the tenderness in his voice. Everything was new and shiny tonight. “No. That good. I never realized, Rowan…I just never realized.”

  “And we haven’t even reached the good part. What are you going to do then, sweetheart?”

  Sweetheart. When had he started calling her that? It was a good word. One that made her feel special. Forcing past the emotion clogging her throat, she responded with, “Well, if I die. Tell them I want to be cremated.”

  His hands were moving on her back, gently stirring her senses again. She didn’t see how she could live through too much more of this excitement, but she was willing to try.

  She traced his features. The darkness made sure she’d never forget the shape of them, would know him by touch anywhere. But the satisfaction she craved now was Rowan’s. She wanted to return the pleasure he had given her.

  Only one thing was needed to make it perfect. “Rowan, let’s put the light on. I want to see your hands on me.”

  “No problem. I’d like that myself,” he said, rolling off her. “Time I found some protection, anyway.”

  “There are some in the pocket of my robe. I found them in the drawer by my bed.”

  The light made her blink and what had been a small confined space occupied by her and Rowan, expanded in a way she didn’t like and made her feel naked.

  It didn’t matter that she already knew it.

  Rowan emptied her pocket, scattering foil packets over her and the bed. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled, “Can I take this as a good sign?”

  She took her time to reply. The light didn’t seem as bright now, just a bedside lamp, bathing the sheen of his skin in a golden glow. If it hadn’t been for the scars on his leg he might have been a shoo-in for a Greek statue. A rampantly male statue. He had the most perfect body she had ever laid eyes on, and his scars added to, instead of detrac
ting from the whole, because she knew what they had cost.

  “I think we should pace ourselves and think of the spare condoms as an opportunity not to be missed whether it’s today or tomorrow. We really haven’t got all that much time.”

  “No, not that much.” He bent his head to hers and like an aphrodisiac, she smelled herself on his breath, stirring her, making her want him again. She parted her lips as his mouth closed over hers. Suddenly, she was drawn back into the deep dark vortex of sexual arousal. Her hands reached up and cradled his jaw. The kiss went on and on and she didn’t want it to stop.

  She heard foil rustle, then a stifled curse against her mouth as he fumbled with the opening. Placing her hands on either side of his face, she eased him away, whispering, “Let me do it. Uh-uh.” She cut off his protest. “It’s no big deal. Don’t go all macho on me, Rowan. Partners, remember?”

  She lifted her gaze as a sudden rush of tenderness flushed away the guilt associated with the uneasy memory. Jo traced the scar with her fingertips, less flexible than the soft surrounding skin, but no less sensual, this was a part of Rowan. Part of their shared history.

  He tensed as her mouth traced the path the bullet had taken and a quavering sigh escaped as if ripped from his hide.

  She’d never done this for a man before and her hand wasn’t any steadier than his had been as she sheathed his sex. By the time she’d completed the task they were both breathing hard.

  Sitting back on her heels, she stared at him. Her onyx-dark eyes held a question in their depths he couldn’t translate.

  His heart had no such problem.

  From way down inside him, emotion roiled until it burst into his chest in a rush like nothing he’d ever experienced before. His whole body tingled as it invaded every pore. And beyond all reason he knew the sensation had nothing to do with sex.

  Opening his arms he pulled her into them and held her. Simply held her close and let the rigors of emotion take him. Take them both to a place where only they existed.

  As the shaking eased, he pulled back till he could look into her face. Combing his fingers through the silk of her hair where it clung to her cheek, he examined her features minutely. What he saw there pleased him. Greatly.

  Her lips parted as his mouth crushed them under his, and he rolled her into the nest of pillows. As her legs came round him, gathering him in, he entered her.

  A groan burst from Jo’s lips as his thickness filled her, opening her up in one seamless thrust. Her heart pounded, mating with Rowan’s, breaching the walls of their chests, clinging together beat for beat.

  Hard fingertips kneaded her scalp until she floated in a daze of ecstasy, then slid into hollows at the base of her skull to melt her bones. His mouth whispered indecipherable endearments against her skin, her face, her breasts that made her moan with pleasure and bite down on the ridge of his shoulder to prevent a scream she felt building.

  She had no will of her own. Rowan ushered her into the dance, she simply followed his lead. Had there ever been such a feeling before? She thought not, pitying those who would never experience this twist of rapture laced with fear.

  Fear of not quite scaling the heights of the giant wall they climbed, Rowan pushing them higher thrust by thrust.

  All thought disappeared as her reason dissolved. She no longer had to strive. She simply was.

  His body flowed into hers as the gulf stream merges with the Atlantic. Two entities, one indecipherable from the other. No ending, no beginning.

  Then Rowan lifted her over the wall and they fell clinging together.

  As they floated in limbo, Rowan felt something tear inside him. Inside his soul. He cried out as it left him and poured into Jo, knowing his life would never be the same again.

  She would always carry a part of him and if they were ever separated the piece he had left would wither and die.

  Chapter 11

  F ive o’clock. Half an hour until dawn. Rowan got a rude awakening as the radio alarm went off. He hadn’t turned the lights out. Had they even slept for more than thirty minutes at a stretch? He couldn’t remember, but he’d never forget the loving.

  He shared a pillow with Jo, their heads close together, her hair caressing his face and her shoulders pressing his arm into the mattress. His fingers flexed, pins and needles piercing his skin as his palm cupped a warm breast. He squeezed gently and his sex thickened in response to her nipple answering his touch. One knee lay between his and the sole of her foot massaged the back of his calf, yet her lids stayed closed. Dark lashes shadowed her creamy cheek and, though hidden, her eyes moved back and forth as she dreamed.

  He blew a strand of her hair from his mouth, watching her lashes flutter as his breath skimmed her face. He repeated the procedure a few times and caught a glimpse of dark drowsy eyes in reward. Jo blinked, myopically, as her eyes tried to focus on his face.

  A flash of shyness, quickly shuttered by her eyelids, surprised him. “Hey,” he whispered, rubbing her cheek with his chin.

  “Mmmmh, rough.” She pouted. Her hand found his bristly face, fending it off. “You need a shave.”

  “Rise and shine, sweetheart.” The words warmed the air before his conscious thought recognized the significance of the endearment.

  Sweet—no one would ever call her that. Tart—didn’t fit, either. Jo fell somewhere in between, like tasting the first peach of the season, fresh, lush. Oh yeah, that covered it. As for heart—how many times had she turned his over in his chest, by a look, by a touch?

  “How about sharing a shower with me, peaches?”

  Her breast rose in his hand and ebbed away in the wake of a sharply drawn breath, but she didn’t speak.

  “Have you gone back to sleep?”

  “Why did you call me that?”

  “Peaches?”

  Her knuckles brushed his fingers as she fisted her hand, holding it clenched between her breasts. An ever so slight nod of her head gave him his answer as he felt her heart flutter. He sighed; he knew the sensation well.

  “That’s how you taste. Like a peach,” he said against her ear, making her tremble.

  “Ah, God, that feels so good.”

  His mouth grazed her cheek and settled over her lips. He pursued them as her head pulled back. She drew her eyebrows together in a V and twitched her nose, protesting. “Sore.”

  He looked at the whisker burns on her chin and decided the moustache had to go. Who was he hiding from anyway, except maybe himself?

  “I think I’ll pass on sharing the shower. Time to shape up and ship out,” she said, sliding out of his arms and out of his bed.

  From up on the bridge he looked back toward the town. Nicks Landing showed no signs of life and that’s how he wanted it. No one to see them leave. To the east a faint lightening, merely a glimmer, appeared in the clouds riding the horizon above Venus.

  Time to leave.

  Jo’s head and shoulders appeared round the corner of the stairs. “Finished,” she sang out. “Everything’s cleared away.”

  “Be with you in a sec.”

  Checking that both throttles and gears were in neutral, he placed his hands on the levers of the large twin diesel engines. Moving them ahead slightly so they’d idle evenly, he turned the key and pushed in the ignition. When the dials for the revs, oil-pressure and water-temperature gauges settled he took a quick look over the stern to make sure the cooling water flowed from the exhaust.

  Jo waited on the stern while he went forward. The wind had dropped away to almost nothing, relieving him of any worries about letting go both bowlines. Tall wooden pilings marked off each berth and he unclipped the lines from the bow of the Fancy and let them swing back with a dull thud against the posts.

  A faint shiver of anticipation prickled the back of his neck as he trod the narrow deck between the port side rail and the cabin. Was this how his father had felt when he’d set sail with hopes of resuscitating his marriage?

  Jo watched him cast off, stepping aside to let him pass. �
��Weather’s looking good, just as they forecast,” he said.

  “Oh well, the Met. office can’t be wrong all the time.” She nodded toward the bowlines he’d undone. “Is that what you want me to do back here?”

  “Yeah, but not till I give you the word.”

  Back on the bridge he returned the twin throttles to neutral and called down to Jo, “Let go the stern lines.”

  That done, he pushed the throttles ahead and the Fancy put her nose between the front poles and said goodbye to the floating finger she’d been tied alongside.

  Jo appeared beside his elbow. He felt excitement radiating from her as they cleared their berth. Family trips of years gone by floated in his memory, jangling his nerves like a honky-tonk tune on an old piano. He hadn’t sailed out of this harbor since his parents drowned.

  Same place, same time…

  He glanced at Jo and let the thought crash and burn. What he had cursed as weakness in his father teetered on the brink of understanding. Maybe he had more in common with his old man than he’d realized.

  Satisfaction welled in his chest as he slid the starboard throttle into astern. They were underway. The maneuver sent their craft on a starboard turn past the moorings. Soon they had cleared the marina with only the slap of their wake on the other boats to show they’d ever been there.

  “How fast can she go?”

  “Well, she has two 500 hp diesel engines and a top speed of twenty-three knots. We’ll cruise around twenty once we reach open water.” The powerful revs thrumming beneath his feet reassured him as he stood with one hand on the wheel. Safety was everything at sea and this boat was equipped with the best money could buy. He wrapped an arm round Jo’s shoulders. Ahead of them, the first fingers of sunlight clawed their way over the dateline and Venus rode above the horizon.

  That darn star looked so pretty, yet if he were to believe the romantics, its influence had been responsible for all the angst he’d suffered over the last few years. He could name the time and the date it had started. The day Jo had come into his life.

  If he could turn back the clock there was a lot he would change. About himself mainly. But for sure, last night wouldn’t be one of them. No. That was one day he’d mark on the calendar each year. The thirtieth of October.