Night, Sea, And Stars

by Heather Graham

  Persistent, demanding, ruthless, his tongue plunged into the sweetness of her mouth, allowing no quarter. And yet there was no bruising, no punishing, just a firm force that subtly turned to persuasion, gentling, drawing out, playing. His teeth nibbled her lips, his tongue traced them, coercing a shivering response. Half of his weight leaned over hers, his left hand tangled into her clean wet hair; his right hand made a bold and possessive sweep of her flesh, trailing with firm, assurance from her shoulder over the shapely curves of her back to her buttocks. His right leg was wedged casually between hers, muscled, long, indomitable.

  Skye wasn’t quite sure when she lost the will or ability to fight him. Something infinitely tender and protective in his touch began to quell thought. He was overwhelming; each point of contact became a separate seduction. The hand that held her head moved and massaged, that on her body was never still, searching out erogenous zones, firm and demanding, then light and taunting, until unwittingly she strained for what was given and then denied.

  She had been desolate beyond rationalization, then angry enough to kill. Now neither emotion made any sense. She had been wanting him, needing him, since that very first day. And it had nothing to do with the island. If she had met him in a field of thousands, the chemistry would still have existed, drawing her irrevocably. He was like nothing she had ever known, and yet she had known that coming to him would be this wild, this wonderful. Reality was bringing forth nothing less splendid than what her anticipation and fantasies had decreed.

  Her arms slipped around his neck, fingers threading the thick dark hair that curled over them. With fascination she brought a hand against his cheek, reveling in the softening stubble of his beard, sliding again to feel the ripple of sleek, taut shoulders. His lips left hers, coming to rest upon a pulse at the base of her throat that throbbed out the acquiescence he sought.

  If he left her now, Skye thought, she would truly know desolation.

  Kyle had no intention of leaving her. Her delicate hands upon him, the sweet, parting invitation of her lips, were all that was needed to assure him he had not been mistaken—she did want him as fervently as he did her. Thank God, he groaned inwardly, because this time he could not walk away. He was drunk with the wonder of her—full perfect breasts that arched to his touch, tiny waist, curved hips that trembled and undulated with instinctive pleasure, giving response as if attuned only to him. There wasn’t a blemish on her skin; not even exposure to the sun and elements had touched its unique, compelling softness. Her legs were long yet enticingly shapely for one so small. He shuddered as they shifted against him, unconscious invitation, allowing him freedom to love.

  Skye had never thought it possible to be mindless, and yet she was suddenly mindless. Not mindless, she thought through an engulfing cloud of sensation, surely not mindless. She could feel and excruciatingly savor so much—that couldn’t be mindless. And yet she felt as if she had left all known dimensions, soared slowly at first, and then with whirlwind impetus, into a swirling heaven where nothing existed except for the passion that had erupted between them. Her actions were totally uncontrolled; they were instant responses, piano keys putting forth melody at a touch, soft and then thunderous, quiet and deafening. Having begun with wild, inescapable speed, Kyle now made his seduction a slow thing, half torturing them both with sure, complete arousal. His teeth tugged gently at a rosy hard-tipped nipple, while his mouth moved with sensuous warmth around it, shooting a vibrant spark of electrical need through Skye that seemed to flash a molten heat through each of her limbs, to the center of the driving coil within her. Her fingers clenched into his shoulders; a shuddering, gasping sigh escaped her.

  Kyle slowly repeated the action on her other breast, then brought his head up, his eyes grown dark with passion as they stared into hers, half closed, the catlike almond eyes hazy and deep, never more beautiful, never more intriguing and seductive.

  “You’re magnificent,” he murmured hoarsely, his eyes never leaving hers but his hands continuing their forays, fingers splaying to cup her breasts and ride low over her abdomen. And then his eyes did follow his hands, watching her shiver at his touch, watching the convulsive writhing she couldn’t control… And then his whispered words, husky as a touch themselves, added fuel to the consuming fire lapping through her as he told her what just the sight of her did to him…

  “Kyle…” she managed, but a convulsive gasp choked her as his sure, probing fingers sought between her thighs.

  “I love everything about you,” he murmured with his whisper of velvet as he moved over her.

  Skye’s eyes opened but any reply she might have made was cut off with a quavering cry as he merged with her, filling her with a searing heat that was all-absorbing and shattering, blinding her with a brilliant light as if her body and soul had exploded with the shock of pure sensation.

  His was a rough magic, wild, and demanding, yet all the while tender, and strangely gentle despite the relentless, spellbinding assault of the conqueror. His fingers locked above her head, cradling her as he commandeered her lips and elicited all the secrets her mouth could give, all the sweet pleasure. He was totally consuming, a volcano, an earthquake, a sure ascent to an earthly heaven. Nothing else existed as Skye was swept along in his rhythm, beguiled, grasping, clinging, taken to heights and peaks of passion she had never known.

  The crescendo was an explosion of sweet release that erupted as shatteringly and brilliantly as a lightning bolt. Long after Skye shivered, drifting very slowly in a daze back to the world, back to the hut, back to their bed of sand. She had never known such exhaustion, such perfect, numbing sensation.

  He held her still, a hand tenderly cupping her face. Minutes ticked by as they maintained their embrace. Skye dimly noted that the light of day outside had gone from a brilliant blue to an indigo velvet. The heat of the sun had cooled; new shivers ran through her damp body. Kyle pulled her closer, offering her the protective security of his body heat.

  Still dazed, Skye closed her eyes and burrowed against him. A flush filled her to still her shivers as she thought of the things he had whispered to her… of the things she had gasped in return… of the way she had so eagerly offered everything, lost all inhibitions.

  She clenched her eyes more tightly against reality. She felt too wonderful to think about what had happened. All she wanted to do was sleep in the comforting arms of the man who had taken her… the man she had wanted all along.

  When she opened her eyes again, the blue velvet night was gone. Dawn was coming, filtering pink shadows into the hut. Kyle’s arm still lay across her breasts, his leg was cast haphazardly over hers. Very carefully, Skye slid from beneath him, watching the natural adjustment of his lean body.

  Walking from the hut, Skye paused to stare at the glimmer of the sun struggling to rise in the east. It was going to be a spectacular day, clear and bright.

  There should have been a storm; something as tempestuous as her thoughts.

  She was riddled with guilt, a guilt made worse because she had not simply betrayed Ted, she had done so with pleasure… She still couldn’t hold on to a clear image of his features. Even now she still burned and quivered with the simple memory of Kyle’s touch.

  Skye drew a deep and ragged breath. Her guilt was compounded by the fact that despite his separation, Kyle was married. He didn’t care—he admitted he had taken many other women before her. And that made everything all the worse because she had become just another conquest to a man who made many.

  And all these feelings were overridden by an emotion she feared to analyze. She felt better than she ever had in her life. She felt a part of Kyle. He had taken her, and she was still filled with him.

  It was terrifying.

  Always independent and self-reliant, Skye was forced to realize that all else could cease to matter. He was like a drug; he had not merely seduced her, it had made her an addict. Though she was worried, guilty, frightened, embarrassed, and appalled by her abandonment with him, she was already w
anting him again…

  Walking shakily to the crude table, Skye idly allowed her eyes to alight upon the tortoiseshell comb. Picking it up with wooden fingers, she automatically began to work it through her hair. Amazingly, Kyle’s concoction of coconut and lime had left it soft and fairly manageable. And the tortoiseshell was durable. Working away her tension with her fingers, Skye lit into her hair with a purpose. The task took time, but when she finished, her hair curled over her shoulders and breasts in pleasant waves. Skye dropped the comb, wincing as she realized she was behaving as if she were shell-shocked.

  But she was shell-shocked, She was not a hypocrite, and she was having to accept the fact that many of the things Kyle said were true. Every step in her relationship with Ted had been precise. And all through it she had kept her distance. She loved Ted, he was a wonderful man, but her love wasn't overwhelming—it was comfortable, companionable. And when they made love, it wasn’t overwhelming, it was comfortable…

  The burning of tears struck her eyelids. Skye knew that going back was going to be hard. She was going to have to tell Ted that what they had was over. She didn’t know what would happen to her, or what the future would bring, but she could never return to Ted when her entire being was consumed by another man. She didn’t think she’d be able to bear his touch again, nor would she ever be able to shake a yearning for another man who came to her as a thunderous flash fire.

  Skye’s nails dug into the palms of her hands, but she couldn’t feel them. Kyle had said such wonderful things to her, intimate whispers that still brought a flush to her face, that still made her feel uniquely, incredibly feminine.

  And yet he was still such a stranger. A power she didn’t know how to deal with… a man who took and commanded, a man with whom she would have no relationship at all once they were off the island.

  She didn’t want to belong to him. He was hard; he was demanding. Ted, on the other hand, was always gentle. He was understanding. He held nothing over her and made no demands. He was always willing to do things her way.

  So why can’t I love him completely? she wondered desperately. Why had she given more, opened more, to Kyle in a single night?

  Biting her lip, Skye was jolted by the realization that she was standing in full view of sea and sky stark naked. A frown furrowed her brow as she tried to remember where her clothing was. It had to be in the hut. And it was imperative that she shield herself with clothing before facing Kyle after all that had passed in the night. Hesitantly, tiptoeing, Skye returned to the hut.

  Kyle still slept, on his back now; his head rested in the crook of arms crossed beneath it. Glancing down at him, Skye studied his profile—the clear, angular cut of his cheeks, the square of his jaw, the long, straight nose, all very nicely defined despite the growth of beard. The tiny lines around his eyes were faint in relaxation, a deep sweep of dark lashes formed handsome crescents. Skye noted the precise arches of his brows, the way his hair dropped disheveled over his forehead.

  It was only natural that her eyes follow the superb length of his body from head to toe, feeling, despite herself, the age-old feminine satisfaction that the broad chest had harbored her, the muscles, tight even in sleep, had clasped her to a very male and very virile strength.

  Unable to resist temptation, she bent to brush the hair from his brow. Then a startled cry escaped her. He wasn’t sleeping at all. A single brow arched with expectant amusement as his eyes opened and his hand snaked out to capture her ankle.

  In an awkward attempt to cross her arms over her breasts with instinctive modesty, Skye was unable to balance when he jerked her ankle. She landed half beside him and half on top of him, struggling ridiculously for dignity.

  “What are you doing?” Kyle laughed as Skye tried to roll away from him and into their tattered sheet. Startled topaz eyes met his with a wide luminescence.

  “I’m—I’m… I was looking for my clothes.”

  “Oh?” Kyle shifted to an elbow to watch her. “Your clothes are on the beach. You know that.”

  Of course they were on the beach, she thought with a wince of memory. “I forgot,” she murmured, lowering her lashes.

  “Oh,” he replied, his agreement simply implying that he didn’t believe her. Skye would have snapped something back, but she was afraid to look at him again. Facing him was every bit as difficult as she had imagined.

  His finger touched her chin. “How are you feeling now?”

  It was the first she had thought of the awful, almost suicidal depression that had besieged her the day before. "I’m fine,” she said quickly, aware that he was eyeing her with deep concern even though she couldn’t see him. “I’m sorry, I really am fine now, I guess I was acting like a bit of a child.”

  “You weren’t acting like a child,” he said pleasantly, his finger stroking a downward pattern, leaving her chin to wander in a soft stroke to her collarbone, then to brush aside the fabric she clung to and to draw a circle over nipples that responded instantly to his touch.

  “Kyle,” Skye said in a strangled voice, grabbing desperately for their patched sheet, “please, don’t.”

  His hand went still; Skye could literally feel the tension within him. “Why?”

  “Nothing has changed,” Skye murmured awkwardly, keeping her eyes from his.

  “Everything has changed. You’re mine now, Skye.”

  “No,” she protested weakly, her eyes finally opening to his as she struggled to save herself from her own feelings before being further engulfed by this power she could never hold. “Last night meant nothing, you forced me—”

  “Like hell!” Kyle interrupted with a curt expletive. “At first, maybe, but you were with me all the way after that.”

  “I was merely substituting you for Ted,” she shot out as she felt his tug on the sheet that sheltered her.

  Again Kyle went rigid. When he moved again, it was an explosion. The sheet was ripped entirely away; they lay unshielded and naked alone on the sand. Skye felt fevered shivers assail her as his eyes alone had the power to create mercurial heat within her.

  “Tell me, Skye,” he demanded roughly, rubbing his palm slowly over an aroused nipple. “Does your lost lover do this to you?” He bent over her before she could answer, taking her other breast into his mouth, teasing the hardened nipple mercilessly with his tongue as he gently sucked.

  The sweet, unbearable desire that gripped Skye was instant. Heat shot throughout her body. Shuddering with need, she wound her fingers into his hair, pulling with her last strength. “Please…”

  Kyle had no mercy. His lips trailed moistly to her ribs, to her abdomen. “Does he make you feel like this?” Kyle demanded roughly, his fingers stroking her thighs, his kisses burning lower and lower.

  “Please…” was all that she could repeat. There were no lies that could be spoken. Skye was sinkingly aware that her responses to him were sadly obvious; he was savoring all that he elicited.

  “That’s right, Skye,” Kyle murmured, “please me.” He was bewitched again, torn between the anger her comment had aroused in him and the mysterious seduction that was entirely hers. She was unearthly sensual, her natural responses to him were magic. He had never known the gut-tearing desire to possess that she created within him… again… and again. He wanted to consume her, to cherish her, to be within her forever. And she couldn’t deny him. His hand spanned her hip and he could feel the instinctive undulation that was an answer to his need, an answer like no other. He had to taste her, feel her, have her…

  But for himself. Tautening all his muscles for control, he allowed himself the freedom to devour her with his hands and lips. And then he shifted away, allowing his gaze to appreciate slowly every inch of his exquisite island lover—the fall of luscious hair over heaving, firm breasts, the writhing of lithe torso, slender midriff, shapely legs… And then his eyes met hers, daring her to deny him.

  Skye watched him in return, dazed with sensation. Then her eyes fell and she curled to him with a gasped cry. She coul
dn’t deny him, and he knew it. He wanted her as she wanted him; she could feel it in the heartbeat that thundered within his chest, in the hard arousal that brushed her thighs. But as usual he was the one in command. His fingers threaded into her hair, arching her head until she was forced to face him with clenched eyes.

  “Open your eyes,” he demanded.

  Slowly, Skye did so.

  “Who am I, Skye?”

  “Kyle.” It was barely a whisper.

  “Who?”

  “Kyle,” she repeated, “Kyle. Kyle Jagger.”

  “I don’t want you ever to mistake me for another man,” he told her softly, his tone gentling. “Touch me, Skye, know me.”

  With trembling fingers she touched his chest. Tentative at first, she allowed her fingertips merely to breeze against the taut flesh, the coarse hair. And then she felt him shudder, she heard the catching rasps of his breath. Her hands moved with more assurance over the provocative band of his lean belly, teasing, taunting. He moaned deeply, his fingers curled more tightly into her hair, and with an abrupt shift he came over her, cupping her breasts as he straddled her, then lowering his weight and bringing his mouth down upon hers, nipping her lips, plunging his tongue deeply. His kisses trailed over her cheek. “Touch me again, Skye,” he murmured, meeting her eyes again.

  She hesitated only a second, watching him, feeling her face flush. She had no secrets from him, and yet she was still a little shy, a little afraid that if she let go…

  “Bring me to you,” he urged her, watching all the while for response.

  She closed her eyes and swallowed. She wanted him so badly. She could tell him anything, but she would always give herself away. He was a teacher, and she was proving an adept student to his tutelage. She should deny him; it was her only hold…

  “Skye,” he murmured, and his gentle tone was the end. She wanted to know him; his flesh was hers, at least for now.

  She touched him; she felt his heat, his life. She brought him to the edge, and his pleasure as he entered her was his reward. Hers was that wonderful, filled ecstasy of again becoming his, of again being swept into a magical storm of endless passion.