Gasping for air, Nicolas bent over her, resting his head on her back while their hearts pounded with the same ferocity with which they’d made love. He didn’t want to leave the sanctuary, the paradise of her body. As many times as he’d taken her—and it was many now—each time seemed better than the perfection of the time before. He pressed a kiss to the base of her spine as he eased his body from hers. “I love the way you play mind games, Dahlia. Feel free to indulge any time.”
He was the only thing holding her up. Dahlia was almost euphoric, yet her body well used, deliciously sore. She could feel his prints on her skin, his mark deep inside her body. She doubted if she would ever be whole without him. She rested against the fallen tree while his hands massaged her bottom and sent more ripples through her deepest core. After such a firestorm of frenzied lovemaking, she felt she needed the easier deep contractions to come down from wherever she was floating.
Slowly she turned and leaned back against the log. “Why is it I never seem to have my clothes on around you?”
Nicolas bent his dark head to hers. “Because I love to look at you.” He framed her face with his hands and held her still for his kiss. He made it loving and tender, a direct contrast to the wildness of his lovemaking. “Not only do I love to look at you, Dahlia, but I love to hear the sound of your voice. And I love your expressions. I have the feeling I’ve already fallen in love with you, that I’m in way over my head.”
Dahlia stared up at him, blinking rapidly, feeling as if her heart stopped in midbeat. She was naked and vulnerable and he was declaring his love to her. “Don’t love me, Nicolas. Don’t do that.”
“I think it’s too late, honey. I think I fell like the proverbial tree.”
She shook her head. Her breasts swayed, drawing his immediate attention. At once he brought his hands up to cup the slight weight in his palms. His thumbs feathered back and forth gently over the peaks, sending streaks of lightning through her body. Her womb tightened again. He was going to give her another orgasm by just touching her. She shivered beneath his caressing hands while her body rocked with pleasure.
“I could get used to you.” She could barely manage to get the words out.
“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. Just don’t break my heart, Dahlia. I’ve never handed it over to anyone before.”
She placed both hands over his. “I’ve never had anyone’s heart. I don’t know the first thing about keeping hearts. You’re taking a terrible risk.”
“That’s what I do best.” He took the shirt from the fallen log and shook it out, held it for her so she could slip her arms into the sleeves. “Are you feeling relaxed now?” He pulled the edges of the shirt together and buttoned it up.
“I was until you started throwing around the L-word. That’s enough to scare anyone.” His knuckles brushing her breasts were enough to send her body throbbing all over again. And maybe she was far more relaxed than she thought because her legs were rubbery and threatening to give out on her.
Nicolas zipped up his jeans and retrieved hers, carefully shaking them out, slapping at the material to remove the dirt. “This role reversal has to stop. I’m the man and you’re the woman. Women love to hear the L-word. It’s been that way for centuries. Don’t muck up the proper order of things.”
“Is there some sort of guidebook for relationships?” she asked curiously. “I’ve never seen an actual relationship. Jesse never mentioned a girlfriend, and Milly and Bernadette never talked about men. I think they thought if they did it would upset me.”
“Why would that be?” Nicolas watched her shimmy into her jeans. There was something very feminine about the way she put on her clothes. He could watch her dress and undress forever.
“Because I’d never have a boyfriend, of course.”
“I’ve always thought that was such a stupid word. Boyfriend. Aren’t we adults? And that sounds so insipid. I’m much more than your boyfriend.”