The sun was climbing into the sky and definitely providing a backlight. His gaze once again dropped to her breasts thrust against the thin material of his pale blue shirt. The shirt had become an instant favorite. He ran his tongue over his teeth, wishing he could do the same to her nipple.
Dahlia’s breath hissed out of her throat. Slowing the boat, she swung back toward him, glaring. “What is so damned fascinating about breasts? If I show them to you will you stop?” Her hands went to the buttons of the shirt as if she might really rip the material open. There was color in her face and her breath came too fast. “I once heard that men thought about sex every three minutes but you must be setting some sort of record.”
“It isn’t just any breasts, Dahlia.” He reached for the canteen of water. His hand was shaking. Actually shaking. Just the thought of her opening her shirt sent his body into a painful, hard, unrelenting ache.
“Well I have them, okay? Just like any other woman. They’re there. I can’t do much about it.”
Nicolas took a long pull of water and nearly choked as she angrily unbuttoned the shirt and allowed the edges to gape open all the way to her waist. Her breasts were fuller than he’d first thought, jutting forward to tempt him more.
She was beautiful. Her skin was amazing. He swallowed hard. “I don’t think that was a good idea.”
Dahlia realized instantly she’d made a terrible mistake. His black eyes went from ice cold to a raging fever. His hand gripped the canteen until small dents appeared. Energy leapt between them, fierce and passionate, feeding on him, feeding on her, threatening to consume them both. At once she was hot, her clothes too heavy, too cumbersome, her skin too sensitive. She wanted to rip the shirt away, feel his hands, his mouth, sliding over her skin. She wanted things she’d never dreamed or thought of. Had no idea she even knew of.
The distance between them melted away. His body touched hers, his bare chest rubbing against the tips of her breasts. His hands tunneled in the wealth of her silken hair, fisted, holding her still while he bent down, his gaze as fierce and intent as the energy surrounding them, holding them captive in its burning center. He dragged her head toward his. His mouth fastened on hers, took possession. Fire leapt from her to him, raged between them. The kiss went on and on. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.
His tongue slid into her mouth, danced a long, sensual tango. His mouth moved over hers, demanding. Urgent and wild. The back of her head fit nicely in his palm and he held her to him, kissing her soft mouth, her chin, her throat and back to her mouth again. The roaring in his head grew. His body hardened and grew until he thought his clothes might split. He had to have her. Had to make her his.
Her skin drew him. Soft, softer than anything he’d ever touched. It was impossible to think or reason with her tongue teasing his, her teeth biting at his lips and his chin, her breath moving in his lungs. He tasted her neck again. Nibbled his way to her throat. Felt the gasp as he lapped at her nipple. Heard her breath explode from her lungs as he fastened his mouth on her breast. She made a single sound, inarticulate, but her hands came up to cradle his head.
He feasted, devoured her. Something in his gut clawed for more. Heat rose until he thought he might catch fire. He did catch fire, somewhere in his belly—it roared, a conflagration out of control. He yanked at the knot on the shirt, desperate to get to her, desperate to have all of her.
Dahlia felt his mouth slip off of her breast, felt his tongue lap at her skin, teasing her every nerve ending. Both of his hands went to the knot at her waist. Her head was spinning, dizzy with need, with hunger. There was so much heat and pressure, she could barely stand with wanting him. Dahlia drew in a deep breath of air, closed her eyes, and shoved him away from her—hard. She turned and dove into the water, away from the boat. It was the only way she could save them both. He had no idea what was consuming him, but she knew. She’d dealt with it all of her life.