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pulled away from hers, she tangled her hands in his hair, her lips straining to find his, her mouth opening over the dimple in his chin as he lifted his head and cupped her jaw.
    Gradually his features went from blurred to sharp as she blinked. His thumb swept the sensitive spot beneath her bottom lip, and he whispered, “Now you kiss me .” His hold dropped away, and he rested his head on the padded bench.
    The scent of his aftershave mingled with the wine on his breath, and the slight puffs of air emanating from his parted lips butterfly-caressed the flesh of her cheek.
    Martine let her instincts take command. First, she kissed his jaw, tasting the salty spiciness of him, closing her eyes at the sheer pleasure of being able to do so, of the safety of being in control. Then she nuzzled the side of his face, marveling at the way his soft stubble prickled tiny sparks from her mouth to her navel. Here he smelled of soap and cigar and man.
    She laid her cheek against his and opened her eyes and caught the glint of a diamond stud twinkling on his earlobe. Tracing a kissing path to his ear, she hesitated, then touched the cold, round stone and bent to lick the smooth surface.
    He made a choking sound, and she froze and glanced at him over one shoulder.
    Her confidence vanished like a thief in the night, stealing away in the seconds it took to bring his features into focus. His head turned, their eyes met, and she forgot about breathing, forgot to feel self-conscious, forgot to feel afraid.
    “Kiss me, sugar. Put me out of my misery.”
    I make him feel the way he makes me feel—aching and empty and wanting.
    Her lips curved, and she snaked her way across his body, her gaze still locked on to his, framed his face with her palms like he"d done hers, and touched her mouth to his. She mimicked his earlier actions, tracing his lips and then biting his flesh softly. When she grazed the tip of his tongue, his nostrils flared, searing short pants over her top lip, and a wildness took hold of her the way the voodoo spirits snared control of a mortal"s soul.
    Hungry to get close, so close their breaths mingled, so close their hearts would beat with the same rhythm, so close he could join their bodies together, she sucked the rough surface, her heartbeat spiking when he groaned into her mouth, the rumble firing moisture to her center. She writhed against him, her pelvis rubbing Mediterranean Mambo: Carnal in Cannes

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    against his groin. The lingering traces of fear and apprehension evaporated as the mad euphoria climbed to the heavens, to the stars shining above them.
    His warm palm slid under her top, stroked her bare skin, and a strangled sound escaped her throat. One hand slipped between their bodies under the crepe material of her blouse, and his thumb rolled over her nipple. The caress electrified her pores and sent sunspot heat to the throbbing and pulsing folds at the apex of her thighs. He took control of her kiss, slanting his lips over hers, teasing her tongue with his, circling, sliding in and out of her mouth in tormenting slowness.
    “Ahem.” In the distance, somewhere far away, a throat cleared, but the sound hovered above the reality of his torturous tasting and touching.
    Harrison jerked his lips from hers, and he tucked her face into the nook between his chin and chest. “This better be good, Austen,” he growled.
    “Two vessels left the bay and are headed this way. I thought you might want to take precautions. I arranged for a cold antipasto to be served in your cabin, and we"ve stocked your bar.”
    “We"ll be outta here in a few.”
    “I"ve arranged for us to head back around four a.m. tomorrow before the early-morning workers start heading into town. You"ll still have the cover of darkness to get back into the hotel. Want me to buzz you with a heads-up an hour before we fire the engines?”
    “Yeah.”
    Martine listened to Austen"s barely audible retreating footsteps, and the insane passion of moments