lust faster than anything else possibly could have.
* * *
He’d taken her by storm, and in the aftermath, Harper knew only one thing: She wanted to do it again. She wanted
him
again, even now as she lay there panting from her climax with Jacob Latimer still high and hard inside her. He’d said he’d show her how much he desired her, and he’d proven it in spades.
She heard his ragged breath behind her cease abruptly. Air hissed past her teeth when he withdrew from her. Her tissues stung slightly—he hadn’t been joking about taking her hard. She’d never been taken that forcefully or in such a wholesale fashion in her life. But it wasn’t the sting of her sex that made her gasp in discomfort. It was the loss of him filling her.
She rolled over on the pillows, swiping her hair out of her face. He pushed with his arms in a powerful gesture and came off both her and the chaise lounge in one fluid movement. She watched him as he quickly and casually removed the condom. Her breath caught. He still wore the cobalt blue button-down shirt. His glistening, long cock protruded from beneath the hemline of his shirt as he walked past the lounge toward a door behind the bar.
A flicker of unease went through her when he didn’t look her way or say anything before he disappeared behind the bathroom door. She sat up partially on the chaise lounge, suddenly very aware of her nakedness . . .
Of being alone.
Her thighs were splayed on the cushion. She shut her legs. The sun had completely set now. The pool lights and a light behind the bar illuminated the deck. It had cooled off, and her body was covered in a light sheen of sweat. A breeze swirled around her. She shivered.
She heard him come out of the bathroom and instinctively reached for one of the pillows they’d tossed about while having sex. He walked toward her, looking down as he reached for the buttons on his shirt. She glimpsed his muscular chest and golden brown, flat abdomen. It didn’t seem fair somehow, that she found him so starkly appealing, when she was increasingly confused by his manner. Shock popped through her when she realized he was buttoning his shirt
up
, not down. He glanced up, his gaze snagging on the pillow she’d placed in front of her belly and breasts.
Something crossed his handsome face and then . . . froze. She couldn’t think of how else to describe his expression. He suddenly seemed as cold and aloof as he’d been on the beach during their first meeting.
“Are you all right?” he asked quietly, sitting on the edge of the mattress and turning in her direction. His face looked shadowed, but she could make out the glint of the gold in his eyes beneath his lowered brow.
“Yes,” she replied with a fake laugh. She felt cast at sea. The way he’d made love to her, the way he’d touched her with such a single-minded focus earlier, had seemed almost alarming intimate and exciting. Now he was back to being polite? “Are
you
all right?” she countered uneasily.
She couldn’t read his expression. Her discomfort grew when he didn’t reply for a moment. Then he turned away from her.
“I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”
She made a sound of disbelief at his sharp tone. He heard her, and his head whipped around.
“I just meant—” he began, then just as abruptly cut himself off. His mouth pressed into a rigid line. “I just meant,” he repeated, this time more evenly. “I was very hard on you. I’m sorry.”
“You are?” she asked shakily.
“I meant to show you I could be patient.”
“Were you even
there
?”
“What?” he asked, his brows slanting dangerously.
“I enjoyed it. All of it,” she snapped, highly aware of her understatement. She’d
loved
it. The first thought she’d had when she her brain was once again capable of logic was that she wanted to do it again. Now he was treating her like a stranger.
Which—
face it, Harper
—
was
what they were to each other, for the most part.
Then why had he
* * *
He’d taken her by storm, and in the aftermath, Harper knew only one thing: She wanted to do it again. She wanted
him
again, even now as she lay there panting from her climax with Jacob Latimer still high and hard inside her. He’d said he’d show her how much he desired her, and he’d proven it in spades.
She heard his ragged breath behind her cease abruptly. Air hissed past her teeth when he withdrew from her. Her tissues stung slightly—he hadn’t been joking about taking her hard. She’d never been taken that forcefully or in such a wholesale fashion in her life. But it wasn’t the sting of her sex that made her gasp in discomfort. It was the loss of him filling her.
She rolled over on the pillows, swiping her hair out of her face. He pushed with his arms in a powerful gesture and came off both her and the chaise lounge in one fluid movement. She watched him as he quickly and casually removed the condom. Her breath caught. He still wore the cobalt blue button-down shirt. His glistening, long cock protruded from beneath the hemline of his shirt as he walked past the lounge toward a door behind the bar.
A flicker of unease went through her when he didn’t look her way or say anything before he disappeared behind the bathroom door. She sat up partially on the chaise lounge, suddenly very aware of her nakedness . . .
Of being alone.
Her thighs were splayed on the cushion. She shut her legs. The sun had completely set now. The pool lights and a light behind the bar illuminated the deck. It had cooled off, and her body was covered in a light sheen of sweat. A breeze swirled around her. She shivered.
She heard him come out of the bathroom and instinctively reached for one of the pillows they’d tossed about while having sex. He walked toward her, looking down as he reached for the buttons on his shirt. She glimpsed his muscular chest and golden brown, flat abdomen. It didn’t seem fair somehow, that she found him so starkly appealing, when she was increasingly confused by his manner. Shock popped through her when she realized he was buttoning his shirt
up
, not down. He glanced up, his gaze snagging on the pillow she’d placed in front of her belly and breasts.
Something crossed his handsome face and then . . . froze. She couldn’t think of how else to describe his expression. He suddenly seemed as cold and aloof as he’d been on the beach during their first meeting.
“Are you all right?” he asked quietly, sitting on the edge of the mattress and turning in her direction. His face looked shadowed, but she could make out the glint of the gold in his eyes beneath his lowered brow.
“Yes,” she replied with a fake laugh. She felt cast at sea. The way he’d made love to her, the way he’d touched her with such a single-minded focus earlier, had seemed almost alarming intimate and exciting. Now he was back to being polite? “Are
you
all right?” she countered uneasily.
She couldn’t read his expression. Her discomfort grew when he didn’t reply for a moment. Then he turned away from her.
“I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?”
She made a sound of disbelief at his sharp tone. He heard her, and his head whipped around.
“I just meant—” he began, then just as abruptly cut himself off. His mouth pressed into a rigid line. “I just meant,” he repeated, this time more evenly. “I was very hard on you. I’m sorry.”
“You are?” she asked shakily.
“I meant to show you I could be patient.”
“Were you even
there
?”
“What?” he asked, his brows slanting dangerously.
“I enjoyed it. All of it,” she snapped, highly aware of her understatement. She’d
loved
it. The first thought she’d had when she her brain was once again capable of logic was that she wanted to do it again. Now he was treating her like a stranger.
Which—
face it, Harper
—
was
what they were to each other, for the most part.
Then why had he
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