Read Online On The Edge by Heather Graham, Carla Neggers - Free Book Online Page A

scent of his flesh, felt the vibrant constriction of his muscles, and the warmth ofhim that quickly seemed to enwrap her in an urgency that throbbed within her mind, her blood, her limbs. One touch of flesh and clothing seemed to melt away, easily, so easily. She felt no shyness, only that drumming need to crawl closer and closer into him, become a part of him. Standing, she felt the molten liquid of his kiss against her lips, her cheeks, her throat, down to her collarbone, between her breasts. His fingers moved with brushes of sensuality, teased and caressed. His touch was elusive and powerful. She hungered, wanted, burned. There was no past and no present, no memory of a different life, or even the current one. She was aware of the texture of his hair, and again of the heady scents, of musky cologne, of the man, skin and muscle beneath her touch, the texture of his face, and even in the dim shadows of moonlight, the dark fascination of his eyes. She stood, and for long moments was all but locked in place, simply feeling the brush of his fingers and the hot sweep of his tongue. Where he touched her she was a mass of pure heat, and when that touch left her, the air returned to caress and arouse anew. He moved against her body, lower, lower.
    The tip of his tongue on her flesh.
    The stroke of it… The fullness…
    The sensations were excruciating. Honeyed, hot. Abandoned, totally impassioned.
    This was the kind of desire one could…
    Die for.
    Her fingers thread through his hair, kneaded his shoulders, stroked, and dug. No words left her lips, but soft sounds escaped her, ragged gasps. When the liquidheat had all but caused her to melt away, he lifted her against the wall, her arms tight around his shoulders, her hips wedged hard, and he moved, fluid, powerful, until she felt that the world exploded in her, around her, and her head fell against his shoulder. At last, they left the wall, and she was barely aware that she came down gently on the comfort of a bed.
    Moments later, even in shadow, she was aware of his eyes on hers, and she smiled. She was tempted to say thank you, just because it seemed that it had been so long since she had even contemplated such an evening, and he was simply so incredible.
    â€œNo regrets?” he murmured slightly.
    She turned to him, eyes widening. “Should there be? Are you feeling any?”
    â€œI couldn’t regret tonight to save my life,” he told her.
    She curled against him, feeling the dampness of his chest beneath her cheek, the strength of his legs, tangled with her own. Moments later, it was she who initiated intimacy, running her fingers down his rib cage, feeling the muscled ripple of his abdomen, and going lower, fingers brushing, then curling over the length of his sex. He turned to her quickly, hardening within her hold, and the melting began again. The urgency, the desire, the incredulous wonder, and the satiation were so sweet, she felt she soared in another world.
    He rose later, as confident and imposing naked as he was in a designer suit, and brought champagne from the kitchen, crackers, bites of different cheeses. And they talked, comfortable in their state. It was the most wonderful night Kit had ever known.
    But at last, when they slept, she dreamed. And itwasn’t of wonder, fulfillment, or laughter. She dreamed of Bougainvillea.
    She walked in the sand. She felt the breeze, the cool dampness of the earth beneath her. There was a scent on the air of night-blooming jasmine. And there was a screeching sound that terrified her.
    The parrots, just the parrots, Mary always told her.
    But she could see her mother’s face, almost hear her speak. She was in her bedroom in the main house, the Delaney house, so big and vast. There were windows that faced the lagoon, and they were open because the dead heat of summer was gone, and the slight, beautiful dip of temperature that heralded the coming of their oh so slight winter had