Page 51 of Whispers

Stumbling backward through the door, she shook her head. “You’ll rot in hell first.”

“I don’t think so.”

And, damn him, he’d been right. For two weeks, she’d ignored him, looked through him whenever he was working on the estate, took great pains to remove herself whenever he was around, but each time her mind had spun back to that one, soul-wrenching kiss in the stables, her heartbeat had elevated, and she had begun to sweat.

At night, lying in her bed she’d tho

ught of him, her body hot from the lingering summer heat, or during the day when she was supposed to be studying for the night classes she took, college courses through the local community college, another place she’d bumped into him in the small quad.

After two weeks, she’d abandoned her stand and thrown away her pride. She’d picked up the phone and called him. That night they’d spent hours on the beach, walking near the tide, watching as foamy surf licked the sand. He hadn’t so much as touched her.

The next time was no different, nor the next. It was as if that one kiss had been all Hunter would ever share with her. Finally, she’d laid a hand on his wrist, tilted her head, and sighed. “Are you afraid of me?”

He laughed, a deep rumbling sound that echoed through her heart. “Afraid? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“But—” She felt like a fool. What could she say? He was leaning against the fender of her car and the sun was blinding and hot. She’d parked on a secluded stretch of beach miles away from her father’s resort.

“But what?”

“We never . . . well, you know.”

“Couldn’t begin to guess,” he drawled, but a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“Don’t be coy, Hunter.”

“Then spit it out. What’s on your mind?”

She swallowed and dropped her hand at a loss for words.

“Come on, counselor,” he goaded. “Anyone who thinks she’s gonna be some big hotshot attorney should be able to say what’s on her mind.”

“You never touch me,” she blurted, feeling her face turn a dozen shades of red.

“And it bothers you.” He fiddled with his ring, a gold band set with an onyx stone, while waiting for an answer.

She wanted to lie, but didn’t. “Yeah, it does.”

“Maybe I think you’re untouchable.”

“No, there’s something else. What is it, Hunter?”

He eyed her up and down and then, muttering an oath under his breath, grabbed her. Hungry lips crashed down on hers, big hands spread over her back, and she melted against him, her body molding to his as she kissed him with the same urgency and fire that seemed to consume him. She opened her mouth eagerly, accepting his tongue and sagging against him, hungry for the touch and feel of him.

Waves pounded the beach, sand brushed up against her legs, the sun warmed her back and she felt as if they were the only two people in the universe.

“This . . . this is what you want?” he asked, pushing a strand of hair from her cheek.

I want you to love me! she thought wildly. “Yes.”

“And this?” he kissed her again, and one hand reached under her blouse to touch her breast.

“Y-yes.”

Hard fingers delved into the plain white cotton cup and brushed against her nipple.

Her breath died as he teased her breast, and she began to ache from the inside out. “More?” he asked, the single word ragged.

“Yes—no. Oooooh.” Leaning against the car, he shifted, spreading his legs and dragging her between them. Her shorts were pressed into that intimate V of his crotch, the denim of his fly raised and stiff as he kissed her and unhooked her bra. Her breasts swung free and his hands, his rough, hot hands, were everywhere—touching, caressing, fondling.