The Boat Builder's Bed (19 page)

Public beach equaled safety.
 

Private house equaled every possibility of giving in to his leisurely charm-drenched pursuit.
 

She watched his long leg swing over the seat as he dismounted. The tough denim pulled taut over his butt and down his thigh, reminding her exactly what great shape he was in. Her longing grew stronger.

Rafe set the bike on its stand. The slight sounds of cooling metal intruded over the muffled roar of the nearby ocean. He unzipped his jacket, shrugged it off, and hung it over the handlebars. Underneath he wore a fine white linen shirt, through which Sophie could just discern his dark nipples and maybe a drift of chest-hair.

Her heart began to thump even harder. Why couldn’t he have a thick and boring T-shirt on? With advertising for fried chicken or car tires or something else crass and unattractive?

“Want to see the rest of the house?” He indicated an open-tread staircase to one side of the pool.

She set down her crash helmet and climbed. Rafe followed only a few steps behind her.

The light almost blinded her on the top floor. Even the gauzy curtains were no real defense against the sun. He drew one aside to show her the view of the long golden beach—as he’d promised, very close indeed. Only a band of scrubby vegetation separated them from the sand.
 

“Nice sitting here with a cold beer on a hot day,” he said, unlocking one of the big sliding doors and rolling it aside to let fresh air flood in. When he walked out onto the timber deck Sophie followed, wriggling to rid herself of the day-pack and jacket. Instantly Rafe moved behind her, strong hands stripping them away, then gathering her hair to one side so he could drop a kiss at the junction of her neck and shoulder.

Someone moaned. Probably her.
 

Someone chuckled. Definitely him.

‘Give in,’
the little voice said.

Sophie sighed very deeply and tried for another ounce or two of resolve.

Rafe carried her jacket and pack into the main living area and laid them on a long leather sofa.
 

“This house of Matt and Annie’s got me thinking about mine,” he said as he returned to the big deck. “I like the casual comfortable feel of it. Faye wanted something much sharper.”

They leaned on the deck railing companionably for a few minutes, watching the long rollers powering onto the shore. Then he held out a hand.
 

After a slight hesitation Sophie took it and they walked together through the main living area and into a light-filled atrium.

Bedrooms... Oh I shouldn’t.

“We can’t just prowl through someone else’s house,” she objected, trying to tug her hand out of his as the reality of the situation hit her.

“They’ve prowled through mine.”

“But yours isn’t finished. It’s not...um.”

“Not private? Not full of beds?” One corner of his gorgeous mouth twitched in challenge.

She stood there battered by indecision.
 

“I really want to see the house if it’s made such an impression on you,” she assured him. “It might give me ideas on what I can specify for yours.”

“So come and see it.”
 

“But...I don’t want you to think...”

His scent drifted across the small gap between them, and she remembered him saying two evenings ago, ‘You like the way I smell. I like the way you smell. Win/win.’

Yes, he was a big strong sensual man who smelled like everything missing from her life.
 

She’d vowed to keep things businesslike between them, but he tempted her with privacy, and beds, and his warm eyes. Her decorating studio and her treasured daughter had been the total focus of her life for the past few years but now Rafe had forced his way in beside them.
 

Hesitantly she stepped closer, pressed her face against him and breathed him in, soaking up the intoxicating scents of clean fabric and hot sexy man.

Two top buttons undone...

If I just tweaked another one, stroked his chest, tasted his skin...

Her restless fingers found it, slipped it through the hole, and pushed the two sides of his shirt apart. Lost at last she nestled in so her nose and mouth brushed against his flesh. With an incoherent murmur she squeezed her eyes closed and inhaled again, savoring his scent for several deep slow breaths, feeling his arms wrapping around her and pulling her hips against his to confirm he was as turned on as she was.

The hairs on his chest tickled her face so she licked them flat. He tasted slightly salty and totally tempting.

“This is your way of discouraging me, is it?” she heard him demand in a hoarse whisper. “You eat me alive?”

She tried to pull back, feeling the flush spreading up her neck and over her face, but he held her close, rocking their bodies slowly together.
 

“Why would I let you go now?”

“We can’t...” she tried one last time.

“We can.”
 

“Your friends...”
 

“Won’t be home until next weekend. No-one will know, Sophie.”

 
“I just don’t
do
things like this,” she insisted, fumbling far too enthusiastically with the rest of his shirt buttons as her final shred of restraint disappeared.

She pushed the fabric back and all her breath rushed out. At last she could touch him.

Mesmerized, she trailed her fingers over his sculpted chest and shoulders and on down his arms as she peeled the shirt away. Her hands roved, smoothing and kneading spice-brown flesh.
 

Rafe held still for her, although she knew how aroused he was and sensed the tight leash he had on his desire. She eased away and stroked down over the warm corrugated muscles of his torso. And then slid her arms around his waist, drew him close again and raised her face in a silent demand to be kissed.

She felt some of the tension leave his big body as he absorbed her surrender.

“Sophie,” he whispered. He smoothed her hair back, sifting the long strands through his fingers and tangling enough of it in his hands to hold her where he wanted her. His lingering kiss sizzled hot as a branding.

“Through here,” he demanded when he finally couldn’t bear the layers of fabric between them. He led her into the guest suite and pushed the window open to the cooler air, then cupped her face up in his hands and hauled her against him again. God she was sweet. Tasted like strawberries—and he was sure she hadn’t eaten strawberries for lunch. He nudged her across to the bed, never breaking the connection between their lips. When she overbalanced and sat with a gasp, he dropped to his knees in front of her.
 

Somewhere outside a radio played Elton John. The frantic piano dipped and soared in the warm air, pounding along in time with his pulse.

A fortnight ago he’d been antsy and out of sorts. Now he felt wildly alive. The thrill of the chase, the unexpected pursuit of this desirable if prickly woman had his blood surging, his breathing deepening, all his senses finely tuned.

The sun burned sharply brilliant. The salty smell of the sea drifted through the window, a counterpoint to Sophie’s own warm and enticing fragrance. He leaned forward and pressed his face between her breasts, sucking in her skin-scent.

He felt her fingers in his hair, possessive and urgent, holding him close. He knew he’d give her anything...anything. He breathed deeper, drawing her right into his lungs, his drug of choice, his addiction.

Finally, desperate for more, he leaned away and gathered her camisole upwards to reveal the hipster top of her jeans just below her navel. A small gold stud gleamed there. He touched it, intrigued. A bolt with a hex-nut—who’d have thought?
 

He bent and slid the tip of his tongue over the ornament and down into the small hollow below. Sophie rewarded him with an indrawn breath and a horrified “No!”

“Not nice?”
 

“
Too
nice,” she protested, wriggling in his arms. “Too sensitive.”

He smiled to himself, loving her reaction. She was a little volcano, pressured to bursting point, ready to erupt. And soon he’d split her open and release all that scalding passion.

Outside, Elton John faded and Rihanna took over. A lawnmower droned somewhere close. Lost in pleasuring her, they were only dream-noises against the background of the restless ocean. He barely heard either as he raised her camisole higher, enjoying her slim supple build, then closed his eyes and let his lips and teeth graze ever-upwards over her sweet-smelling skin until they hit the scratch of lace.

Sophie pulled the camisole up over her head and tossed it sideways. Rafe sat back on his heels, parting his thighs in a futile search for comfort, and looked his fill.
 

Her hair hung tousled and silky over his hands as he reached to stroke the topmost slopes of her pale breasts. How long ago had he sneaked that tantalizing glimpse down her neckline in the cable car? He’d told himself then they were no bigger than a schoolgirl’s, but he’d been wrong; she had irresistible curves.
 

He leaned forward with a groan, clamping his mouth around one of the hard peaks pushing against the white lace. He suckled, thrilled by the sounds of pleasure he drew from her throat.

He felt her flex, and flicked his eyes open. He’d have sworn he was already at full stretch but the sight of her swaying backwards to unhook her bra sent yet another surge of blood southwards until the pressure was damn near intolerable. When she shyly lifted the lace away and her luscious up-tilted breasts settled into his waiting hands he couldn’t hold back his animal growl of appreciation.

Delicate creamy mounds, big hard rosy nipples—a thrilling study in contrasts.
 

He bent and enjoyed as his lust-level rocketed even higher.

Sophie’s lips parted in astonished pleasure. Waves of intense sensation raced through her, swirling and circling until they were concentrated deep in her belly, flickering like flames, hot as any furnace.

She plunged her fingers back into Rafe’s shining hair, kneading and caressing, loving all the dark jet and sable shades that were such a contrast to her own fairness. From somewhere came the panicky thought that if she could see him so clearly, he could also see her—and therefore see the faint silvery stretch-marks over her hips.

Would he recognize them for what they were? Signs she’d been pregnant sometime in the past? Would he demand to know where her child was, and castigate her for not keeping Camille, as his mother had not kept him?

Frantically she prized his head away. “Curtains,” she begged. “What if someone’s watching?”

“Not going to happen,” Rafe protested, eyes hot and hungry. “We’re one floor up. No-one’s going to see you except me. And I want to see everything.”
 

Just what I’m afraid of.

But to her intense relief he let her breasts slide gently from his hands, and stood.

“Shy, Sophie? I don’t believe it. You’re beautiful.”

He crossed to the window and started to draw the curtains closed. Sage-green hemp she noticed, even in her agitated state. The hot panic of possible discovery receded a little. But oh, his back! So broad and long, and with rippling ridges of dense golden muscle flexing either side of his spine...

While he was silhouetted against the sunny brightness she launched herself across the room and scraped both hands possessively from his shoulders to his waist, nails less than kind. She heard Rafe’s breathing fracture, and she added a line of flickering kisses down his back by way of shy apology for her greedy claiming. She wanted him outrageously now, her previous reticence gone like a drift of sea-fog.

“Sorry,” she whispered, lips against his skin.

The curtains moved gently in and out with the breeze from the open window. In and out as though they were breathing with the same surging excitement she was.

“You’re beautiful too, Rafe. I like how you’re hard where I’m soft. Rough where I’m smooth.”

She wrapped her arms around him. The sensitive skin of her inner arms slid silkily around his waist until she could tweak along the fine line of hair feathering down his belly.

Her hands stopped at the centre-front of his jeans and her body flooded with the same sensation as when he’d removed his belt so casually in the studio the day they’d met.

She tugged at his waistband button, caution deserting her on rapid wings. She sensed his chuckle more than heard it with her cheek pressed against his warm shoulder.
 

Right under her hands his sex stood hot and hard, barely contained by his jeans. Rafe let loose a growl of appreciation, or was it frustration?

She unzipped him, pushed a hand in, and grasped him through the soft fabric of his boxers, stroking and squeezing the long firm shaft that led down and down. She plunged a little further south and curled her fingers around the heavy handful. Something made her imagine beautiful dark-haired babies and she tried to banish that thought.

A pumped-up man was magic for sure, but this man felt pumped to the extreme. She swallowed in anticipation and pulled her hand free.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Almost past governing his raging hunger, Rafe turned and grabbed for her, hauling her close with one arm. He pushed at his jeans with his other hand; the desire to bury himself deep inside her primal and barely controllable.

Sophie responded by wrenching her own zipper undone.

“My job,” he rasped, and scooped her up in his arms. Somewhat impeded by his pants around his thighs he took several unsteady steps and tossed her onto the bed.

She twisted below him, wriggling like a sinuous fish as he pulled her jeans down below her knees.

Yes, she wore the tiny white thong he’d imagined the first day he met her! His brain sparked red for a moment at the sight of the lacy scrap. Her slippery flesh shone through the barely-there fabric.
 

She moaned, eyes huge.

Rafe bent, forced her legs apart, tweaked the elastic aside, slid his tongue over her, pushed in, sucked hard.