A Night to Surrender (Spindle Cove #1)(43)

How could he tell?

She lifted her chin. “Well, I haven’t forgotten the sound you made when I first touched your brow. It wasn’t even a moan, it was more like . . . like a whimper.”

He made a dismissive sound.

“Oh yes. A plaintive, yearning whimper. Because you want an angel. A sweet, tender virgin to hold you and stroke you and whisper precious promises and make you feel human again.”

“That’s absurd,” he scoffed. “You’re just begging to be taught a hard, fast lesson in what it means to please a man.”

“You’re just longing to put your head in my lap and feel my fingers in your hair.”

He backed her up against a rock. “You need a good ravaging.”

“You,” she breathed, “need a hug.”

They stared at each other for long, tense moments. At first, looking each other in the eye. Then looking each other in the lips.

“You know what I think?” he said, coming closer. So close she could feel his breath wash warm against her cheek. “I think we’re having one of those vexing arguments again.”

“The kind where both sides are right?”

“Hell, yes.”

And this time, when they kissed, they both made that sound. That deep, moaning, yearning, whimpering sound.

That sound that said yes.

And at last.

And you are exactly what I need.

She could feel the tension and urgency coiled in his muscles. But his kiss was patience itself. His mouth brushed hers, teasing her lips apart. Her pulse hammered as he made that first tantalizing pass with his tongue.

Oh dear. Oh dear oh dear oh dear.

There was passion, stockpiled inside her. He’d called her a powder keg, but that would be understating. She saw it all now, stretching in her mind’s eye. Vast storehouses, whole magazines. Here were crates of kisses, never shared. Casks of sweet caresses kept sealed from the rain. Row upon row of breathy moans and sighs, all carefully bottled and tightly corked.

He uncapped one now, with a clever flick of his tongue. Pressed his thumb to the hinge of her jaw, unlocking yet more desire. He kissed her slow and deep, taking time to explore.

“Bram,” she heard herself whisper. She pushed her hands through his cropped, sleek hair. “Oh, Bram.”

The further he raided, the closer he came to the other rooms. Those unused, cobwebbed chambers of her heart. Would he dare to venture there? She doubted. Jumping off a cliff was a flashy sort of courage, but a man would need true strength and valor to break through those padlocked doors. There were dark, uncharted spaces within her that had been built to house love, and even she was afraid to explore them. Terrified to learn just how vast and how achingly empty they truly were.

And her heart wasn’t the only aching, empty place. Between her legs, she was both. As they kissed, he slid his hands to her backside and lifted her, bringing her pelvis flush against his. The prominent, hot ridge of his arousal rubbed against her sex. She moaned into his kiss, a wordless plea for something more. Surely he would know how to answer.

And answer he did.

He bit down on her lip. Hard.

“Ah!” He winced away from her, completely breaking their embrace.

Susanna opened her eyes to see him clutching his head and grimacing with pain.

“What the devil . . . ?” he said.

“Take that, you brute.” Minerva Highwood moved between them, soaked to the skin and clutching a weighted pouch in her hand.

“Minerva?” Reeling from the abrupt interruption, Susanna touched a finger to her lip, testing for blood.

“Don’t worry, Miss Finch. I’m here now.”

She must have swum out from the cave and . . . and seen them. Oh God.

“I’m fine, truly.” Susanna’s gaze snapped to the pouch dangling from Minerva’s wrist. It looked like a reticule, fashioned from oilcloth. “What’s in that?”

“Rocks. What else?”

Rocks. Good Lord. Susanna looked to Bram with fresh concern. The man had just taken a cudgel to the head. It was a wonder he hadn’t fallen unconscious. She started toward him, but Minerva gave a little shriek and backed up, throwing her body in front of Susanna’s.

“Brace yourself. Here he comes again, the . . . the rutting Zeus.”

Bram was clearly still dazed, rubbing his head with one hand. With a growl of pain and a sudden, lurching motion, he stood tall—rising head, shoulders, and exquisitely chiseled torso out of the water. Water droplets sprayed everywhere, catching the sunlight and flashing like tiny sparks.

Rutting Zeus, indeed. He did rather look like a linen-draped Greek god, dripping with potency and a divine air of possession. The sight took Susanna’s breath away. She briefly wondered if she’d been hit over the head with a sackful of rocks. He was beautiful. Dazzling in his masculine perfection.

“Don’t worry.” Minerva scrambled onto a nearby boulder, readying her stone-packed reticule. “I’ll save you, Miss Finch.”

Susanna reached for her. “Minerva, no! There’s no need. He wasn’t—”

Splash.

Thirteen

Bram came to consciousness slowly, floating into awareness on a gentle, soothing wave. The world was dark, but he was warm all over. Delicious sensation lapped at his wounded leg, stroking away all the pain and soreness with a light, rhythmic touch.