A Night to Surrender (Spindle Cove #1)(76)

The tone of her remark was easy, light—but he could tell there was a deeper emotion beneath it. “You can’t tell me no one ever asked.”

She didn’t tell him that.

“I never had any reason to marry,” she said. “I am my father’s only child, and there is no entail. His fortune and Summerfield will come to me, eventually. Though hopefully no time soon.”

“But security isn’t the only reason you might wish to marry. Don’t you want a husband and children? Or are you too modern for that?”

She was silent for a while. When she finally spoke, she said, “Turn around. Walk to that boulder, and then double back to this spot.”

He didn’t move, just crossed his arms over his chest. “Oh no. You can’t pull that trick with me.”

“What trick?”

“Deflecting an uncomfortable question by giving an order. It won’t work, not with me.”

“I don’t know what you mean.” She tried to sound bored.

He wasn’t fooled. “Of course you do. Because you once accused me of doing the exact same thing.” He shook his head. “I’ve never met a woman like you. You’re so much like me. It’s as though we’re two examples of some rare, exotic breed. Only I’m the male specimen, and you’re the female. Clever as you are, you must know what that means.”

“Enlighten me.”

“It means we should mate. We have a responsibility to Nature.”

Laughing, she pushed a wave of spray in his direction. “You must have learned that line from your cousin. Does it work on other women?”

“What other women?” He barely remembered that other women existed. Tonight, they were like a waterlogged rendition of Adam and Eve, and this cove was their isolated Eden. For him, she was the only woman in the world.

God, he wanted her so fiercely. She could have no idea. With every erotic splash of her lithe body undulating in the water, his imagination ran wild. He pictured the two of them, linked in all manner of strange, salty embraces. His c**k stiffened to a painful degree, jutting out in front of him despite the cold, carving his way through the water like the prow of a ship. The HMS Priapism.

“The boulder,” she reminded him. “March to the boulder and back.”

“Here’s what I’ll do. I’ll turn around, walk all the way to that boulder”—he pointed to one much farther distant, near the spindle—“and double back in under a minute’s time. But you must remain in that exact spot. And when I reach you, I want a reward for my pains.”

“Oh really? And what sort of reward would that be?”

“A kiss.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Come along.” He stood tall, shoulders and torso emerging from the water. Seawater traced cold rivulets down his chest and back. “You’ve been leading me a merry chase, weaving circles in the shingle as if we’re playing some foolish parlor game. I deserve a forfeit. A kiss.”

She shook her head. “After the other night? I know there’s no such thing as ‘just a kiss’ with you. We’re here to work on your knee.”

“Well, I’m not moving until I’m promised a kiss.”

She was silent for a moment. “Very well. A kiss. But you don’t get to kiss me. I will be the one to kiss you. Do you understand?”

Oh, he understood. He understood this little exercise of hers was about to become very interesting.

Energized with a new sense of motivation, he did just as he’d promised. He turned, covered the distance to the far boulder in large, powerful strides, and then he worked his way back to her. By the time he’d completed the circuit, his breath was a loud, painful rasp.

“Now,” he said, taking her by the waist and pulling her close. “Kiss me.”

The moon had emerged from behind a cloud, bathing her in silvery light. So beautiful. She could have been a water nymph, or a fierce, avenging angel. She framed his face in both her hands. Those elegant, yet so capable hands. He moved with her as she tugged his head down, reflexively wetting his lips in preparation.

And then she kissed him—square on the forehead. Her lips pressed to his brow and lingered, blessing him with warmth and sweetness.

“There,” she whispered, pulling away.

He stared at her, his throat working. He didn’t know whether to rage or laugh or weep. No, that kiss hadn’t been the openmouthed, passionate tangle of tongues his body craved. It had been exactly what his soul needed. He wouldn’t have known to ask for a kiss like that. The warmth of it sank straight through him, coming to rest in his heart.

She still held his face in her hands. Her thumb dabbed a salty drop from his cheek. “I know what you need, Bram.”

Sweet heaven. Perhaps she did. And what else did he need, that he couldn’t have known to put into words? He was desperate to find out. Wordlessly, he slipped away from her. Covered the distance to the boulder in strong, purposeful strides. Returned to her, splashing his way through wave and foam, to stand breathless with need and longing.

“Again.”

This time she reached for his hand. She lifted it to her face, curling his wet fingers over the curve of her cheek. Then she turned her face, nuzzling into his caress. Her breath rushed over his chilled flesh, rousing his every nerve to attention. And then she pressed a kiss to the exact center of his palm.