“There must be something else you’re afraid of besides mice,” she said frantically.
He considered exactly how delicious it would be to make love to her in the pool, and then banished the fantasy before it went too far. “Sure. My dad’s temper. I figure I’ll still be afraid of it when I’m a hundred and three.”
Greer’s eyes worriedly studied his. “He wasn’t…mean to you as a kid?”
“Mean, no. Mad a lot, certainly. I was a rambunctious kid. But my father’s reprimands were all noise; he wouldn’t hurt a flea. Of course, I didn’t know that when I was young. I’d hear that roaring voice and shake in my boots. The last time I heard it, he was ticked at something he’d done wrong-and I still shook in my shoes. I was six inches taller than he was, but I still shook in my shoes.”
She chuckled. “I’d like to see you shake just once,” she said suspiciously, finding it hard to believe that a roaring father or a harmless mouse could upset this particular man’s equilibrium.
“Can do,” he murmured, and she stopped smiling. His hands loosened their hold on her bottom and her body was suddenly free, free to slide down the length of his. His mouth had gently dropped on hers before she realized they were in deep water, that his feet could touch bottom but hers couldn’t.
Ryan had no intention of letting her drown. Not in water. In a slow, languid motion he crushed her mouth, felt her lips part beneath his, and gently, coaxingly touched tongues with her. If there had been an audience of millions, he wouldn’t have much cared.
Above the water, Greer could hear laughter, from a thousand miles away. And the sound of children cavorting in the babies’ wading pool. And a roaring in her ears that might have been the distant ocean. Ryan’s kisses were gentle, coaxing, layered one after the other until her lips felt swollen and overwarm and trembling. But that was above the water.
Below, she could feel the hardness of him pressed against her. His hands possessive on her hips and thighs. The heat of his body, an honest primal heat that he made no effort to hide from her.
He wouldn’t hide. And Greer had never thought of herself as hiding from emotions; she was simply an expert at controlling them, at taming those rare unruly feelings that had no place in her life. All five senses seemed to be working against her today. Her heart refused to listen to her head. Her arms tightened around Ryan’s neck, and her hips rubbed against his. She broke off from his kiss to bury her lips in his throat, and she clung to him, feeling the hot sun beating down, hearing his ragged breath.
She loved this man. She loved the way he made her laugh, she loved the way he protected her, and she even loved the way he challenged her. In a minute, she was going to feel frightened about the consequences of that love, but not yet.
“Greer?”
She kept her eyes closed, buried in the crook of his shoulder. “Unwise to start something like that in the middle of a crowded pool,” she mentioned.
She heard the breath escape his lungs. “I want to make love with you.”
“Yes.”
“I’ve wanted to make love with you from the day I met you.”
“Yes.”
“But I’m not going to push you,” he whispered.
“Yes, you are,” she murmured. “Or I wouldn’t be getting this feeling that you don’t give a hoot in hell that a dozen people are watching us.”
“I don’t.”
“I know that.”
“Greer. Stop inviting.” His hands clamped around on her slowly moving hips, to stop their seductive nudging against him.
“Why?”
“Because I need to be sure you really want this as much as I do.”
“Do I actually have to scream yes in front of all these people?” she teased softly. She felt his eyes searching hers. All she did was look back at him, but the next moment they were leaving the pool so fast she was breathless.
Chapter Eight
Ryan automatically locked the door behind them. His eyes skimmed the corner motel room, noting water-blue carpet and furnishings, the small balcony where draperies stirred restlessly from the ocean breeze, the king-sized bed. He saw, yet paid little attention.
His eyes weren’t about to leave Greer for very long.
She’d parted the drapes and flung open the glass doors of the balcony the minute she stepped into the room. Their silence was immediately broken by the distant crash of surf, the faint scream of a gull on the beach.
They hadn’t spoken during the short time it had taken Ryan to check in or during the climb to their second-floor room. He hadn’t said anything because he couldn’t. Right or not, fair or not, he hadn’t wanted to give her a chance to change her mind. Knowing that grated against his conscience, but nothing could stop the pulse, the beat, the flow of desire he felt for her.
She turned from the balcony, her bare feet making no sound on the carpet as she stepped back into the room. Lashes shuttered her eyes, those beautiful, vulnerable, soft brown eyes…
Her hair had dried in soft wisps, and her face was in partial shadow, half as fragile as cream, half shaded a muted gold. The room had that dusty stillness of late afternoon. The feeling of life focused around Greer, the texture, look, scent of her.
She raised her eyes to his, and he heard the tiny sound of her breath catching. Her eyelids closed, then opened. Slowly, she reached behind her neck to undo the straps of her halter top. Ryan didn’t breathe. The straps fell forward, revealing the smoothness of her neck and throat and a hint of swelling white flesh. She reached behind her again. The room was so silent he could hear the sound of her unlatching the clip at the back. The top fell, for a moment trailed in her hand and then slipped to the floor.
Though her skin had long been sun-dried, the suit had still been slightly damp. Her nipples were tiny, puckered, chilled. Her breasts were virgin-white next to her tan, all smooth, firm flesh, impossibly soft. She stood tall, just slightly shivering, looking at him. He still couldn’t move. He’d dreamed of her exactly like this, not just the nakedness but the beauty of her, the pride and softness, her sensuality, her vulnerability.
“Ryan-”
“Come here,” he murmured, but he was the one to take the four steps to her. Taking her had been the only thing in his head moments before. That fierce primal desire hadn’t diminished, but it had gentled. Now he reached out not to claim but to reverently touch, and not her body but her face.
The pads of his thumbs brushed along her cheekbones; his fingers whispered into her hair; he smoothed her eyebrows, traced the line of her chin. Her bare breasts were less than an inch from his chest; he didn’t move that inch. He wanted all of her. But slowly. He didn’t want to miss…anything.
Brown eyes met his. “Ryan? What’s wrong?” she whispered.
“Nothing. Nothing at all, love.” Did he look too grave? He smiled for her.
“There was, though. You were upset while you were checking in.”
“A little.”
“More than a little.” The very smallest smile curled her lips. He hadn’t realized until that instant that her smile had been missing. “You were about to belt the desk clerk when she looked around for our luggage. And you looked even more irritated when you signed in.”
He drew in a breath, admitting quietly, “I hate motel rooms. And especially…for you. The woman said nothing. But if she’d even looked at you sideways-”
“You were afraid it bothered me, checking into a motel for the express purpose of making love?” She tilted her head, as if determined to see the hidden emotion in his eyes. “I think it’s rather exciting, actually. Deliciously illicit. Wanton. All that stuff.”
“All that stuff,” he echoed faintly, and teasingly shook his head at her. She had the look of an innocent virgin testing out those words for the first time, but that wasn’t what moved him. It was Greer, worrying about his feelings more than her own. “Go ahead,” he whispered. “Tell me the place doesn’t matter.”