“You need to relax, Angie.”
She opened her eyes and lifted her head, realizing he was staring up at her from his position at her breasts.
“I am relaxed.”
“No, you’re not,” he said with a smart-ass grin. “What’s wrong? Used to being on top?”
Damn, the man was irritating. “As a matter of fact, yes.”
“Too bad.” He dragged her wrists with him as he crawled down her body, kissing her belly button along the way. Every single touch of his lips to her skin was a blasted heat furnace. Despite her discomfort at his determination to engage in some serious foreplay when all she wanted was fucking, she couldn’t help but stare down at him when he kissed her inner thigh.
“I know why you’re wound so tight,” he said, his gaze meeting hers as he applied a torturous, long, slow lick to the spot where her thigh joined her sex. “You need to come.”
He had no idea how much. But not this way. Not in the way that left her so out of control. Didn’t he realize she never let men take over like this? Didn’t he unders-
Her thought process was lost when his mouth covered her sex. Wet and hot were the only words that came to mind as an explosion rocketed her. She melted against him as she released over and over again, almost embarrassingly, but couldn’t stop the waves of climax that took over and wouldn’t stop. It had been so long and she was so primed, she hadn’t known she was so ready to fly right over the top. And he was a damned expert at knowing just where her trigger points were. How could he do this to her? How could he know her so well?
He let go of her wrists and climbed up her body, pressing his lips to hers, devouring her mouth in a long, drugging kiss that soon had her raging hot again.
She dragged her fingers through his hair, tugging it with an angry fierceness that had more to do with her exasperation at his prowess over her body than any passion she might feel.
And he knew it, too, because he half growled, half laughed against her lips, as if he knew exactly why she was so mad.
Damn man. He might have given her a Fourth of July fireworks orgasm once, but she wasn’t going to allow him to do that to her again.
He nudged her legs farther apart with his knee and pushed inside her, scooping one hand under her butt to lift her against him.
A tight fit, her body pulsed around him in appreciation, once again betraying her as it began to contract when he slid in and out with such a perfect rhythm it brought tears to her eyes.
She sighed, surrendered the fight, and gave up on her frustration, instead enjoying the supreme pleasure this amazing man gave her. She relaxed and moved into his embrace, kissing him back with full abandon and no sense of anger, throwing her whole body and mind into the experience. He rolled them to the side and lifted her leg so he could thrust deeper, rocking against her slow and easy.
In this position they were face-to-face, eye to eye, and it was so unbearably intimate. She caressed his beardstubbled cheek, rubbed his bottom lip with her fingertip until he took it in his mouth and sucked on it. The sensation made her clench around him and he stilled.
“Damn” was all he said, then all pretense of gentle movements was finished. He gripped her buttocks in a tight hold and began to pump furiously inside her.
She loved this wild side of him and held on, going with him on such an intense ride that when she flew to climax this time, she wasn’t at all surprised, nor annoyed. And he went with her, groaning and taking her mouth with a hungry kiss that left them both panting in its wake.
Satiated and exhausted, she laid her head against his chest while he rubbed her back, and it wasn’t long before she felt her eyelids grow heavy. With Ryder still inside her, she smiled, not able to recall when she’d been more content. Or when she’d felt more protected and cared for.
She let her eyes close and drifted off to sleep.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Dalton couldn’t help but grin at Isabelle. She was so happy after today’s find one would think she had just raised the Titanic, when all she’d discovered was a broken piece of stone pottery. To her, though, it was one hell of a treasure.
They’d spent the better part of the afternoon on this dive, and the pottery was all they’d manage to bring up.
At least she was easy to please. She stood on the deck grinning from ear to ear as she examined the piece from all sides.
They’d climbed back aboard the yacht to shower and change. Dimitri had dinner and drinks ready for them on deck. Isabelle set the pottery on the table as they ate.
“So, have you found Atlantis?” he asked as they finished up dinner.
She gazed at the pottery, then at Dalton, her eyes bright with enthusiasm. “I don’t know. I’ll have to have it authenticated, and then there’ll be the disbelievers of course, but I think we’re close.” She didn’t even try to hold back her grin. Her cheeks were flushed as she breathed in deeply and exhaled.
“It seems such a small piece. Not too much to get excited about.”
She arched a brow. “Are you trying to burst my bubble?”
“Maybe just an attempt to keep you grounded. I don’t want you disappointed.”
“Awww, does that mean you care?”
He laughed. “I’m merely protecting my investment.”
She leaned back in the chair and raised her glass. “Which investment, Dalton? Me or the dive?”
“You, of course. You’re the biggest asset on this expedition. You’re the specialist. Without you, all of this fails.”
She stared, blinked, her lips parting as if she was surprised by his words. “Thank you. I wasn’t fishing for compliments, but that was nice. I don’t often get to feel special.”
He leaned forward, grasped a tendril of her hair. “You should be made to feel special all the time. I’m surprised you aren’t often showered with praise and attention.”
That garnered a snort.
“What?” he asked.
“Nothing.” She pulled away from him and stared down at her goblet.
“You don’t think you’re worthy of having attention lavished on you?”
“Let’s not go there.”
Was she playing a game, or did she have issues? He wanted to press this. “Oh, let’s do go there. I think you’re beautiful, Isabelle. And a skilled archaeologist. Driven and a hard worker.”
Her gaze lifted, her eyes liquid pools of emerald. “Now you’re making me blush. And I never blush. Stop it.”
He liked the heightened color in her cheeks. It brought out a sense of inexperience in her he found incredibly appealing. He’d like to think he was a pretty good judge of people, knew when they were playing him and when there were honest emotions involved. She was having a hard time taking this praise, almost as if she didn’t believe it of herself. This person across from him exuded warmth and innocence. And yet at other times she was supremely confident, driven, to the point of being cold and ruthless.
There really were two sides to Isabelle Deveraux.