Reel Trouble: Wild Women of Alaska by Tiffinie Helmer Page A

fisherman’s body. Impressive. No gym for him. His muscles were carved from intense work. A light covering of downy chest hair trailed into a narrow line that pointed south. She wanted to see where that ended.
    He sat on the edge of the bed, pulling her to stand between his spread thighs. Burying his face in her cleavage, he groaned, his lips lightly kissing the exposed mounds of her breasts. His fingers deftly flicked open the rest of the buttons, and he pushed the shirt off her shoulders where it fluttered to the floor. Bracketing his hands on the sides of her ribs, he trailed kisses over her collarbone, through the valley of her breasts, and down her abdomen. Her breath completely escaped her as her head spun. She had to grab onto him in order to stay on her feet.
    Her heart squeezed, aching as if it was involved. But how could it be? She hadn’t known Treat that long. This was just one night. Maybe not a one-night stand, but she didn’t see this lasting past a few enjoyable encounters. Don’t think of tomorrow. Treat wasn’t made for tomorrows. He could sail away on the morning’s outgoing tide. J ust enjoy tonight. Tomorrow can wait.
    Her knees shook and she wanted to sink into him. “Please,” she whispered.
    “Please what, Deputy Chief Brogan?” His voice washed over her with its deep, dusky baritone.
    She quivered. He’d promised he’d call her that in bed, and it shouldn’t turn her on even more. But it did. “I want you.”
    “Where, Seana? Where do you want me?”
    “Inside. Please, now. No more foreplay. I won’t last.”
    “We have all night. There is no need to rush.”
    She begged to differ. “I need…”
    “What do you need? Tell me.”
    “You. Hard, rough. Like your hands. Oh God, please touch me with those hands.”
    He unhooked her bra and dragged the straps down, leaving her bare except for her underwear. Her breath caught as he covered her breasts with his calloused hands, weighing them in his palms before stroking the pads of his thumbs over her nipples, flicking and twirling them between his forefingers and thumbs into tighter, harder pinpoints. When he took one into his hot mouth, her head fell back on a moan. She held onto him as her world turned into nothing but sound and sensation. The visceral graze of his hands as they toured up and down her back, while his tongue did incredible things to her nipples, had every nerve-ending shivering in response.
    Those calloused and scarred hands had seen so much, worked so hard, fought and struggled to make a living against Mother Nature and her contrary attitude, and now they worshiped her. It was sensation so sharp that it bordered on pain and she reveled in the scrape of each calloused stroke.
    Who knew she liked a bit of torment with her pleasure?
    His hands cupped her behind, kneaded and molded the flesh. Wet heat flooded her and she feverishly arched into him, trying to get closer to him to ease this vicious craving inside. But she couldn’t get close enough with him sitting on the edge of the bed. Her fingers journeyed down his chest and reached for his erection, finding him hot and hard and thrusting against the fly of his jeans.
    He cursed in a strained tone and lurched to his feet, holding her away from him. “Not yet.” Then he picked her up and tossed her onto the bed. She squealed and bounced once. There was no time to react to the sudden movement before he prowled over her. Breathing hard, he hooked his fingers in the waistband of her underwear and tugged it down her thighs, flinging the fabric to land wherever it may.
    His greedy eyes took in her body spread on the bedcovers waiting for him, yearning for him. “God, you’re so beautiful and… blond? ” He stared at the apex of her thighs where her blond curls showed golden in the dim lighting. “You dye your hair?”
    Ah, crap. For a fleeting moment she wanted to cover herself, but twisted her fingers in the bedcovers instead. “Blond is my natural hair