What the Waves Bring by Barbara Delinsky

predawn hours, that she knew their good intentions to be sadly lacking. For the craving she felt, the utter longing of her every nerve end, was mirrored in the long, hair-roughened limbs and the firmly muscled torso of the man beside her—the man whose dark eyes now followed her awakening with fierce and obvious hunger.

CHAPTER FOUR
    Why did he have to be so handsome? Why so warm and gentle? Why so charming? So capable? So devastatingly masculine? “Why couldn’t I have rescued a one-eyed eunuch with baggy pants, a bald head, and a pot belly?” she whispered in sober emotion, unaware that she’d voiced the thought until the firm-shaped lips before her moved to answer.
    â€œIs that what you would have wanted, April?” His murmur was as thick as hers had been, his eyes searing beams of desire to her core.
    Entranced, she raised her hand to touch the lean plane of his face. Tremulous fingers explored the strength of his cheekbone and the hollow beneath, stroking the rugged line of his jaw before coming to rest on the warmth of his lips. “No,” she uttered in total honesty. “No.”
    â€œThen don’t fight it, darlin’,” he whispered against her fingertips, kissing them lightly. “It was meant to be.”
    Later, his words would come back to haunt her. For now, however, she was blind to all but the screaming need within for his touch. It was as though, in the early morning darkness, reality had faded from view. Coming fresh from sleep to the headiness of Heath, April could remember nothing of her earlier fears. There was no other world save that which held them both, warm beneath shared blankets, heated by shared desire.
    His hands played along the slender stretch of her neck,
his fingers sending currents of excitement through her as they traced her ear, then slid down a shaft of silky brown hair to her shoulder. She caught her breath as his palm worked its way down her contours, skimming the side of her breast, her midriff and waist, to round her hip and stroke the flesh which the work of sleep on her nightclothes had exposed.
    He hugged her to him then, holding her fiercely against his long, lean body, his hands pressing her ever closer to his pulsing need. April felt herself adrift, floating in a mindless sea of ecstasy, her pleasure marred only by the knot of frustration that had materialized in her body, sending waves of craving through the farthest reaches of her consciousness.
    Her bared legs moved against his, electrified by the friction of his tufted man’s flesh against the smoothness of her own. With her breath suspended midchest, she held his gaze—that gaze which rained a bright light of adoration on her sleep-softened flush.
    He kissed her softly as he reached for the ties of her robe, releasing them and laying the pale blue fabric back, then sitting up beside her. Dark eyes holding hers in taut command, he slid the silken straps of her gown from her shoulders and eased the garment to her waist. At last, as he looked down on her body, he released his breath in a hoarse moan.
    â€œApril …” It was near prayerful in reverence, exciting her as much as the strong hands that seemed now to possess her, touching every inch of her, as they forced the gown over her hips and discarded it onto the floor. “Oh, darlin’ … you’re beautiful …”
    Indeed she had never felt more so, lying naked now beneath his gaze, her chestnut brown hair fanning out against the pillow, baring her shoulders to his touch. Thrilling to the joy he found in her, she bobbed in that sea of ecstasy, its inner tide growing more agitated by the
minute. Her hands were drawn inexorably to his chest, framing its broad and muscled span in wild appreciation before sliding over the leanness of his ribcage and stomach to help him rid himself of his shorts, the last material barrier between them.
    The storm whipped its hungry need about, muffling her gasp as