What the Waves Bring by Barbara Delinsky Page A

he lowered his body over hers. “I need you, Heath!” she cried in torment, her warmth craving his fulfillment with agonized greed. Even in frenzy, she sensed every line of his manhood as it fit in primeval perfection to her pliant femininity.
    He silenced her moan with his lips, possessing her mouth in anticipation of that deeper possession both sought. Yet, tempering the arousal she knew he felt, he held off, bent on heightening her pitch with sweet, sweet torture in a maelstrom of hands and fingers, lips and tongue. She could only strain against him, arching her back as he explored her body, finding her most secret spots and making them his. Her fingers touched him in poignant urging, yet he waited, waited for the moment.
    Lost at sea, she abandoned herself to the tempest of desire he stirred. She was his victim, at his mercy, dependent on him, only him, for salvation, for fulfillment. When finally the moment of union came, she cried aloud at its incredible beauty, clutching frantically at the rippling muscles of his damp back as, amid soft words of love and fire, he set the tempo and carried her with him to a far distant, rapturous shore and back, finally setting her down, spent and satisfied, by his side. For long moments, they clung to the closeness in panting unison. Legs intertwined with his, April rested her head in the crook of his shoulder, her palm monitoring the slow-easing race of his heartbeat.
    His breath was warm and raspy against the damp tendrils of hair on her brow. “Is it always like that?” he asked in a tone deep and husky.

    â€œIt’s never been like that before.” She spoke her own, thudding heart’s declaration, stretching the soft, ivory flesh of her body more comfortably against his manly firmness.
    He tightened his arms about her for an instant. “I’m glad, April …”
    For that brief moment, in the aftermath of mutual desire and shared fulfillment, the haze of passion held her on its secluded shore, safe from the reality that lurked beyond the dunes. April had never, in her life, felt as content, as whole. She was a woman beside this man, had given to him the same delight she’d received; the satisfaction was soul-reaching.
    Then with unexpected and unwelcome intrusion, reality was upon her. With the restoration of electrical power, the lamp by the bed came suddenly aglow, its bright yellow glare illuminating her nakedness and that of her tall and rugged lover. Awareness returned with a vengeful rush.
    It took dismaying moments for her to will movement to her passion-spent limbs. At last she rolled onto her side, away from Heath, moaning in disillusionment at what her mind was beginning to assimilate.
    â€œThat shouldn’t have happened!” she cried in soft self-reproach.
    He argued gently, balanced on his elbow just behind her curled form. “It was inevitable. And very beautiful. You can’t deny that.”
    With a force that startled them both, she whipped around, drawing the sheet over her as cover. Her eyes pierced his dark depths with the intensity of her conscience. “Have I just become an adulteress, Heath? Can you tell me that?”
    â€œYou know I can’t,” he replied calmly. “But in this society isn’t one assumed innocent until proven guilty?”
    Her voice held uncharacteristic bitterness. “Ah, a lawyer,
now. Or, better still, the judge. Is that it? Am I getting warmer?”
    Warning lights flashed in the darkness of his eyes. “That’s enough, April.”
    â€œNo,” she persisted, her brown eyes grown suddenly liquid, “it isn’t! I can’t stop, Heath! I can’t stop wondering and questioning and agonizing and fearing—”
    â€œApril …” His voice was a low growl, his features taut.
    For a moment, she held her breath, mesmerized by the casual fall of the swath of vibrant black hair on his forehead, the comb marks of her own fingers above