Heather Graham Bundle: The Island / Ghost Walk / Killing Kelly / The Vision

“One might.”

He shook his head. His lips touched down again. For a moment they teased a mere breath above her own. Then the kiss deepened, and their limbs entwined as their bodies met and melded. The naked length of his chest seemed glorious, the sound of his breathing filled her senses, along with the thrum of their hearts. His flesh felt like the sun and the sea, smooth, slick, hot. He moved erotically against her, her breasts crushed to him.

She clung to him, splaying her fingers down his back, along his spine, down to the waistband of his trunks, around in front to the ties. Her fingers weren’t as adept as his, not quite as experienced. His hands covered hers, though he never broke the kiss. She was dimly aware when the trunks were gone, acutely aware when the naked length of his body pressed against hers. She felt his fingers slipping beneath the bikini bottom as he effortlessly did away with the last barrier between them, which in itself seemed an exotic ecstasy. She was pressed close to him again, and his fingers seduced a path down her spine, curved over her buttocks, brought her flush against his arousal. His lips continued to caress and assail. Then he moved, sleek, agile, shifting atop her, lips pressing against the hollows of her collarbone, teasing her breasts. His hand glided down the curve of her form, pressed apart her thighs. She felt the stroke of his touch first, and then the taunt of his tongue; felt as if she burned within, caught in a sudden, swift maelstrom of fire. Pure sensual ecstasy exalted her even as the rage of intimacy dismayed her, though for only a split second in the rush of sensation.

He was an incredible lover.

Subtle and bold. Teeth, tongue, lips, touch, all meshed in a passionate dance of sensuality that left her breathless, thundering, quivering somewhere between total vibrant ecstasy and simple delicious death. She arched, writhed, thrashed, cried out God-knew-what.…

Trembled, throbbed…begged.

Involved.

Good Lord, yes, she was involved, any more involved and she would be living in his skin. She had sworn to herself that she had sense and reason and knew what she was doing, but this was…

Involved.

She was more involved than she had ever been. More touched, elated, electrified, swept away, taken…

She tore at his hair, dragged him to her, and before she could even meet his lips again with her own, she shuddered with a new sense of sheer carnal elation as the force of his body thrust into hers.

The ship rocked.

God, the man knew how to coerce with the slowest, gentlest movements, and then to thunder and pulse with the force of a wicked gale in the North Sea. She knew there were moments when she literally forgot everything except the burning need to be with him, one with him, feeling the shudder and quiver, strength and power, the slick wet heat, the movement, the hunger….

She must have shrieked, screamed…loud enough to wake the dead and half the ocean. She knew he must have felt the burst of the climax that violently seized her, so euphoric she thought she knew at last what they meant by a thousand little deaths.

Surely he felt, he knew…

And waited, his own climax erupting seconds later—or hours, she wasn’t at all sure, she lay in such a damp bath of steam that she wasn’t sure she was breathing, or that her heart continued to beat at all anymore.

She had thought she could just walk away. Congratulate herself on a mature affair. On allowing herself adult pleasure, denying the complications of real emotion.

But nothing came without a price, and she knew that. She’d told herself not to get involved…

Too late. This was involved.

Easing to her side, he held her, smoothed back her hair. She wondered desperately what their pillow talk would be after such a sudden and volatile interlude. When he rolled her to face him, his eyes were dark and intense, and the slightest smile curved his lips. Again he touched her hair, and she had to wonder what he was seeing in her eyes, how much he could read from her face.

God help her, she didn’t know what to say or how to act. She was afraid she would start stuttering, try to explain that she never did things like this, that he’d been unique somehow, and that he’d been more than she had ever begun to imagine.

But there was no chance for awkward words, no reason to promise that of course they would see each other again.

Beth’s eyes flew open as she heard the sound of a dinghy approaching, the sound of chatter and laughter.

The girls!

His eyes widened and his brows arched as he heard them at the same time.

“Dear God,” she swore, flying up even as she spoke, stunned, horrified.

Feeling like an idiot. Anyone could have come aboard at any time. What in God’s name had she been thinking? She hadn’t been thinking. She’d been reacting, and feeling….

She hadn’t wanted to get out of pillow talk this badly!

“Hey!” He was up, too, and reaching for his trunks in the blink of an eye. She looked in panic at the condition of the bed, and wondered about the state of her hair at the same time.

“Got it,” he assured her, tossing over a brush from the nightstand and reaching for the sheets. She tripped back into her bathing suit, fingers shaking so hard she couldn’t get the bra top fastened.

“Don’t panic, you’re a grown-up, you know,” he said calmly, fixing it for her.

“That’s my niece!” she exclaimed, running the brush viciously through her hair. “And her friend, and they’re at a horribly impressionable age. I’m supposed to be a role model. You don’t understand. Her mother is dead—”

“Don’t panic,” he repeated softly. “I do understand, and we’re fine. Get topside. I’ll finish making the bed.”

She sped out of the cabin. There was a boating magazine lying in a wire rack by the table. She nearly ripped it apart in her haste to grab it. Then she sat on the sofa, her heart racing painfully again.

The girls—and whoever had come with them—were just coming aboard.

She stretched out and crossed her ankles, trying to look casual and comfortable. Then she decided she looked too casual and comfortable, and uncrossed them.

She crossed them again, smiling, as Amber made her way down to the cabin. “This is too cool. Way, way too cool,” she said.

“Ohmygod,” Kim breathed, coming down behind her.

“Like a floating hotel suite, huh?” she said, trying to sound cheerful and welcoming. She decided she was loud and fake, but apparently she sounded all right to everyone else.

Amber turned to her with wide eyes. “Like a floating palace.”

“Not that lush,” Ben protested, coming down behind the girls. He looked at his sister and grinned—apparently oblivious, she noticed gratefully. But then, he probably thought he knew her. Just as she had thought she knew herself.

Keith came striding breezily out from the stateroom. “Hey, kids. Want a tour? Or would you rather roam around on your own?” he asked.

Amber didn’t get to answer. “Would you look at the kitchen!” Kim exclaimed.

“Galley,” Amber corrected.

Kimberly laughed, running her hand over the counter and staring at the appliances. “No way. This is a full kitchen,” she protested.

“Seriously, it’s not a salon, either, it’s a living room,” Amber agreed, looking at Keith.

“You can go around the world in her, can’t you?” Kim asked.

“You could.”

“Have you ever?” she asked.

“No. But she does offer all the comforts of home,” he said. “Speaking of which, would you like something to eat? Drink? You want a smoothie?”