A single tear slid down her cheek. Miranda’s fingertips caressed his jaw; she couldn’t believe he trusted her enough to expose his darkest secret. Silently, she thanked heaven she had kept her mouth shut about her suspicion that Marcas and Mac were one person. And that his own uncle lied to her, but then she knew he didn’t want her to know who Mac was, and that was the reason behind his lies.
“Oh, Mac.” She leaned her head closer and captured his lips, devouring him with a passionate kiss. An involuntary tremor ran through his body as he lay back and she moved on top of him. His large, strong hands cupped her behind in a gentle squeeze that sent shivers down her spine; his fingers slipped under her short, white nightgown and drew it higher, exposing more of her thighs to his soft but firm touch. Stretching her legs along his body, she explored his mouth with a hungry kiss, plunging her tongue between his lips. He found her tongue and suckled on it gently.
With one hand, Miranda reached for his mask. Mac‘s head jerked and he tore his mouth from her devouring kisses. He held her hand firmly.
“No,” he whispered.
“Please, let me see all of you,” she whispered back.
“It’ll scare you. I look like an ogre.”
“You are beautiful; you won’t scare me, I promise.”
“I was burned, my left arm, half of my back and…”
“It’s okay, Mac. Let me feel and see all of you,” Miranda pleaded.
He paused and held back, then slowly freed her hand. She sat on top of him and released one button of his shirt at a time, exposing a wide, muscled chest; she slid his shirt off and let it fall onto the mattress. Miranda looked at his arm and caressed along the scorched skin, the scarring hard under her touch. Then she turned again toward his mask and reached for it, skimming her fingertips along the edge. His body went taut, and again he caught her wrist. She thought he was about to stop her, but realized a moment later he was helping her remove it.
She took the mask off, exposing the burned, reddish skin on the left side of his face. It wasn’t as bad as she imagined. It was as if fire had licked half of his cheek, reaching the back of his neck. She caressed his burns with the back of her knuckles, and he winced. His eyes searched for any reaction in hers. He probably expected disgust, but she made sure he saw only her true feelings, her enflamed desire, and the truth of what she promised.
Miranda leaned closer. Her lips kissed his burned cheek without hesitation, the roughened skin under her lips.
Mac flinched at her slow, intense kisses. His heart raced faster and faster, his chest heaving under her as she gently kissed every burned spot on his face and arm.
“Oh, Miranda, what are you doing to me?” he said, his voice harsh.
She clutched the hard muscles of his arms and her body moved against his. She slithered, writhed, and stroked him until he moaned with blazing pleasure under her hungry lips. His flesh hardened under her, straining against the confines of his trousers.
Mac tore his mouth from hers and pushed her on the mattress. “Oh God, I want you,” he said, his voice quivering. He pulled her nightgown up over her head. His gaze lingered on her full, naked body, scorching her as he took in each exposed part. Heat rose on her cheeks. His hand slid in slow motion from her breasts along her tummy, then trailing his fingers along her legs.
“You are beautiful,” he breathed.
Miranda shuddered, not from the cool breeze, but from his hot touch. His fingers made her body tingle.
Mac unbuttoned his jeans and kicked them off. She watched his long, muscled legs. His member sprang free. He was beautiful and strong.
Miranda’s eyes widened as her core ached with anticipation at the sight of him. He was huge.
Mac smiled devilishly. “I’ll be gentle.”
She had no doubt he would be. He settled between her legs and used his own to widen the spread of her thighs. Joyful waves vibrated through her; she was drunk with the anticipation of his body engulfing hers.
His hand slid on her breasts, down her belly and into her lower lips. As he reached between her legs, she gasped at the electricity that rippled through her. Against her will, her eyes drifted shut and her head arched in sheer bliss at his touch. He spread her lower lips and found the sensitive bud where all her pleasures were centered. He stroked her with gentle, warm fingers. She arched and pushed against the most teasing fingers she had ever experienced. He was so sensitive, his touch strong yet tender.
Caught between his teasing, tickling fingers, Miranda tried to control her body, which swayed in longing of the pleasure that awaited her. She knew he was watching her, his eyes drinking from her pleasure.
Miranda sobbed his name. Her body was helplessly pinned beneath his; his strong arms and the breeze against her heated flesh drew shivers of delight from her body.
He stretched her thighs wider and held them apart with both hands, trapping her. As he leaned down, his long hair brushed her skin. His tongue lingered on her labia until she thought it would kill her. She took a huge gulp of air.
With one hand, he parted her lips and aimed for her sensitive bud, as eager for a tease as the rest of her body. Her whole being waited to sizzle in ecstasy. The tip of his tongue circled, barely touching that small part of her, and she moaned as her head turned from side to side. “Oh, hell…” she said, and arched her hips for more, but he held her tight to keep her from releasing too soon.
“Patience,” he whispered in an erotic tone.
“You’re killing me with your tease,” she said. “Please, Mac. I want you.” She hoped her plea would make him hurry; she needed to feel his hard length slide into her warm, wet depths.
He didn’t oblige. He continued licking, then suckled on her bud and plunged his tongue inside her. Her mind shut down, along with her will and any common sense. All of them fell subject to the beating of her heart and the sheer wanton desires trampling through her unruly body. Her breath shuddered, quivered. His wet tongue was as cool as the breeze that licked at her body. Her heart leaped in her chest, like a trapped bird in a glass box.
He drew himself up and devoured one of her breasts in his mouth, taunting her nipple in small, teasing bites. His wet, hot mouth added to the steam of her body. With one hand, he cupped the other breast and gently squeezed her nipple with his fingers. The resulting whirlwind of sensation made her close her eyes and sigh. She never experienced such pleasure before. She remembered her ex’s taunts of her being frigid, but just for a split second before Mac pulled her back into the maelstrom of lust. Skin to skin, his hand intimate with her flesh, she wanted more, needed to feel more, to have him more.
She never guessed her body possessed such an astonishing capacity for enjoyment or that a man could discover the secret to pleasing her with unerring ease. This man knew how to fire her up with pleasures beyond her understanding.
“Mac,” she murmured, not even knowing what she wanted to say.
“Yes.” His voice sounded hoarse and far away. “I can’t get enough of you. You are so sweet.”
She rubbed her flesh against his thigh. His big hands continued caressing her back, her breast, every inch of her, adding to the heated desire building up in her core. “Please,” she said, “I want…”
Before she could say another word, he settled his hard, warm member and glided it into her. He froze midway and gasped. “Move with me.”
She tipped her hips to accommodate him. He thrust deep, in one smooth motion, filling her, only to pause for a few seconds so he could feel her. He stretched, filled her. As her insides contracted, her warm wetness drenched his hard member, and it drew a long groan out of him. His muscles became taut as a wire. He thrust again, and again his rhythm quickened. Their hearts were pounding; the mingling beats raced. “Oh, sweet, tight,” he growled.
“Harder,” she screamed, touching his chest and digging her nails into the muscles.
Holding her tight, he squeezed her behind, pulling her hips closer and thrusting more deeply inside her until she could feel him reaching the end of her channel, enfolding her whole body against his. In short, sharp gasps, their bodies shuddered in luscious release.
“Oh yes…yes!” She screamed her release as he growled his.
He lay on her, half his weight supported on his elbow, and exhaled. His body close to hers, he kissed her forehead.
* * * *
They lay beside each other, Mac holding her in his arms. Trees danced as the air around them became suffused with their own pleasure. An hour passed, and Mac was still awake. Miranda’s soft breathing revealed her deep sleep. Mac covered her with the blanket and carried her in his arms to her room. She murmured a few unclear words and draped her hands around his neck. As he reached her room, he carried her to her bed and eased her into it. Her eyelashes fluttered open.
“Don’t leave,” she whispered.
“I won’t.”
He slid under the warm covers, and hugged her close to his body.
Darkness enveloped the room, and Mac lay awake, watching the shadows dance. He replaced the mask on his face and his hand lingered for a second, touching it. He scowled at the ceiling as he replayed every minute of the night. The echo of Miranda’s gasps and luscious cries of pleasure remained in Mac’s mind long after their intimacy. A sense of urgency to dive into her again clawed at him.
He remembered his lack of response to the comely prostitute who fondled his bare chest, displaying half of her breast. He had felt nothing, nothing. He’d had to concentrate all his manly power to get that erect with the prostitutes. But with Miranda, one touch, one kiss, did it all. He shot hard as stone just remembering her soft, plump breast beneath his palms.
He had wanted to taste her to get rid of that possessive feeling, hoping to convince himself that she had no control over him—that she was just another woman. But taking her tonight had been…mind-boggling. Just touching her trembling body…
She had seen his face, his body, all the ugly scars. The sweet desire she showed was overwhelming and completely unexpected. He had believed no woman would look twice at his burned face, or if they did, would run miles away.
What if he never experienced that fierce passion again…without her?
Twenty years had passed since the fire so horribly damaged his face and body. As he’d predicted, the only way he was able to sleep with women was to hire them, and he’d done so for the last ten years. Yet there were only so many times a man could tolerate looking down at a woman he was using and seeing her thinly veiled revulsion, especially after he’d paid for her services.
One unsatisfying release after another had taken their toll, and eventually his body couldn’t seem to be bothered to desire, to ache, any longer. He hadn’t even missed the sexual intimacy.
Until now…
How was he going to convince Miranda of the danger of publishing her book, the danger to both of them?
The secret of his past haunted his present and endangered their future. Mac was aware his true identity would be revealed, and his privacy blown to bits at the moment the book came out. His deception would add fuel to the villager’s hatred.
On top of that, he was still disturbed about his vision, about Miranda believing he was willing to kill her. If that happened, it would destroy him. He rubbed his eyes, his head pounding with gloomy thoughts.
He no longer wished to hurt the villagers; he actually never intended to carry out his uncle’s plan. His uncle would fight him and try to accomplish his goal. His uncle’s excuse was that the doctor and some villagers had helped drive Mac’s father insane, and that was why he had burned his own family.
Ah, I don’t know what to think any more.
All he wanted was to live in peace on this island with Miranda, maybe have a family one day, with children to fill their life. He gazed at Miranda’s angelic, sleeping face beside him. He sighed. She would love to have a family, wouldn’t she?
I must convince her to write something else. There are plenty of subjects she could find.
But he knew her well; she was stubborn and strong-minded. She would ask for an explanation of why he resisted the publishing of the book.
He gazed at her face again and grinned.
She would be one tough cookie. How could he make a woman who was so strongly devoted to her book love him enough to give it up? Love led the way to redemption. Perhaps his love would convince Miranda to trust him.
Mac stared down at Miranda’s perfect features, which were bathed in the soft glow of the moon coming from her window. Framed by her hair, her face was delicately sculpted and heart-shaped. His groin tightened. This was a woman who would heat any man’s blood.
Surrendering to the urge, he lightly grasped a handful of the fire-red curls spread over the pillow. She moaned at his touch. As he rubbed his thumb over the silky hair, he pondered the mysterious appeal of holding a woman in her sleep. He’d heard that some men liked it. He remembered Thomas, his guard, talking once about his fiancée, Karla. Thomas had said, with that moonstruck look on his face: “When I held her in my arms…I knew right there and then that she was mine, and I’m her protector.”
Mac eased his hand out to feel the enticing warmth of Miranda’s body. Willing her not to awaken, he edged closer and stretched out behind her, only wanting to test this for a moment.
Gently, he tucked her body against his. He craved being inside her again, but the simple action of hugging her gave him a perplexing sense of satisfaction. His gaze slipped over her naked back: she was slim but voluptuous, utterly tender. Her hips flared from her tiny waist, giving her an hourglass shape. Her behind couldn’t be more luscious. And the two dimples above it? Mac stifled a groan. He wanted to press his thumbs over them as he held her in place and thrust against her.
The things I could do to her…
As much as he loved the feeling, he had to leave her warm body. He’d never in his life had the luxury of sleeping beside a woman he had feelings about. The idea daunted him. He was afraid his attachment might scare her off.