Emily and the Stranger (27 page)

"No!" Emily squealed as she tried to escape from Mitch, but when she did, he lifted her into his arms. Disregarding her giggling protests and flapping limbs, he carried her into the water.

The soft waves washed over them as Mitch lowered her to her feet, the water reaching her at hip level.

Emily struck a light, playful blow to Mitch's chest. "You don't listen very well, do you?"

"What's the matter? Didn't you want to play in the water with me?"

"I wanted to finish my sketch before the sun sets."

She started to place her hands on her hips for emphasis, but when a wave almost toppled her, she caught Mitch by the shoulders, then slipped her arms around his neck. His big body supported her as he gripped her waist, pulling her close enough to feel his erection.

Nuzzling her wet neck with his nose, Mitch nipped her earlobe. "What are you drawing that's so important?"

"Come back to the quilt and I'll show you."

"Later." He ran his hands downward, cupping her buttocks as his lips covered hers in a devouring kiss.

She clung to him as he deepened the kiss. The waves beat against them, until a fairly large one finally toppled them over and into the water.

Still holding Emily, Mitch brought them to the surface quickly. Gulping in air and then coughing, she hit the water with her hand, sending a shower up into Mitch's face. He lifted her, then tossed her into the surf. Swimming beneath the water, Emily caught Mitch by the ankles and pulled him under.

They played together like a couple of kids until they were both tired and breathless. Dragging themselves out of the ocean, they fell onto the quilt, drenching it as the water dripped off their wet bodies.

Laughing and panting from their exertion, they lay down, side by side, staring at each other, smiling.

The sun rested low on the western horizon, like a flaming red ball, shooting out orange and purple sparks across the slate-blue sky of approaching twilight.

Raising himself on his elbow, Mitch looked down into Emily's damp face. Her hair lay plastered to her neck and shoulders. Thick dark strands of coffee-brown silk. When he lowered his head to kiss her, she rolled over onto her stomach. He kissed the top of her head, relishing the sound of her giggling laughter.

"Behave yourself," she told him. "I might be able to finish my sketch if you'll cooperate." Emily dried her hands and arms off on the quilt.

"What do you want me to do?"

"Just lie still and be quiet."

Sitting up, Emily crossed her legs, then lifted her sketch pad and pencil. She studied Mitch for a couple of minutes, then began drawing furiously.

"You promised to show me what you're drawing," he said.

"I promised to show you if you'd come out of the water and back to the quilt with me."

"We're out of the water and back on the quilt."

"Now we are. But you didn't come back when I asked you to."

Mitch snatched the pad out of her hands. She gasped, then swatted at his hands. When he held up the sketch in the fading evening light, she tried to grab it away from him. Reaching out, he pulled her down and into his arms, her back to his chest, her hips resting in the vee between his legs. He held the pad in front of their bodies.

"It's me. You're sketching me." He stared at the picture, noting the way Emily had drawn him, his face strong, yet smiling and filled with warmth. Was this the way she saw him? Dear God, he hoped so. He looked like a happy man, a man not eaten alive with guilt and regret.

"Is this the way you see me?" he asked.

"It's just a rough sketch."

She grabbed the pad. He released it. She turned the pages over and laid the pad on the sand beside the damp quilt. She still sat in the curve of his legs, her buttocks positioned against him intimately. He took her shoulders in his big, strong hands, his grasp infinitely gentle.

"I don't have the right to love you, Emily."

His voice was low, the words almost lost on the wind, on the warm bay breeze that chilled her moist body. What was he saying? What was he trying to tell her? That he loved her? Or that he could never love her?

She tensed beneath his touch, every muscle in her body tightening, preparing her, protecting her. How did she respond to his statement? What did he want her to say?

Mitch felt the heavy tension between them and heard Emily breathing, deep and labored as if she were trying to calm herself. He squeezed her shoulders, then lowered his head to hers, brushing the side of his face against hers, resting his chin in the curve of her neck and shoulder.

"Since the first day we met, I've wanted you." He eased his hands downward, caressing her arms. "I knew that you were too good for the likes of me, but I wanted you all the same."

"Mitch?" She tried to turn to face him, but he slipped his arms around her, trapping her back against his chest, her hips against his groin.

He kissed her damp hair that clung to the side of her face. "You're everything a man could want. But I don't deserve you."

She trembled in his arms, tears forming a knot in her throat, a heavy weight in her chest. Didn't he know how much she loved him? That he was the only man in the world she wanted, needed?

"Mitch, the past is behind us," she said, her voice a strained whisper as she tried valiantly not to cry. "Neither of us will ever forget what happened, but you're going to have to forgive yourself for getting involved with Randy Styles and for not discovering the truth about him sooner."

"I'm working on that. On forgiving myself. It may take the rest of my life. But having your forgiveness makes it easier." Clasping his hands at her waist, he lifted her slightly, turning her so that he could look into her eyes, those warm, cinnamon-brown eyes that told him how much she loved him.

"You know how I feel about you." She leaned into him, her expression begging him for a kiss.

"Do you know how I feel about you?" he asked.

His question took her by surprise. She hadn't expected him to be so blunt, to come right out and ask her if she understood his feelings for her. The pity. The guilt.

"I think so. You've admitted that you feel guilty, feel partially responsible for what happened to my life five years ago. And I know you feel a certain amount of sympathy, even pity." Emily glanced down, unable to bear another moment of his heated stare. "You care about me, too, but—"

"That's my problem. Our problem. You don't know how I feel about you, and I'm afraid you'd never believe me if I told you, would you, Emily?"

She pulled away from him. He didn't try to stop her when she scooted off the quilt and stood, her back to him. "You're confusing love with guilt and pity. You think that it's your duty to make me happy, to give me back my life. I don't want you out of a sense of obligation. I couldn't bear it. I couldn't…"

She broke into a run, the sand flying about her feet as she raced down the beach. If he told her he loved her, would she believe him? Did she dare? How could she ever be certain?

Mitch jumped to his feet. "Emily!" When she didn't reply, didn't turn, didn't slow down, he followed her, running to catch up with her.

She felt him behind her, knew he would overtake her, but she couldn't stop. She had to get away—away from Mitch and the possibility he'd tell her he loved her, away from herself and the way he made her feel every time he touched her.

Mitch caught her by the shoulders. She fought him as if he were an attacker. Placing his leg between her knees, he toppled her to the ground, their bodies plummeting onto the sand. She struggled against his superior strength until he finally grabbed her hands, manacling her wrists and planting them firmly on the ground above her head.

"It won't work, honey. You can't escape this." His mouth came down on hers with a wild fury, more aggressive and commanding than he had intended. But dammit all, she was his. It was time she admitted the truth. No matter what had come before, no matter how many doubts she had about the sincerity of his feelings, nothing could change their hunger, their passion, their desperate need for each other.

Emily tried not to respond, but knew it was hopeless. Whether Mitch loved her or not, he wanted her. And heaven help her, she wanted him.

This was what she'd feared. This was what she'd run from—this uncontrollable desire.

The evening breeze stirred around them, creating chills and shivers at the same time their kiss ignited a blazing fire inside them. Tongues danced, teeth nipped, lips mated. Emily tore at Mitch's shirt. He pulled it over his head and tossed it on the beach, then hastily unbuttoned Emily's blouse, baring her damp, satin bra.

His hands skimmed over her body, halting briefly to unsnap the front hook of her bra, then delving between her thighs to cup her intimately. Emily moaned. Her body tightened around his hand and she lifted herself up to meet the sensation.

Mitch rose above Emily, lifted her in his arms and carried her back to the damp quilt. Knocking aside the tape player and the picnic basket, he laid her on the quilt and came down over her, covering her body with his own.

After fumbling with the snap and zipper on her shorts, Mitch managed to take off her shorts and panties at the same time. He undid his shorts and rearranged his briefs, freeing himself from their confinement.

Emily clung to him, stringing kisses across his shoulder, over his chest, teasing his tiny male nipples. Rising above her, resting on his knees, Mitch looked down at Emily, then took her breasts in his hands. He surrounded one tight nipple with his mouth, suckling her fiercely while his fingers delved into the waiting warmth of her body.

Her breathing quickened. He attacked her with hot passion, positioning himself between her legs and taking her
in
one swift, hard thrust. Lifting her hips off the quilt, she rose to meet him, clamping her legs about his buttocks, bringing their bodies closer, intensifying the friction. Her nails bit into his muscled back as he deepened his lunges.

Everything blended into one timeless moment of ecstasy. The smell of Gulf waters and sand. The heady, womanly scent of Emily. The sound of the surf lapping against the shore. The cry of seagulls overhead. The beating of two hearts in unison.

Emily closed her eyes, giving herself over to pure sensation, to the feel of completion rocketing through her. Capturing her and then releasing her. Flinging her into a vortex of pleasure that went on and on and on.

Mitch cried out, a male animal in the throes of fulfillment.

They clung to each other, their bodies quivering with the aftershocks of release, their fingertips seeking and finding contact with each other's bodies. She petted his hairy chest, fingering the curls. He stroked her hip, cupping her buttock in his hand.

He pulled her into his arms. They lay together on the private stretch of beach as the evening sun made a glorious exit, leaving only colorful fragments of light. With Emily naked and Mitch partially unclothed, they soon felt the chill of approaching night.

Together they rose from the quilt and dressed hurriedly; then gathered up their belongings and, hand in hand, walked back to Mitch's cottage. Without saying a word, they deposited the quilt, tape player, sketch pad and picnic basket on the kitchen floor, and Mitch led Emily into the shower. She didn't hesitate for one second, never giving the scars on her back a thought.

* * *

When daybreak came, Emily lay in Mitch's arms, somewhere between sleeping and awakening, Mitch's lips at her breast, arousing her senses, beckoning her to respond. Her eyelids fluttered open and then shut again as she lifted one hand to touch his face. Releasing her nipple, Mitch looked down at her, smiling when she opened her eyes.

"Good morning, pretty lady." He kissed her on the mouth, quickly, passionately.

Emily stretched, shoving back the light sheet and blanket that covered her lower body. Closing her eyes, she sighed as Mitch's tongue painted a damp trail from her lips to her breast.

"I'd like every morning for the rest of my life to begin this way," he said, then took her nipple between his teeth, playing with it, teasing her.

Emily squirmed against him, feeling his arousal against the aide of her hip. "You're insatiable." She gasped when he flung his leg over her, mounting her.

"Are you complaining?" he asked.

Circling his neck with her arms, she brought his mouth down to hers and whispered against his lips, "I have no complaints."

They made love slowly, as if they had all the time in the world, exploring each other's bodies at leisure, tossing and turning on the bed, exchanging the dominant position again and again.

When Emily climaxed, she cried out her pleasure, clinging to Mitch as her body shuddered convulsively. Mitch's fulfillment followed, his body jerking with release as he groaned out his satisfaction.

Endless moments later, Mitch braced himself on one elbow and leaned over Emily. She gazed up into the face of the man she loved, his ice-blue eyes telling her that he adored her. But the smile faded from her lips when she noticed his solemn expression.

"What's wrong?" She stroked his cheek with her fingertips.

He grasped her hand, taking it to his mouth, nibbling on her fingers. "We need to talk. We have to face what you weren't ready or willing to face last night."