Sweet Love, Survive (44 page)

“I should send you home,” she said, although the words were slightly muffled by her mouthful of muffin.

He only smiled, picked up his latte cup and lounged back
in his chair, looking immaculate—all fresh shirted and shorted—and apparently immune to hunger, while she was eating everything in sight. “Aren’t you eating?”

“We don’t all sleep until ten.” He waved toward some dirty dishes on the counter. “I ate hours ago and then raked your beach and took your canoe down from the boathouse wall. That’s a nice old Grumman.”

“It was my dad’s,” she said, taking note of the Lodge logo on the dishes on her counter. “You had the cook come here twice?”

“Gracie doesn’t mind.”

“How old is this Gracie?”

He looked entertained. “Thirty-one. Same age as you.”

“It’s none of my business, I’m sure,” she said.

“True.”

“You’re very annoying speaking in that courteous, polite, butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-your-mouth voice.”

“You’re just touchy because you’re hungover,” he said pleasantly.

She put down her fork. “What if I said we weren’t going to have sex. Would that unruffle your calm?”

“I don’t think you’re going to say that.”

“I could”

He worked hard at suppressing his grin. “Well, then I’d just have to suffer, I guess.”

“Bloody right, you would.”

“Or you would.”

“You think I can’t go without sex?”

He shrugged. “You’re hungover. You need food, sex, a couple of Cokes with lots of ice, not necessarily in that order.”

“And you’re available.”

“Unless you’d prefer Mr. Dockers. The Cokes are in the fridge, by the way.”

“How do you know I don’t like Pepsi?”

“Because you always drank Coke at the beach. And I’ve an excellent memory of you.”

Her memories of him were more recent, but equally good—crystal clear, in fact, which was why her libido was craving sex, not in general, but very specifically with him. “Damn,” she said under her breath, thinking every woman he knew probably responded to him the same way.

“Try the strawberries. They’re locally grown.”

“So you can wait all day, Mr. Casual-try-the-strawberries?”

“Not really,” he said, coming to his feet, his erection lifting the pleated front of his chino shorts.

She flushed, took a small breath, put down her fork, and rose from her chair. “Thank you for breakfast.”

“I’ll bring the Cokes.”

She nodded.

Apparently there was a limit to sexual restraint and she’d reached it. And whether she was one of hundreds in his female entourage didn’t matter right now. Right now she wanted to have sex.

He stepped over her robe as he followed her down the hall, and when he entered her bedroom, she was lying naked on her bed, looking like every man’s dream with her legs spread wide and her arms open in welcome. “What took you so long?” she said, wiggling her fingers like a fidgety child.

He set down the Cokes and stripped off his clothes while she watched him, restless and impatient, no longer caring about anything but consummation. His skin was bronzed, not from the sun, but everywhere, his lithe muscled body blatantly aphrodisiac, the heated look in his eyes sending a thrill through her senses. He’d discarded his shirt, his shorts, and when he slid his boxers down his legs and his erection sprang free, she felt out of control. Whimpering, she slid her feet upward, let her thighs fall open. “Please, please, please,” she whispered.

As impatient as she, perhaps more so after waiting all night, he quickly lowered himself between her legs and then swore softly. He’d forgotten a condom.

“It doesn’t matter,” she whispered, lifting her hips to draw him in.

He took a deep breath, exhaled dowry. “Yeah, it does.” Rolling back on his heels, he stretched over the side of the bed, picked up his shorts, pulled out a foil packet from his pocket, ripped it open, put on a condom, and swung back between her legs. “I hope that didn’t break your stride.” His smile was warm on her mouth.

“Right now I could damn near come without you,” she whispered, running her palms down his spine.

“Hold on,” he murmured, gliding in slowly, feeling her sleek flesh give way. “I’m comin’ on in …”

She sighed, bliss beginning to color her world.

Ignoring preliminaries and foreplay in the interests of her neediness, he buried himself in her soft, welcoming warmth. Although his impatience matched hers after his long, frustrating night of waiting, he drove in deeper, swallowing her soft breathy cry, propelling her upward on the bed with the sheer force of his invasion. Heedless to all but carnal satisfaction, she melted around him, rose into his downward thrust, tempestuously met the sensational rhythm of his lower body, her impassioned senses peaking fast and furiously …

The phone rang, but neither noticed.

Serena’s voice drifted in and out of their consciousness, wordless sounds, inaudible words, background resonance to the pounding in their ears, to the heated oscillation of their bodies, to the tropical heat wave of sensation too long delayed, intensified by morning-after sensibilities—carrying them in a rush tide toward orgasm. The message went on and on while the slippery flux and flow of their rocking bodies neared the combustible sublime. Lily whimpered once, twice, as the terrifyingly single-minded orgasmic force swelled inside her, and then she cried out, a long, keening, high-pitched scream that would have gained Myrtle Carlson’s attention had she been home. Holding his breath against the convulsive frenzy, the tension in his arms swelling his biceps, he felt that first ejaculatory rush clear down to his toes, and for long,
fierce, seemingly endless moments they shared the awesome, cataclysmic, mind-blowing glory.

As their last orgasmic ripples died away, Serena’s voice finally infiltrated their consciousness.

“… tea at my house this afternoon,” she was saying. “You know my mom’s teas.” She giggled. “See you at three …”

Lily felt Billy’s chuckle and opened her eyes marginally, blissful lethargy weighting her lashes.

“Your friend sure likes to talk.”

“You didn’t seem bothered.”

He grinned. “I didn’t notice you missing a beat.”

“I’ve been waiting since last night.”

“No kidding.” He kissed her gently and then glanced at the clock. “And it’s still early.”

Sweet Love, Survive
A Bantam Book/published by arrangement with the author

PUBLISHING HISTORY
Charter edition published July 1985
Bantam Fanfare edition/June 1996

All rights reserved.
Copyright © 1985 by Susan M. Johnson.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
For information address: Bantam Books.

eISBN: 978-0-307-57526-5

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