Authors: Tracy Sumner
"I don't care who escorts you anywhere, Miss Connor. Although Magnus is a complete ass, if you ask me."
It was what she expected him to say, but it hurt just the same. Plucking a piece of moss from the wooden wall at her side, she twirled it in a slow circle. "Oh, yes. I remember. No rules, except discretion and honestly."
"Exactly," he agreed, his voice low and furious.
She waited a beat, letting his scent drift her way. Ale, if she wasn't mistaken, and the ever present hint of smoke. He smelled like a slice of heaven, and in addition, he looked splendid. His navy trousers and crisp white shirt were obviously store-bought. Dr. Leland's tailored wear should have appealed in comparison, but dear heaven, Zachariah looked leagues better, and would if he had showed up in a potato sack.
"Can you swear you'll go back in there and behave, Irish?"
Brushing the moss across his cheek, she watched his eyes darken, felt the fingers still clutching her arm tighten. She wondered what she could do to get him to meet her at the coach house after the dance. "There is one minor point I need to clear up first. Am I to understand that I can go to bed with the complete ass tonight and still meet you at the coach house, say, tomorrow evening? Is that permissible?"
The kiss came out of no where.
His lips covered hers as his arm snaked around her waist, effectively shutting out the sounds of the night and the cool caress of the sea breeze. She arched into him, tilting her head and allowing him boundless access. Her hands were on him, under his shirt and skimming his back with light scratches in less time than even she knew she needed.
He backed her into the shed wall and reached for her breasts, cupping and lifting, his thumbs seeking her nipples through thin layers of cloth. Finesse often departed when faced with this degree of hunger, she had come to understand. They had passed the point of taking forever to get past the kissing.
"Not here," he whispered against her lips, his hands sliding up her neck, cradling her face and tipping it high. His lips traveled past her jaw, nipping and kissing and sucking. The sensitive spot behind her ear, the tender patch below her left shoulder.
She shivered, the ground dissolving beneath her feet. Swaying into him, she felt his arousal pressing against her hip. It lay at an angle she recognized beneath his trouser buttons; it was a heady thought to realize how well she had come to know him.
Every tantalizing inch of him.
And if that was not truly the case, she was willing to investigate further. "Where?" she asked, her sigh of pleasure nearly obscuring the question.
"Jail." His breath washed inside her ear as he lifted her by the waist, nestling his erection between her thighs and rocking his hips from side to side.
She whimpered, sliding her legs as far apart as she could with her skirt hindering her. It wasn't far enough. "When?" Her voice sounded petulant even to her own ears.
He pulled back slightly, his gaze dazed but shrewd. "Tonight. After the dance." His lips were a wet, urgent whisper across hers, then were gone. "Unless you have a previous engagement with Dr. Leland. I can always see if Darnella is available."
"Or Prissy. She makes a terrific red velvet cake," he whispered and slid into another, deeper kiss.
Savannah dug her nails into his shoulders, pleased when he burrowed into her with a muted groan, pressing her harder against the wall. She didn't love this game of his, but she would play. "I'll kill you if you touch her.
Either
her." This much she felt was true. "Although you can eat all the red velvet cake you'd like."
He smiled, his eyes very dark in the moonlight. "Then we agree. I would hate to injure the only doctor we have in Pilot Isle."
She rubbed herself against him, closing her eyes on a purr of pleasure. His trousers pleasantly chafed, his shaft throbbing against her. If she could only move an inch to the left, life would be perfect. "Hmmm... I can't have you harming such an important citizen, now can I? What kind of citizen would that"—she nipped his lower lip and sighed—"make me?"
"The jail," he repeated, settling back into another kiss as if he'd forgotten his earlier admonition. "Midnight."
When she left him standing in the shadowy night, she was humming.
* * *
"You're late." She sent the chair into a gentle twirl, dragging it to a stop before him.
Zach would have collapsed like a house of cards at her feet if he'd had his spectacles on. As it was, he stumbled to a halt, squinting to see what little she wore.
Her chemise.
No stockings, no dress, no shoes, no petticoats. Hair trailing down her shoulders. A sliver of moonlight exposed her chin and one round breast, her nipple stabbing through the gauzy material. She grinned like a cat, sliding forward in the chair.
His obsession with her nipples had evidently not gone unnoticed.
Dropping her arms over the sides of the chair, she welcomed him with a shameless smile.
Reaching back, he fumbled with the lock. The dull clunk echoed in the tiny enclosure. Crossing the room, he unfastened his shirt buttons, shrugged out of it and the undershirt beneath. He held off unbuttoning his trousers; Savannah liked to do that.
Crouching before her, he rubbed his thumb along her lips. "What's with the chair?"
Leaning in, she sucked the tip into her mouth. "Remember the dream I told you about last week? The one that you, well, interrupted the telling of?" She chewed on his knuckle. "Noah's desk."
He nodded, unable to utter a coherent response with her lips wrapped around his thumb. He didn't need to reply anyway. As if he would
ever
forget knocking Noah's books to the floor, propping her up on the desk and—
"We were in a chair in the dream," she whispered, a crimson blush coloring her cheeks. "I wasn't sure it was possible."
"It's possible."
"Have you ever?" She gestured to the chair.
"Not in this one."
Her eyes flared. Equal parts envy and interest. "I'm open to being tutored, if have the time."
"I have time." He popped the snaps on the chemise, leaving the material in a silken sprawl open to her waist. Ignoring her gasp, he stayed her hands on the chair arms. Dammit, she wasn't going to direct his every move this time. She was good at orchestrating the entire process, he would give the woman that. Her blessed books had helped, he supposed.
"Let me take my chemise off." She fought his hold, but he didn't let her win.
He shook his head, bending to press a kiss to the underside of her breast. It had been days since he'd touched her. His hunger—and hers—could wait.
He wanted to
explore
.
"Zachariah," she said on a sigh.
He lifted his head, arching a brow.
"Zach." She jerked at his grasp to no avail. "Zach, please."
He smiled, feeling wonderfully cheerful. Generous even. "Did you let him kiss you?" He intentionally directed his exhalation in the general direction of her nipple. "Touch you?"
Dropping her head back, she rolled it wildly against the back of the chair. "Of... course... not."
He leaned in, seizing the material in his teeth and drawing it away from her breast. His lips bumped the erect nub once, not intentionally. She moaned, but it hurt him as much as it hurt her.
"Ohhh, you're going to tease me, I see."
"Actually," he mumbled around the cloth, "I'm feeling rather charitable."
She arched, sending her nipple into his chin. "How... charitable?"
He left the cloth in a wad at the side of her breast. Moonlight glistened across a portion of her face and body, highlighting each perfect swell and valley. Her skin glowed, her hair trailing over her shoulders as she squirmed. Had he ever seen a more beautiful picture in his life?
"What can I say, Irish? I'm open to suggestion. It
has
been almost seven days."
She lifted her head, eyes dazed. "Suggestion?"
He lingered until she shifted, her impatience building. "Anything you ask for."
The shrewd look that crossed her face made him laugh softly. It gratified him to see that this wasn't part of
her
plan, even in the face of his having an erection hard enough to whittle wood with.
"Anything?"
"Humanly possible, that is. But I choose the speed."
Her head flopped back. "I knew there was a catch. You'll go at a snail's pace."
He traced the hollow beneath one of her ribs with his tongue. "Snail's are good lovers, I've heard."
She laughed, bending with the sound, the vibration beneath his palm pleasantly gentle. "Oh, Zach, you're crazy."
And you're crazy about me
, he almost said. His lips opened to release it.
He stared at Savannah as he rocked back on his heels. All those months since Hannah's death, he had naively imagined he no longer needed a woman's love. Did he need it after all? Could he return it might be the more crucial question?
"Zach?"
He blinked, pulling himself back, forcing aside the fear chilling his heart. Back arched, chemise wadded in wrinkled folds, she gazed at the ceiling, chewing on her bottom lip, concentrating, he could see.
Her arms were motionless beneath his; she no longer struggled.
"Take off your clothing. I want to try something I mentioned once before."
She wanted to try something she had mentioned before? Ah, there were lots of options there.
Wordlessly, he removed his clothing. It didn't aid his resolve that she watched him the entire time with those glowing feline eyes. Her gaze strayed below his waist and stayed there.
"Is this something you read in one of those books?" he asked.
A smile curved her lips. She nodded, her gaze lifting to his face.
He held out his hand, preparing to escort her to the cot that had had clean sheets every day since Savannah arrived in town. He changed them himself, smiling with each tuck and fold as he imagined what he might do on them. Now he was going to find out.
She shook her head and stood, dancing around his hand. "Sit."
His brow shot up as an idea popped into his mind. A very pleasing mental picture.
"Sit, Zach."
With a final questioning glance, he sat.
"Hands where I had mine, eyes closed. If you watch me, I'll get nervous and lose my train of thought."
He knew how she felt, but he was too intrigued by what she might do to him to comment. Tipping his head back, he lowered his eyelids and relaxed his body until it slid low in the chair.
He felt her hair first, sliding along his thigh, slick and heavy. The scent of pine drifted from it, making him think of the forest in winter. Then her lips were at his knee and rising higher. A shiver raced up his spine.
You don't have to do this
, he thought, but he wasn't about to say it.
"Hmmm, you taste like soap." She released a breathless laugh. "Clean, capable Constable Garrett."
"Is that good?" His words were barely loud enough to be heard. He tried again, then was sorry when she halted, her breath hitting his knee.
"With you"—she ran her tongue along the inside of his thigh, stopping to lick a scar he'd got from a swordfish on his fourteenth birthday—"it's all good."
He let her go, too flattered to argue, too weak to resist. Why resist when he desperately wanted what she offered?
As she got closer, mouth and hands working in tandem, stroking and kissing and scratching, he gripped the chair until the muscles in his arms bulged. When she finally touched him there, with her
teeth
, he gasped and buried his hand in her hair. "Holy Christ, where... did you... learn that?"
She breathed on him, a teasing sigh that made him stiffen to a painful degree.
Think of fishing, Zach. Sailing. That new rigging on the skiff. Anything
.
"A book," she said, lips skimming the tip of his shaft. "I read about it in a book. Is it okay so far?" Her tongue eased out, a hesitant lick.
Sucking in a swift gulp of air, he grunted a reply, past the point of engaging in conversation. Better she understood she held a man in her hands at a time like this—and that they were helpless as babes.
She held him captive, teasing without meaning to, going at his snail's pace despite her earlier objections. When she fumbled, he fit her hand around him and showed her how to please him. When she flicked her tongue over the ridge running along the underside, he let a harsh groan break free, to show her it was, as she said,
all good
.
More than good: the best.
His hand stayed in her hair, the other rising to join it. When she united her mouth and hand in perfect rhythm, he knew he was short on reserves.
"Stop," he gasped, hands sliding to her shoulders and lifting. "I can't. It's too much."
He opened his eyes in time to see her rise from between his legs. That alone was almost enough to send him over the edge. Her lashes lifted, a pleased smile spreading across her face. "You liked it?"
"Yes," he whispered, his voice raw.
"There's more."
"There can be."
"Now?" She went to move back.
Zach shook his head and settled her astride him, arranging her legs over the sides of the chair. "I can't wait. Not this time. Not after days away from you."
She placed her hands on his knees and leaned back, awaiting a reaction. He tried hard but must have given up something, because she laughed. "Later then."
Hands going behind her bottom, he slid her forward until he could suck her erect nipple into his mouth. He had to touch her or die. "Can you remember the dream, Irish?"
"Umm, oh, yes. I remember it well." She thrust her hands into his hair and held on tight. "We were in the leather... chair in the coach house. It was dark, rainy. Candles lit." Sighing and shifting on his lap, her sex inched tantalizingly close. "I was on top. Sitting. Then moving."
His tongue circled her areola; he bit down gently. "Like this?"
Swaying, she rested her brow atop his head, her breasts brushing his face. "Close," she whispered in his ear. Gasping, she blew a sweet breath out. "Oh yes, that's good, Constable. Bite down a little harder."