Swept Away (31 page)

A light sweep of pain—because of waiting with Ian, it had been a while since sex—but half a
second later, nothing but pure, deep pleasure. Filling her. Brock inside her.

She’d waited so long for this moment, so long to know this connection with him. She held on
to him tight, shutting her eyes against the profound emotions assaulting her and thinking—
He’s in me. Finally in me. She never wanted the moment to end.

But then he began to move, thrust—and it was suddenly okay for the moment to end, because
this was a really good moment, too, in a whole different way. “Oh!” she cried as he pulled her to him, hands still cupping her rear, then again, again, so deep, incredibly filling, delivering every ounce of bliss she’d ever dreamed such a physical union could hold.

She moved with him, finding the right rhythm, then pulled back enough to meet his feral eyes,
see his clenched teeth, feel all the power emanating from his body and flowing fast and hard
into hers.

He was more holding her than letting her sit on the table now, and she gyrated against him, aware of the growing pleasure at her core, aware that everything inside her was moving in just the right way and that she was getting close, so close.

She rocked with more abandon, moaning in raw joy as she sought the orgasm she already
knew would be the best of her life. He moved with her, thrusting in the tempo she’d set, letting
her guide them.

“God, oh God,” she said. Then kissed him, tongue and lips and passion overflowing, breaking
the connection of their mouths only to cry her release as she toppled headlong into the deepest,
surest ecstasy she’d ever experienced. It was like the sun had shattered and rained shimmering
bits of light and heat all around her. It was like exploding from the inside out. She suddenly

knew what people meant when they said the earth moved.

“Oh my God,” she breathed, her whole body trembling as the hot pulses finally began to fade.
“Oh...” She clung to him, her face against his neck, kissing, little kisses.

“Unh...” he groaned, the sound bursting forth as if involuntarily, and she felt him jerk inside her.

“What...?” she whispered.

“Oh God,” he said, and then he was lowering her back onto the table and driving, driving,
hard, deep, his breath coming fast and warm on her neck, and she locked her ankles behind his
back to let him know she wanted more. He pounded into her that way until letting out another ferocious moan, one last deeper-than-deep thrust—then collapsed gently, his hard muscles
seeming to slump all around her as his forehead came to rest on her shoulder.

They stayed like that for a long, quiet minute, recovering. Through the open window across the
room, she heard the crashing tide in the distance. Behind him, she caught sight of banana peels
and candy wrappers strewn on the counter. She was coming back to the world, to real life. And it suddenly seemed like a better place than she’d left behind.

His voice cut through the solitude in a low rasp. “My God, kitten, I’m sorry.”

She blinked, stunned, as he slowly lifted his head, gently pulled out, then reached down to zip
his pants, actually looking guilty. “For?” she asked.

He released a heavy breath. “Because I meant to back off, I swear I did. And I know this
changes things for you, about your marriage. And so maybe I just ruined your life.”

Oh. God. Yeah, she was supposed to get married this week.

To someone other than the guy she’d just had mind-blowing sex with.

She’d, amazingly, forgotten that for a moment.

Then realized—maybe that was part of why the world had suddenly seemed so much sweeter.

Of course, the implications were overwhelming. If she was serious about her claims to Brock, serious about treating marriage with reverence and respect—she couldn’t marry Ian now. And
that meant...oh God, that meant so much. From canceling an enormous wedding that half the
free world was involved in...to breaking her father’s heart into so many different pieces she
couldn’t even count them...to maybe being responsible for changing her family’s entire
existence for the worse.

But she couldn’t take back what had just happened with Brock. No, she’d just put major life
changes into motion, for more than just herself, and there was no altering it—only dealing with it.

“You’re right,” she said, trying to be stoic. “You just ruined everything.”
He dropped his gaze to the floor. “I really am sorry, kitten.”

“We can’t go back in time, though,” she went on, “so the way I see it, you may as well keep
right on ruining it.”

He lifted his dark, sexy gaze. “Huh?”

She swallowed. “Because we’ve had sex, I’m going to have to call the wedding off, change everything about what I thought my life was going to be, and let down a hell of a lot of people.
But not until someone comes for us on Thursday.”

“And?” He leaned forward slightly, clearly trying to understand.
“And until then, we may as well have more sex. Lots of it.”
Now it was he who swallowed hard.

“I need to be comforted,” she explained, completely straight-faced and feeling just as sincere as
she did sexual.

His eyes appeared somewhat glazed as her words began to sink in. “Then... I’m your man.”
“Yes, you are,” she said, a bit more softly.

Brock stepped up close to the table, where she still sat, and used one bent finger to lift her chin
so he could look into her eyes. “Kitten,” he said slowly, “what just happened here? What just
changed?”

“I just... figured out what I want.” “Which is?”

You. No, that was going too far, being too honest. So she reached out to press her palm over
the still-rigid bulge in his shorts. “This.”

He looked pleased in that arrogant, masculine way of his, and she didn’t even mind, since it somehow diverted attention from the fact that what she’d really just said was—I’m willing to
trade my entire future for sex with you.

And the future almost didn’t even matter. Because except for when she thought about how this
would affect her parents, she suddenly felt happier and more alive than she had in... a long while. Months, definitely. Years, maybe. So she didn’t care if it was just about sex for him.
She almost didn’t care if it was just about sex for her—although she knew, despite herself, that
could never be true. This was Brock, and that meant it was about more—that simple.

But all she planned to concentrate on for the next three days and nights was pure unadulterated
lust—and how best to fulfill it. She was going to live every fantasy she’d ever had of him and
then some. She was going to drink her fill of Brock Denton... and hope that when it was all
over it was enough.

But before she could completely focus on lust, she figured she’d better discuss something with
him—she hated to bring it up, but it would just be plain irresponsible not to. “Um, are you
aware we didn’t use a condom?”

He tilted his head. “Didn’t have one on me, I’m afraid.”

“I’m on the pill,” she told him, “but... how often do you... not have one on you?”
Remorse laced his grin. “Only when I wash up on islands without my wallet.”
“So you’re saying...”

“You’re safe with me, kitten. Promise.”

“Same for you, with me.”

“Good to know. And... sorry we didn’t discuss that beforehand.”

She shook her head. “Takes two to tango. Or to do it on the kitchen table. I didn’t exactly bring it up, either.”

He moved his hand to cup her cheek. “And about today, I want you to know—I’m sorry you had to go through that. If there was anything I could have done to prevent it, I would have.
And I’m really proud of you for not falling apart—and for kicking that gun overboard. That
was quick thinking.” With that, he leaned in for a warm kiss that melted all through her and
ensured that the next couple of nights were going to be heaven on earth, and a hell of a good
way to forget about today.

“I need to take a shower,” she said. “But maybe while I’m in there, you can think of some way to reward me for my courage under fire.”

He gave her a sexy-as-sin grin. “I’ll reward you, all right. I’ll reward you all night long.” Another kiss, this one as sweet as the first, warm, lingering—and it started to get her hot all
over again.

“Of course, you’ll need to clean up, too.”

He glanced toward the bathroom, just a few feet away. “We could clean up together,” he
suggested with raised eyebrows.

Slowly, Kat smiled. She’d never actually showered with a guy before. She’d had invitations
from a lover or two, but something about it had always sounded a little too intimate. Like
something a person should only do with someone they were really, deeply comfortable with—

because, movie images aside, what if she slipped and fell, what if she got shampoo in her eye, what if it was just plain fumbly and awkward in there? But after all she’d been through with
Brock today, climbing into the shower with him would feel as instinctive as breathing.

Five minutes later, she opened the bathroom door to spy Brock, naked, from behind, water sluicing down his perfect body through the clear shower door. Thank God the sound of the
water drowned out the little, “Unh,” that escaped her at the sight.

He’d offered to get some warm water going while she grabbed something to put on after. Now,
as she looked down at the jammies in her hands, it occurred to her that she probably wouldn’t
need anything for after.

Dropping her cami and panties on the edge of the old sink, then shedding her dirty clothes, she
glanced down at her own nakedness. He’d seen her close to naked before. And they’d just
gone at it like animals on the kitchen table. Yet she’d been right—this would be more intimate
than anything else they’d shared.

But that was okay. Because even as she kept telling herself, it’s only sex, it’s only good, hot,
wild sex, she knew deep inside that being still more intimate with Brock would fulfill all those
high-school dreams. And even if she was a little nervous, she wasn’t afraid. One part of her
still couldn’t believe this had happened—she’d been with him now, in that closest of ways that
she’d always wanted. Yet a bigger part not only believed it, but was ready for much, much
more.

Slowly, she slid one of the glass door panels to the side.

Brock looked over his shoulder, his gaze meeting hers before dropping to give her body a
slow, heat-inspiring perusal. “Damn, kitten.”

She felt weirdly sheepish being so filthy—she’d seen the dried mud on her knees and calves, the layer of sweat-smudged dust on her arms and chest, and God only knew what her face and
hair looked like at this point. “I’m all dirty,” she replied.

He arched one brow. “That’s what I’m counting on.”