Children of the Sea 02 - Sea Fever

pressing her from behind, wet with her moisture, sliding and gliding along the cleft of her buttocks.
     
    She stiffened, her mouth dry with panic and excitement. “Uh . . . no.
    I don’t—”
     
    His arm was hard around her waist, his chest solid at her back.
    “Quiet.”
     
    She set her teeth. Okay, she owed him. But not—
     
    His hand worked between their bodies, pumping once, twice, before he gripped her hips with both hands. He ground himself against her, his fingers digging into her flesh. She felt him jerk, felt his hot exhalation in her ear, and then the warm stickiness at the small of her back.
     
    Oh. Thank God he had pulled out.
     
    He shuddered, his body warm and heavy against hers.
     
    An odd tenderness stirred under her heart. Peeling one hand from the cliff face, she stretched back her arm to pat his hip. His thigh. His leg was hard with muscle and rough with hair. He turned his head to nuzzle her hair, and the unexpected sweetness of the gesture made something turn over in her chest.
     
    She closed her eyes, willing away thought.
     
    Gradually, her body cooled. His breathing evened. She became aware of tiny, separate sensations: the gritty stone beneath her feet, the rising mist around her bare legs, the rich salt smells of sea and sex . . .
     
    And then he let her go.
     
    She heard him behind her, adjusting his clothing, and shivered, suddenly cold.
     
    “You lost something.” His voice was deep, polite. Caleb’s voice.
     
    Regina opened her eyes, leaning her forehead against the rock. “My self-respect?”
     
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    He didn’t laugh.
     
    Okay, not funny. She swallowed against the tightness in her throat, sobriety creeping in like the tide. Not funny at all.
     
    “Your panties,” he said.
     
    “Right.” Flushing, she turned. There they were, dangling from his fingers. She snatched the scrap of nylon from him without quite meeting his eyes. “Thanks.”
     
    He inclined his head. “You are welcome.”
     
    If he smirked, she would kill him.
     
    But he continued to watch her with an unnerving lack of expression, as if he’d never been inside her, as if they’d never—
    Oh, God. Her insides contracted. Her knees wobbled. No way was she pulling on her panties under that flat black gaze.
     
    Regina balled the damp nylon in her fist. Now what?
     
    “Are you going back to the party?” she asked.
     
    “I have no reason to.”
     
    Right.
     
    Regina bit her lip, relieved and disappointed. “You could say good-bye.”
     
    Not to her. She didn’t care if she never saw him again. His shoulders shrugged under his well-cut jacket. “Margred will not notice my leaving.”
     
    “Your brother will.”
     
    Dylan’s black eyes glittered. “I did not come for my brother.”
     
    An awkward silence fell, broken only by the whisper of waves on the rocks, the stones tinkling and tumbling like wind chimes. Strains of music drifted from the tent, too faint for Regina to distinguish words or
    20
    melody. She opened her mouth to say something, anything. That was fun.
    Let’s never do it again.
     
    “You knew Maggie?” she asked. “Before she got married?”
     
    “Yes.”
     
    Regina sucked in her breath. Not her problem, she reminded herself.
    None of her business.
     
    But Margred was her employee. Regina had hired her to help out at the restaurant after Caleb found her on the beach, naked and bleeding from a blow to her head. Margred claimed not to remember anything of her life before she came to the island. Regina always suspected the other woman was fleeing an abusive relationship.
     
    But if Dylan knew her . . .
     
    Regina scowled. “How?”
     
    His brows rose. “I suggest you ask her.”
     
    “I will.”
     
    As soon as she gets back from her honeymoon with your brother.
     
    Maybe not.
     
    “Or you could tell me now,” Regina said.
     
    “No.”
     
    She folded her arms, her underwear still wadded in her hand. “Are you always this chatty after sex? Or is it me?”
     
    “Maybe I don’t like gossip.”
     
    “Or maybe you’re protecting somebody.”
     
    He didn’t answer.
     
    “Her?” Regina guessed. “Or yourself?”
     
    21
    *
     
    Human women.
     
    Always wanting something.
     
    Dylan regarded this one with frustrated resignation. He had liked the look of her, the straight, cropped hair, the angular body, the contrast of those soft, sensitive lips in that sharp-featured face. Her differences drew him, all that tension and energy confined