Hot Ice

best defense, her mind, was complete, she wasn’t passive. Her need was as great as his, as primitive, as overwhelming, as elemental. When they undressed each other in a frenzy, her hands were as quick as his.
    Flesh against flesh, warm, firm, sleek. Mouth against mouth, open, hot, hungry. They rolled over the soft ground with no more inhibitions than children, but with passion full-grown and straining.
    She couldn’t get enough of him and tasted, touched, as if she’d never known a man before. In that moment, she could remember no others. He filled her, heart, mind, threatening to stay so that there would never be room for another. She understood, and after the first fear, accepted.
    He’d wanted women before, desperately. Or so he’d thought. Until now he hadn’t known the full meaning of desperation. Until now, he hadn’t known what it was to want. She was seeping into him, pore by pore. Women were allowed to pleasure and be pleasured, but they weren’t allowed intimacy. Intimacy meant complications a man on the run couldn’t afford. But there was no stopping her.
    His hands might run along her skin, clever, skilled, strong, but it was she who led. He knew a man was at his most vulnerable when in a woman’s arms—mother, wife, or lover—yet he forgot anything but the need to be there. She melted into him, dangerously warm, dangerously soft, but he took and cursed the consequences.
    Naked, agile, exquisite, she moved under him, wrapped around him. With his face buried in her hair, Doug heard the door lock behind him. He heard the bolt slide quietly into place. He didn’t give a damn.
    Taking his time, he ran kisses down her face, forehead, nose, mouth, chin. He felt her smile answer his. Her elegant pampered fingers slid down to his hips. They both had their eyes open when he plunged into her.
    He filled her and moaned at the exquisite heat and softness that encompassed him. Her face was dappled with sun and shade, her eyes half-closed as she matched him stroke for stroke, pulse for pulse.
    Speed built, needs whirled. As his thoughts began to tumble and skid, his last rational flash was that perhaps he’d already found the end of the rainbow.
    They lay in silence. Neither were children, neither were without experience. Both knew they’d never made love before. Both were wondering what the hell they were going to do about it.
    Gently, she ran a hand up and down his back. He drew in the scent of her hair.
    “I guess we knew this would happen,” she said after a moment.
    “I guess we did.”
    She looked up at the canopy of trees overhead and the pure blue beyond them. “What now?”
    It wasn’t practical to think beyond the present. If her question dealt with the future, Doug thought it best to pretend otherwise. He kissed her shoulder. “We get to the nearest town, beg, borrow, or steal transportation, and head to Diégo-Suarez.”
    Whitney closed her eyes briefly, then opened them again. She had, after all, walked into this with them open. She’d keep them that way. “The treasure.”
    “We’re going to get it, Whitney. It’s only a matter of days now.”
    “And then?”
    The future again. Propping himself on his elbows, he looked down at her. “Anything you want,” he said because he couldn’t think of anything but how beautiful she was. “Martinique, Athens, Zanzibar. We’ll buy a farm in Ireland and raise sheep.”
    She laughed because it seemed so simple just now. “We could plant wheat in Nebraska with about the same rate of success.”
    “Right. What we should do is open an American restaurant right here in Madagascar. I’ll cook and you do the books.”
    Abruptly, he sat up, gathering her with him. Somehow, he’d stopped being alone and hadn’t fully realized it until that moment. Stopped being alone when alone had always seemed the best angle. He wanted to share, to belong, to have someone there right beside him. It wasn’t smart, but it was.
    “We’re going to get that treasure, Whitney. After we do, nothing can stop us. Anything we want, anytime we want. I can shower diamonds in your hair.” He ran a hand through it, forgetting for the moment that she could have her pick of diamonds now if she chose.
    She felt a twinge of regret, and of something like grief. He could see no further than his pot of gold. Not now, perhaps not ever. Smiling, she ran a hand over his cheek. Yet she’d known that all along. “We’ll find it.”
    “We’ll find it,” he agreed,