Nathan laughed. It was more of a growl, the sound coming from deep in his throat and slightly raspy, definitely triumphant. It was enough to prickle her skin.
Lydia made a small protesting movement when he didn’t lay her down, but except for a gentle reassurance, he paid her little heed. “This way,” he said lowly, lifting her hips. “Lean forward now.”
“But—” She didn’t finish because it would have been a senseless gesture. She was already doing as he asked, and Nathan was entering her from behind. Her cheek rested against the back of her hands at the foot of the bunk. Lydia’s sable hair spilled over her shoulder. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted. Nathan’s every thrust filled her, his every withdrawal left her aching. His hands stroked her from breast to thigh, pressing, molding, learning the shape of her. The position he held her in was novel and exciting and highly pleasurable. He rocked her body and she met his thrusts, surging against him until she felt the tempo change, his penetration become quick and shallow, and then his entire body tightened. He found his release in her.
Nathan drew her on her side and they lay together spoon-fashion, his hand resting on Lydia’s hip. He caressed her, sometimes dipping to her inner thigh. His breathing slowed while hers quickened in anticipation of his touch. Nathan did not tease her long. He wanted her to feel the same pleasure she had given him and she was almost there, just skimming the surface of her climax, every sense heightened to him. He whispered her name and pressed more deeply, intimately.
She felt as if she would shatter if he didn’t hold her and he seemed to know how it was for her. When pleasure shuddered through her, Nathan’s embrace secured her and his body absorbed her trembling excitement. Her name became a softly spoken litany on his lips and his gentleness in that moment touched her deeply.
When she turned toward him as he lay on his back, Nathan glimpsed the sheen of tears in her eyes. Before he could question her or raise his concern, she was pressing her mouth to his in a remarkably chaste kiss. “You make me so happy,” she said quietly. Lydia rested her cheek against the curve of his shoulder and fell asleep.
Nathan was sittingon the padded bench beneath the porthole when Lydia woke. His knees were drawn up to his chest, his back pressed in the corner. He was wearing his trousers and nothing else. A band of moonshine slanted across his folded hands, but his face was in shadow. Deep in thought, his eyes focused vaguely on some point across the room, Nathan was unaware that Lydia had wakened, or that she was watching him.
She was glad he didn’t know. He might have moved or come to her or said something and she didn’t want anything from Nathan except the pleasure of looking at him.
It was his hands that she noticed first. She could hardly look at them without thinking of how they felt on her body, how the beautiful shape of them, the long fingers, the slightly rough pads of his palms, could make her feel beautiful in turn or give her such pleasure.
Her eyes made out the outline of his arms and shoulders in the darkness. His skin was smooth, pulled taut over defined muscles. She could almost feel the embrace of those arms, the circle of safety and security, the crook of the shoulder that pillowed her head. She raised her eyes fractionally, searching out the sharp lines of Nathan’s profile, the Roman nose, the lean jaw, and the cleanly cut angle of his cheek.
He moved then and his face was briefly illuminated in the beam of moonlight. The predator eyes, those beautiful, implacable, no-quarter eyes were turned in her direction. Their glance was piercing, almost savage, and then it was shuttered, shadowed again as he grimaced, as though in pain, and rested his head against the wall, his eyes closed.
Lydia sat up, wrapping the bedsheet around her like a
lava-lava.She approached him quietly, the only sound the whisper of the fabric against her skin. She stood beside him, not touching, not speaking, and waited for some sign from him that she was welcome in his thoughts or a relief from them. It came a moment later when he reached for her wrist, drawn to her by the fragrance that would always remind him of the island, but which was Lydia’s own. Nathan made room for her on the bench, slipping his arms around her as she leaned into him. His cheek rested against her hair.
“I’m sorry I fell asleep,” she said. She turned her head a little and his chin nudged her temple. He kissed her lightly and the simplicity of the gesture, the warmth of it, curled Lydia’s toes.
“I’m not,” he said. He had watched her for a long time before he moved from the bed. Those moments had been the single most peaceful moments of his life. He would never regret them. “Have you been awake long?”
“Not long.”
They were quiet. Outside, waves slapped rhythmically againsttheAvonleiand above them on deck, a seaman on nightwatch played a wooden flute. There were footsteps, someone dancing, and then deep laughter and sporadic applause. Lydia found herself smiling and Nathan’s arms tightened fractionally.
“They’re having a good time tonight,” she said.
“Hmm.”
“They must be as reluctant to leave the island as we are.”
“Probably.”
“Fa’amusami said something tonight that bothered you.”
“She did?” he asked, pretending ignorance.
“About that murder on the other island. You went back to see her father.”
“Weren’t you bothered by it?”
“Of course, but...”
“Yes?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I just thought...”
He waited. Did she know? Could she remember?
“Nothing,” she said finally, softly. “It was nothing.”
