She shattered.
Fran was never one to do things by halves, but the fact she didn’t scream loud enough to peel the paint off the walls was perhaps her greatest feat of self-restraint. Loosening her hold on Ari’s head she flailed for a pillow, jackknifing her body away from him as she buried her face in the soft coolness of the freshly-laundered pillowcase and gasping as her body was racked with convulsions. No sooner had she retreated, however, then the man who’d blown up her world reached for her, wrapping her in his arms and muttering nonsense in a foreign language while she tried to remember what the hell her name was, let alone his.
“Shh—shhh,” he murmured as she clung to the pillow and he clung to her. He’d removed his shirt and trousers, she realized vaguely, the warmth of his legs and arms now completely surrounding her, the strength of his broad chest against her back. It was so right, so perfect that she could sense the tears welling in her eyes, and she fought them back ruthlessly as she snapped back to awareness of who she was, where she was, and who she was with.
Fran turned in Ari’s arms and gazed up at him, his gaze intent as he stared down at her, searching her expression. “Good?” he asked when she didn’t say anything.
She smiled. “Very good.” She untangled her hand from the pillow and flattened it against his chest, pushing him back. He allowed her to roll him over to his back but his hands stayed gripped on her, and she sprawled over his body as he stretched out across the rumpled sheets.
Her eyes snapped to his as she realized he’d removed more than his trousers. “I thought I was going to get equal time,” she grumbled, coming up to her knees on either side of his hips. The movement ground her against his shaft and his gaze flared hotter as he stared up at her.
“I’d thought this would be more efficient,” he said tightly.
“It seems that way,” she smiled and widened her legs slightly, seating her more firmly against him.
Ari clothed looked like a slightly shaggy, heavily tanned version of the man she’d seen in countless royal photos. Roguishly handsome, quick to grin, with sparkling eyes to offset the almost painful beauty of his features. In those photos his cheekbones and chin had been sculpted, his lips perfectly formed, his gaze piercing in what she supposed was a princely way.
But the man lying beneath her now, staring at her with such intense need, was about as far away from princely as she could imagine. The face hadn’t changed much except for an ineffable age that seemed to settle on him, the result of a year’s worth of harsh living that she suspected wouldn’t go away. But his body was traced with fading bruising and a constellation of small scars—some thick, some thin.
Her breath caught as he shifted beneath her, the sensual heat of him a needed counterpoint to her the discovery of the trials he’d undergone. “You’ve been so hurt.”
“I haven’t,” he growled, his hands tightening on her. “Banged up in the crash, and the work at the construction site was hard. I wasn’t mistreated. If it’s me you’re concerned about, don’t be. If there’s something else…”
His gaze held hers and she saw the question in them. It was all she could do not to laugh out loud. “You’re not seriously about to question whether or not I want you to make love to me,” she murmured, and the relief in his gaze was immediate and sharp. He opened his hand, where she realized he’d been clutching a foil wrapped condom, and she lifted her brows.
“When exactly did you pick this up?”
He grinned as she ripped open the package and scooted back along his legs, but his gaze left her face and dropped to her hands. “It was part of the identity kit I bought,” he joked. “In Garronia we believe in safety first.”
“Do you?” She finished sheathing him and slid forward again, kneeling as she walked her hands along the bed until her face was level with his. “I have to say,” she murmured, “I like your country more and more the longer I’m here.”
Ari’s next words were lost on a hiss as she fit herself over his shaft, pausing a moment to let her body get used to the sensual intrusion. Twin desires warred within her—one to let her eyes drift shut and simply enjoy the moment, the second to open them wide, drinking in the site of Ari’s face, his body, his stricken expression as she slid inch by careful inch over him, the pulse of their bodies finding their own perfect synchronicity.
“You—feel incredible,” he murmured and there was a year’s worth of wonder in his words—a year and probably more, the depth of his pain going beyond the simple pleasure of a woman and to the deeper, more damaging loneliness of being without friend or countryman or even the solace of his memories.
Fran leaned forward and pressed her lips against his. He kissed her back almost tentatively at first, his hands coming up to cradle her face as she slid further over him, taking him fully into her body. They were one unit, one being, and the rightness of it shook her to her core. She didn’t trust herself to speak or even to look at Ari anymore, so she sighed and deepened the kiss.
He didn’t seem to mind. One of Ari’s hands slid around her head, the other down the length of her back as they moved together, both of them memorizing the other, fixing this moment in their minds.
She exhaled deeply and drew herself upright again, finally trusting herself to open her eyes. Ari lay bathed in sunlight, his face arrested with pleasure, his hands now on her hips. His gaze roamed over her body, but she was pretty sure her view was better.
She smoothed her hands over his chest, her fingers taking in the raised surface of a myriad of scars, her mind refusing to process everything she was seeing. When she met his eyes again, for a moment she saw challenge there, challenge and maybe a little fear. Then Ari pulled her down to him, his arms wrapped around her body and her breasts compressed against his chest. In a smooth, athletic move he reversed their positions, and once again she was stretched out on the bed and he was on top, staring down at her with glee.
“Don’t think you’ve got the upper hand because you’re on top,” Fran sniffed, her assertion clearly so ludicrous Ari laughed out loud. “I can be very tough if I need to be.”
“I’ll keep that mind,” he rumbled. Then with a sigh he bent over her, and took her mouth with his.
Ryker wasn’tsure what heaven might feel like, but he was pretty sure he was experiencing it now. Francesca was everything he was certain he’d always loved most in women—confident, strong, and driven to achieve. Right now she was about to drive him to distraction, but he could manage it—wouldmanage it.
She had no idea how much he needed this right now. Needed her.
Beneath him, Francesca sighed again and stretched out over the plush mattress, a bed he now appreciated so much he would happily take it with him from hotel to hotel if it meant more moments like this. Her body stretched with her, and the pressure on his shaft ratcheted up, scattering his thoughts then hyper-focusing them into one blinding need.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, and she smiled in a way he suspected meant she was used to hearing such platitudes. But he couldn’t take the time to explain why his declaration was different. She wouldn’t believe him—not here.
And there would be time for talking later.
Leveraging his weight to one hand, he reached out with his right and cupped her breast as her eyelids fluttered open again. As she watched him he squeezed, his fingers parting to allow the tight tip to peek through, and she hummed with a purely feminine pleasure. That hum, and the slight curve of her lips, knocked him up another level. He had no illusions that he was going to last this first time.
