The Second Mrs. Adams by Sandra Marton

Author:Sandra Marton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 1996-07-17T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHT

HIS mouth was hot, and so were his hands.

And she was burning, burning under his touch.

This is wrong, Joanna’s brain shrieked, it’s wrong…

How could it be wrong, when the searing flame of David’s kiss felt so wonderful?

She whispered his name and he drew her even closer, until she was lying across his lap, her hair spilling over his arm, her hands clutching his shoulders desperately as his mouth sought and found the tenderness of hers.

“Open to me, Gypsy,” he breathed and she did, parting her lips under the heat of his, moaning softly as he nipped her bottom lip, then stroked the sweet wound with the tip of his tongue.

He groaned and she felt his fingers at the nape of her neck, undoing her zipper, sliding it down until the bodice of her dress fell from her shoulders.

“No,” she said, clutching at the silky fabric, “no, David, we can’t…”

He cupped the back of her hand, his fingers tangling almost cruelly in her hair as he tilted her head back.

“The hell we can’t.”

“Hollister…”

“The partition’s up. Hollister can’t see or hear us.” In the dark, his eyes gleamed with an almost predatory brilliance. He bent to her and kissed her until she was trembling in his arms.

“This is our own little world, Gypsy. No one can see us. No one even knows we’re here.” He kissed her again. “And you are my wife.”

His wife.

Joanna’s breath caught. The simple words were as erotic as any a man had ever whispered to a woman.

And he was right. In the night, surrounded by the anonymity of the city, she felt as if they were alone in the universe.

She sighed with pleasure as he kissed her throat, and then the delicate flesh behind her ear.

“I never forgot the taste of you,” he whispered thickly. His kisses were soft as rain, warm as sunlight against her skin. “Like honey. Like cream. Like…”

His lips closed over her silk-encased nipple and she cried out softly and her body arched toward him, a tautly strung bow of consummate sensation.

“Yes,” he said, as she whispered his name and wound her arms tightly around his neck.

He groaned softly and shifted her, positioning her over him so that she was kneeling on the leather seat, her short, full skirt draping over his legs like the downturned petals of a flower.

His hand slid under the skirt, cupping her, feeling her wetness, teasing it until finally he hooked his fingers into the fragile crotch of her silk teddy and tore it aside.

Joanna gasped and jerked her head back.

“We’re alone, Gypsy,” David whispered against her mouth. “There’s no one here but you and me. And I want you more than I’ve ever wanted a woman in my life.”

He kissed her, hard, and she responded with an ardor that equaled his. It was what she wanted, too. No preliminaries. No sweet words. Just this, the blinding passion, the urgent need, the coupling that their flesh demanded.

That her heart desired.

Joanna’s breath caught.

How could she have been so blind? She loved him.

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