He wondered if it still frightened her…

So he was slow when he moved his hand from her hip, softly sliding it around to her silky thigh. Carefully caressing his way underneath the hem of her T-shirt to the edge of her bikini bottoms. He was gentle when he fingered the elastic band, running his thumb along the perimeter of the lycra.

And she shivered. Just ever so slightly.

But it wasn’t a shiver of fear. It was a shiver of desire. And that’s all he needed to know.

That timid eighteen-year-old was gone, replaced by this woman whose blood ran as quickly and as hotly as his own. She knew where he was leading her this time around, and she was eager to get there. And, just like that, it was go time…

* * *

It was just like she remembered. And then again, it was so much better.

She wasn’t scared this time. She wasn’t nervous or thinking too much. She wasn’t worried she’d do the wrong thing. There was no wrong thing. Because what lay between them was primal and basic. But, above all else, it was real. Real in a way it’d never been real with anybody else.

“Eve,” he growled her name against her lips, nipping the bottom pad before releasing her mouth to leave a string of hot kisses across her jaw and back to her ear. He sucked the lobe into his searing mouth and her toes curled inside her socks.

“Billy,” she sighed, palming the back of his head, tunneling her fingers through his warm hair. Desire didn’t wash through her when he pulled back to tug her shirt over her head, it’d already pooled hot and heavy between her thighs. And when his gleaming eyes landed on her, garbed in nothing but that itsy-bitsy-teeny-weeny bikini, she was amazed her entire body didn’t spontaneously combust. Just poof! A fireball of lust and passion.

“Sweet Jesus, you haven’t changed a bit. You’re perfect,” he said, his low, guttural growl filled with masculine appreciation.

Perfect?

No. She was far from perfect. But she sure as heck wasn’t going to point out the fact that, at thirty, she had cellulite at the top of her thighs that no amount of jogging managed to budge, or that her breasts weren’t quite as perky as they’d once been. If he wanted to look at her and see that eighteen-year-old body, if he wanted to look at her and see perfection, far be it from her to disillusion him. Especially not when he hooked a hand behind her neck, dragging her forward for another mind-blowing kiss.

She didn’t realize he’d untied the strings at her neck or the ones behind her back until she felt the cool cabin air brush across her nipples. Then…oh, holy cow.

Because Billy gently laid her back on the mattress, leaving a trail of wet, hot kisses down her throat and over to her right nipple. He thumbed it once, and it sprung to instant attention, pouting and puckering and begging.

“These haven’t changed either, have they?” he grumbled appreciatively, the sound rumbling through his big chest. “Such a pretty, delicate pink, and so very easily aroused. Are they just as sensitive?” he asked, his eyes managing to be simultaneously laser-sharp and bedroom-lazy.

She bit her lip. “Why don’t you find out?” she breathed.

And, okay, where the heck had that come from? She wasn’t the sexpot, vixeny sort, remember? But that was exactly the type of thing a sexpot vixen would say.

It obviously shocked Billy as much as it shocked her, because he choked on a laugh, then instantly sobered, that muscle ticking in his jaw again. The look in his eyes was so hungry, so carnal, she shivered. “Don’t mind if I do,” he murmured then sucked her beaded nipple into his mouth, tonguing it slowly and languidly at first, then more quickly.

“Uhnnn,” she moaned, digging her nails into his shoulders. “God, that feels good.”

“Mmm,” he hummed, doing some sort of simultaneous suck/flick thing that made her feel as if there was a string tying her nipple to her clitoris. Her sex throbbed heavily with each pull of his lips, with each wickedly erotic flicker of his tongue.

Oh, she ached. And when he turned slightly, gently pressing himself against her hip, it was like she was plugged into an electrical outlet. Because his erection was rock hard, sizzling hot, and so beautifully alive. Pulsing forcefully against her thigh. Burning her even through the damp fabric of his swim trunks.

She wanted to touch him. Palm the whole hot, rigid, silky flesh-covered length of him. Her fingers literally twitched with the need. But with his mouth still working on her breast, and his free hand gently tweaking her opposite nipple, she was a thing of pure feeling. Pure pleasure. Pure lust. And it was hard to get her mind to work, much less her muscles.

Somehow she managed, though. And her fingers fumbled with the tie at his waistband.

In just a second, she’d have him in her hands. In just a second, she’d once more know the feel of him, all throbbing and searing and undeniably male. In just a second, she’d—

“Cheese and rice, Billy!” she grumped. “Did you tie these things in a triple knot, or what?”

He growled against her nipple, like a dog refusing to give up its most-treasured bone. “I’m serious,” she pushed at his shoulder. “Help me get your shorts off.”

Her nipple popped free of his mouth—oh, she immediately missed the sensation of his tongue—as he leaned up on one elbow, looking down at her with one brow winged up his forehead. “Since when did you get so pushy?” he asked, his plump lower lip quirking.

“Since I stopped trying to please everybody else and started trying to please myself,” she told him in a huff, ducking her chin to glare at the offending Houdini-worthy tie at his waistband.

“And taking off my trunks will please you?” he asked, his voice all low and sexy.

She remembered that voice. It was his Marvin-Gaye-Let’s-Get-It-On voice. The difference now was that it wasn’t just for show. Because they were going to get it on. She shivered in anticipation. Yes, they were going to get it on…if he would just take off his flippin’ swim trunks…

“Yes,” she scowled up at him. “Unless you can think of another way for me to touch your…um…” Come on, Eve. You can do it. Be the sexpot vixen you’ve always dreamed of being. “To touch your cock,” she finished triumphantly.

And, damn her fair complexion! Her hot blush ruined the effect.

Obviously it still worked for Billy though, because his gaze sharpened and the skin across his cheekbones tightened. Then he growled, “You first.”

Suddenly, he’d pushed up from the mattress. Standing at the end of the bed, he grabbed one of her ankles, pulling her leg up, and slowly, carefully removed her sock. He ducked his chin to kiss the arch of her foot—his beard stubble tickled and sent a zing of delight up her leg—then he positioned her ankle over his shoulder and reached for her opposite foot. The process repeated until both of her ankles were over his shoulders. Then he hooked his thumbs into the waistband of her bikini bottoms.

And the way he pulled them off her? So slowly, so incredibly, mind-bendingly slowly, as if he was savoring each new inch of skin that was revealed? It made goose bumps erupt all over her body despite the warmth of the air inside the cabin.

Then her bikini bottoms were gone, tossed over his shoulder without a second thought. She settled her heels on the mattress, squeezing her legs together, but he stopped her with his hands on her knees, gently forcing her to spread her thighs wide.

“Let me look at you, Eve,” he breathed, his eyes even darker than usual as his gaze settled on her naked sex. “I never got the chance to just look at you that summer.”

Yep. Because the thought of him standing there, eyeing her bare, wide-open genitals would’ve mortified eighteen-year-old Eve. Heck, even thirty-year-old Eve had to fight to keep a hot blush from searing her from head to toe.

But then he said reverently, his voice all rough like he’d swallowed a spiky sea anemone, “My God. You’re beautiful. So soft and pink. So delicate,” and she forgot all about being embarrassed. It helped when he blew out a ragged breath, lifting one brow, adding, “and my regards to your bikini-waxer.”

The ever-so-tiny, and impeccably sculpted landing-strip of inky-black hair covering her pubis had always baffled Eve. But her stylist had assured her, “It drives the men wild,” and she hadn’t had the heart to tell the woman, “Don’t waste your time. You and I are the only ones who’ll see it.”

Now she was happy she’d held her tongue, seeing as how Billy’s was nearly hanging out. Obviously, her stylist knew what she was talking about, and the woman was going to get a big tip—huge—the next time Eve had an appointment.

“Your turn,” she insisted, her chest raising and falling rapidly, her hot blood racing through her body until her nerve-endings felt super-heated. “Take off your trunks.”

Billy held her gaze, his eyes keeping her a prisoner. But her peripheral vision told her he reached for the tie at his waist.

“Your wish is my command,” he said as his long, tan fingers slowly worked at the knot.

Then he pushed his trunks down his large, muscled thighs, and they hit the floorboards with a gentle spllff. She could no longer hold his gaze. Her eyes were drawn down the length of his body as if they were being pulled by anchors.

And talk about gulp.

She tilted her head, her stomach doing a series of quick backflips as a surge of blood gushed into her already engorged sex. “Are you…” she shook her head, licked her lips. “Have you always been th-that big?”