One Night Of Consequences Collection. Annie West

here. This hammock is a rather unstable bed.” And her stomach tended to get queasy.

      More so since the jaunt to Noir Creux. She was also a bit light-headed, though looking up into André’s magnetic eyes chased both symptoms away.

      A slow smile curved his sensuous lips, and raw desire flared in his dark eyes, the combination leaving her breathless for what was to come. “But I thought you enjoyed taking risks.”

      “Never.” Though she was taking a monstrous one now. “I’m a very proper Englishwoman. Brisk walks along well-trod paths and the like.”

      “How boring.”

      And so very lonely. But she wouldn’t admit that. She’d never revealed this awful emptiness that dwelled within her to another soul. She held close the fact that with him she’d felt a connection and purpose she’d never felt before. She knew no matter how good it seemed now, their affair was tenuous at best.

      “Kiss me again,” she said, tangling her fingers in his hair and pulling him to her.

      “With pleasure.”

      His mouth was sheer heaven, his kiss so deep and drugging that she couldn’t think anymore. Just feel. His taste, his power, his passion were more potent than any drug.

      His tongue parried with hers while his hands pillaged her body, molding her breasts, teasing the nipples until she was reeling from want. She arched against him, finding small relief as she rubbed against the hard wall of his chest like a cat in heat.

      Sensations crashed within her, her heart swelling with love, her body crying for release. She was drunk on him, torturing herself with a need that the world couldn’t contain.

      She spread her legs wider and he settled fully against her, his engorged sex hot and hard on her belly. A whimper tore from her, for she needed him in her, filling her. She needed the connection of another soul dancing with hers.

      Arching against him only intensified her frustrations, so she wrapped her legs around his hips and ground against him. She was done with the torment—done with the waiting.

      His mouth left hers with a gasp, the eyes staring into hers near black. He whispered in French, his voice low, pausing to nuzzle her ear, lap at the lobe, then tug it with his teeth, sending liquid heat rushing through her.

      I love him. The litany sang in her heart, filling her with wonder, chasing the dark shadows to their corners.

      She moaned, grinding against him, running her hands down his back to skim the taut swell of his derrière, holding back the words that ached to break free. For she was afraid that truth would shatter the mood. Make him think. Doubt.

      Her fingers dug into his taut arms as she arched against him, gasping as he shifted and his hot sex moved between her legs.

      Yes, she thought, squirming, clutching his back, his ribs, his buttocks. The gentle breeze kissed her through the netting, but she burned with a sensual fever that could only be broken with completion. Only with him.

      She panted with need, her senses consumed by him, her heart ensnared as well. The hammock rocked and shimmied, the ropes biting into her bare back. If he didn’t make love to her soon she’d die.

      His hips rocked forward, his sex pushing inside her. She gasped and smiled, clinging to him, welcoming him home, wanting more, wanting all of him.

      He shifted again, pulling from her. “Mon Dieu, you’re tight. Perfect.”

      She moaned, frustrated by the torture and the insatiable need for him that raged within her. He was large, powerful, and driving her mad with want.

      “You are taking too long,” she said, clutching at him.

      He pushed into her before the last word left her mouth, filling her completely, touching her heart, her soul. The heat of his unsheathed sex sinking into her pulsing core ripped a gasp of wonder from her. She hadn’t remembered this feeling from before, coming at the end of a long night of passion.

      This time it felt new. A beginning. Giving birth to a hope she harbored in the secret recesses of her heart. Could it be?

      The power and carnal promise in each thrust lifted her higher toward the sun, burning her with his desire, with his need. His brand of absolute possession seared her soul.

      She was his. Now. Always. She accepted it. Embraced it. For she knew she’d never find this oneness with another man.

      His movements came faster, deeper, keener, stealing her ability to think. He’d pushed her past reason to a shimmering aura where she could only feel, into a spray of glorious rainbows that blinded her.

      She clung to him, trembling with the force of her climax, welcoming his release. Nothing she’d experienced came close to this wonderful feeling of unity.

      He held her so tightly she thought they’d become one, was sure there no longer existed a place where he ended and she began.

      “Mon amour,” he said, nearly chewing out the words.

      She smiled and blinked back tears, for he’d whispered the only French she knew, the only words she’d ached to hear.

      My love.

      Yes, she was, she admitted, gliding her hands down his sweat-slicked back and marveling at the steely strength rippling beneath her fingers.

      She could’ve lain there the rest of the day, but she felt him pulling away from her. Knew this ideal had come to an end.

      It was too soon. She wanted more. She wanted forever.

      The hammock shimmied beneath her. She stilled and grabbed his arms, the muscles taut. He gave a swift jerk, his body bowing and pulling her flush with his.

      Her breath caught in her lungs as the hammock shuddered and flipped. She yelped and clung to André.

      Her world turned upside down, air whispering over her bare body, the weight of him on her removed. She sprawled on him, breast to broad chest, stomach to corded belly.

      She felt his arms tremble with the strain of holding on to the hammock as he became a new cradle for her.

      “Relax, ma chérie. The best is yet to come.”

      She stared into his handsome face, his tension gone and his smile positively lascivious. The impeccable island tycoon garbed in tailored French suits had been replaced by a wild-eyed pirate with seduction oozing from his pores.

      Naked and free. And hers.

      “Show me,” she said.

      His smile widened as he let go of the ropes. He dropped, taking her with him, his arms cradling her long before he slammed into the sand.

      She straddled him, glorying in the shift of position, of power. The admission was shocking, for she’d never dreamed she’d have sex with a man in the middle of the day on a beach and feel no shame. That she’d revel in being on top.

      “The appetizer was wonderful.” She dropped a quick kiss on his gorgeous mouth. “What’s the entrée?”

      “Amour sous le beau ciel.”

      “I hope that’s not fried squid or eyeballs boiled in seaweed.”

      He threw his head back and laughed, the sound rich and sensual. “Not at all. It means love under the beautiful sky.”

      “I like that.” Especially the love part. For without a doubt, despite everything, she’d fallen hard and fast for André.

      She glided her palms up his taut belly, her thumbs tracing the line of black hair that widened over his pectorals. He treated her to much the same torment, sliding his palms up her ribs to cup her breasts.

      Their gazes locked, their breaths labored. She stared into eyes that had gone nearly black again. Her fingers danced in an erotic melody over his tanned skin, kneading, marveling at the play of muscle.

      She