He stood, pulling her up next to him. The side of his hand brushed her breast, and her breath caught. He began to unbutton her blouse. His hands moving against her skin as he deftly undressed her sent the swooping butterflies in her stomach into frantic mode. He paused just below her belly button as if he’d actually felt them fluttering frantically.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his warm breath brushing her hairline.

“Yes,” she said hastily. He remained still. “I’ve just . . . never done this before.”

She felt him stiffen. “Never done what?” he asked, and she heard tension harden his tone.

“Gone swimming in the lake naked?” The silence made her a little desperate. “With . . . with someone like you?”

“Someone like me?” His fingers resumed their journey downward, and she sighed in relief.

“Someone so . . .” She gulped when he swept back both sides of her blouse and the lake breeze hit her bare skin. “Wait . . . are you looking for a compliment?”

His low, rich laughter was delicious.

“Maybe. It might be nice, hearing one from you,” he said.

“I complimented you up there. On the bluff,” she reminded him distractedly. The warm fingers of one hand had slid beneath the back of her bra strap, making a ripple of pleasure go through her. Her nipples pulled tight. Her bra seemed to snap open as if by magic at his mere touch.

“You’re very good at that,” she said doubtfully, referring to his bra maneuvering.

“That wasn’t the compliment I was aiming for. Besides, from your tone, it might have been an insult,” he said as he drew the straps off her shoulders and down her arms, his light touch on her skin making her shiver. It took her a moment to register the wry humor in his tone.

“It wasn’t an insult,” she said as the cups of her bra evaporated into the darkness and the light breeze licked and swirled against her sensitive bare breasts. “But as for my tone, it sort of gets to the point.”

His large hands settled on her bare shoulders, his touch warm and reassuring, and somehow forbidden and electrically exciting at once. “Speak English, Emma,” he said, sounding less amused this time as his hands swept down her arms and back up again, as if he experimented with the feeling of her. She firmed her resolve, as difficult as it was to do with his warm, strong hands moving over her naked skin.

“I don’t have all that much experience, and it seems like you do.”

His hands paused in their exploration on her shoulder blades.

“Experience could mean a lot of different things,” he finally said warily.

“I know. Just forget it. It’s only . . . I wanted you to know I don’t usually fool around with men I’ve known for a week. In fact, I’ve only ever been with . . . you know,” she muttered, her cheeks starting to boil. Thank goodness for the darkness. She didn’t want to say Colin’s name out loud. She was already ruining the spontaneity of the moment as it was.

“And you were with Colin for two years,” he said, understanding and something that sounded like relief seeping into his tone.

“And it was never sex on the beach,” Emma admitted, wondering if he’d intuit the manifold meaning behind the words sex on the beach. It’d never been crazy or raunchy or a spur-of-the-moment impulse. Sex had never been extremely bad or mind-blowingly good for her. It’d been nice sometimes, a little trying others.

It’d never been scary or beautiful or heart-pounding-in-your-ears wild.

It’d never been this.

Why had she brought it up at all? Nerves. The bane of her existence when it came to sex. That’s what Colin used to say, anyway. Maybe Montand would end up telling her the same thing—

His arms came around her, sending her thoughts scattering. Instinctively, she embraced him back, her arms looping around his waist. With one open hand, he caressed the side of her from hip to just under her upraised arm, his palm skimming the side of her bare breast. She trembled.

“Do you feel that?” he asked quietly, his mouth very close to her ear. His hand moved ever so slightly, and she shivered again.

“Yes,” she breathed out against his chest.

His hand lowered and joined its mate just below her waist. He dipped his knees and aligned her against him. She felt him throbbing, full and vibrant, next to her lower belly.

“And that?” His dark tone sent another shudder of excitement through her.

“Yes,” she whispered, her hands clutching at his taut waist. She strained against him, feeling his shape through their clothing. A lump formed in her throat. He felt so good. So exciting.

“That’s all that matters. What happens when we’re together. No one else. Nothing else,” he rasped before he kissed her ear persuasively, and she shuddered in mounting excitement.

His hands cupped her ass. She suppressed a whimper when he pushed her against him, clearly as eager to feel her shape as she was to feel his.

“It doesn’t matter how much experience either one of us has,” he continued hoarsely as he kissed her temple. “All that matters is you and me, and what feels right. What feels good.” His hands swept up over her naked back and sides again, his manner more forceful, kneading her muscles, his hunger clearly mounting. “The way you feel is new to me.”

“It . . . it is?” she asked in amazement.

“You make me almost feel new, too. Almost . . .”

She suppressed a whimper, stunned, moved by the quiet intensity of his tone. She wanted to thank him for the unusual compliment, but his mouth covered hers. Her returned kiss spoke for her. Or at least she hoped it did.

Their hands moved while they tasted each other, unbuttoning, undressing, pausing every once in a while out of necessity to remove jeans and shoes and socks.

Finally Emma was completely naked, her bare feet sinking into the cool sand, her arms empty. He knelt before her, removing his final remnants of clothing, but then he rose, a large, solid mass in front of her. Her heart jumped against her breastbone when he spread his hand at her waist.

“Come here,” he said gruffly. She went to him at that arousing, increasingly familiar bidding.

She closed her eyes, wonder and need sweeping through her when she felt his hard, naked body press against her in the darkness. He swept back her hair with one hand and cradled her head in that claiming manner that always made her breathless. His fingers fisting her hair, he pulled gently and her chin went back. He pressed his hot, open mouth to her pulse, tasting her, his lips moving sensually on her skin. She arched against a wall of solid, ridged muscle, her breasts crushing against his lower chest. His cock leapt against her lower belly and hip like a living thing, the size and weight of him thrilling. Intimidating.

But it was only pure disappointment she felt when he brushed his fingers down her arm, his hot mouth still against her neck, and took her hand in his. He stepped away.

“Let’s get in,” he said.

She followed his slow pace. “Careful,” he directed as they made their way to the water, and she knew why he’d warned her. The sand from the city beach had blown here, but small rocks intermixed with it. His hold on her was steady, though, even when the surf swept across her feet and she started.

“Oh my God, it’s so cold!” she blurted out.

He chuckled. “It’s Lake Michigan. It’s always cold. You’ll get used to it.”

His hand tightened around hers and she followed him unerringly. She could barely see anything. Her skin actually hurt from the goose bumps covering it, and there was an uncomfortable pressure growing in her stomach as her body protested against the rising cold and the eerie blackness in front of her. She instinctively followed him, however, trusting the feeling of his firm, warm grip even more than her body’s primal urging for warmth and safety.

A wave lapped against her belly. She shrieked at the unpleasant jolting sensation, and then snorted with laughter. Impulsively she let go of his hand and plunged into the darkness. Cold encapsulated her, the tingling sensation in her flesh blending with her bubbling excitement. She swam blindly for a few moments, then surfaced.