His Last Defense. Karen Rock
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his square chin. She met his scorching green gaze. He had that way of looking at her. Intently. Passionately. With heated promise, as if he knew all of her erotic fantasies and intended to make each one come true.
It undid her.
He lowered his face. “You’re driving me crazy,” he whispered directly into her ear, his warm lips grazing the sensitive lobe.
“Me, too,” she gasped as he continued stroking her, slowly, tantalizingly, eliciting a lush heady response to his touch so that her heart clattered.
“Tell me what you want,” he rasped, his voice an edgy growl.
“You,” she groaned, a dizziness taking hold as her hand smoothed along his ridged abdomen. “I want you, Dylan. Always.”
She felt him brush the hair back from her temples. His unsteady fingers conveyed the same need that licked through her.
“You’re beautiful,” he murmured, his voice insistent. Husky. Then he slid across her, inch by inch, like a tide, and she lay back so that she was flat on the sand, sinking into it.
In the sizzling afternoon, she could smell the sea on him, feel the faint grittiness of the salt on his skin as his muscular body shifted over hers, firm and solid. And then, she could feel his breath, the shocking, numbing firmness of his mouth a moment later as Dylan’s lips melted into hers.
He kissed her, slowly and tenderly, his weight easing onto her so that she was overwhelmed with lust, the hardness of his body against her. His lips lingered and sampled. Tasted and nibbled. When his tongue glided over hers, the sensual contact triggered waves of pleasure that rippled to her toes. Her fingertips.
She nipped at his lightly bristled jaw, his ears, her fingers brushing over his dark, close-cropped curls. He cradled her head as his mouth whispered along the sensitive length of her neck. The delicious caress stopped at the birthmark at the base of her throat. Lingered. Nerve endings short-circuited, flash-bang, beneath her skin.
She couldn’t possibly get enough of the feel of him.
“Dylan,” she moaned, her voice loud in her ears.
* * *
“NOLEE,” SHE HEARD him answer, his voice rising as if it were a question. Her lashes fluttered. Lifted. Dylan’s face swam into focus. He peered down at her, his pupils dilated, the black blotting out most of the green. His face pale.
She reached for him, needing him to anchor her when she suddenly felt so loopy. The effect of their incredible sexual chemistry, she supposed. She drew his face close and pressed her lips to his again, inhaling his sweet breath, feeling the heat of his skin as he responded to her, kissing her deeply. Ardently.
Adrift on this blissful current, her lashes fell to her cheeks. She felt Dylan tunnel his fingers through her damp hair and its weight surprised her. Took her aback.
They hadn’t gone swimming. Not yet. Or had they? Why couldn’t she remember?
She caressed his smooth jaw.
Smooth.
Her fingers stilled.
Then she noticed something else that wasn’t right. Something thick and heavy separated them.
A blanket. No. Blankets.
And the automated sound of beeping machines filled her ears, not the ocean, the salted air now smelling of antiseptic soap and disinfectant.
The dream or memory or whatever it was dissolved and vanished, like a reflection on water. Nolee’s thoughts sharpened, and she willed herself to open her heavy eyes.
She was in a small white box of a room lying on an uncomfortable mattress.
A hospital.
Not on the beach.
Not on her boat, either, because...
A strangled noise escaped her and she shoved Dylan in the chest, forceful enough to make him stumble back, hard realizations knocking through her.
...Because in this reality, Dylan no longer loved her.
* * *
“YOU!”
Dylan shoved his hands into the pockets of his olive-green flight suit and stared wordlessly at a furious Nolee. Sporadic bursts of noise filtered in from the corridor of Dutch Harbor’s medical clinic. A squeaky wheel, and the aroma of roast chicken, heralded the delivery of the evening meal to the small unit’s patients. Stale air hung as still and heavy as a tomb.
Why the hell had he just kissed her? He shouldn’t have angled in so close when she’d called his name. Tempted himself.
And had she meant it when she’d said she wanted him? Granted she wasn’t fully conscious...but she’d said always.
Not that he cared.
Shit. He cared.
He wanted her. The driving need to haul her back into his arms, feel the press of her lush curves through her thin hospital gown, thrummed inside. Made his stomach clench.
He drew in a ragged breath. Raked a hand over his hair. “I’ll get the doctor.”
“No!”
He halted at the door. Turned.
She leveraged herself up on her elbows and then sat up. The pallor of her skin alarmed him, and snapped him back to the bed where he gathered her small, rough hands in his.
“What are you doing here, kissing me? Why am I here?” In the room’s quiet, her soft voice, always at odds with her tough words, slid around him like a caress.
Good questions, both. At least he had an answer for the second one. As for why he’d kissed her, frustratingly, he’d been as unable to resist her as ever. He should’ve left with his flight crew after dropping her here and enjoyed his upcoming time off after a long shift. But he hadn’t been able to leave until he was assured of her recovery.
“You don’t remember the boat?”
Beneath the flicker of humming fluorescent lights, her dark eyes sparked. “I fixed the leak...” Her words trailed off like the last air from a deflating balloon and confusion crossed her face. “Right?”
He shook his head. “You were too late.”
She snatched her hands back. “No, I wasn’t.”
“You fainted. Hypothermia.” He gestured to the thermal heating blankets that concealed her gorgeous shape, the feel of her body imprinted on his muscle memory as clearly as the last time they’d made love on Summer Bay beach, nine years ago.
Her teeth appeared on her bottom lip. Worried it. Black brows slanted toward the small proud nose he’d always found sexy. “So the boat...” She swallowed the last of her words. Hard.
“Gone.”
She dropped her head in her hands. Moaned. It took everything in him not to gather her close and hold her as he had moments ago. Suddenly her lashes, thick and black, rose. She peered up at him. “My crew. Are they...?”
“Safe. Still pains in the ass, though. They’re in the waiting room and refuse to leave until they hear you’re okay.” He bit back a rueful smile as he recalled the ongoing battle between the boisterous fishermen and the nurses threatening to toss them out. If not for his military credentials, and his persistence, he might not have been allowed back here, either.
“They’re assholes. But they’re my assholes,” she said affectionately. She rolled her eyes at him, and in an instant their old connection slammed into him. He pictured the gritty young woman he’d worked alongside on his Uncle Bill’s crab-fishing boat. They’d gone from friendly rivals to friends, and then much more.
What were they now?
He wouldn’t stick around long enough to find out.
Her amused expression