“Heaps of space. Oceans of space. All professionally soundproofed. Practically a recording studio in there.”

  “It is not.”

  He sighed. “No. But if that’s what it takes, I’ll get it done.”

  “Nope.” She shoved the duvet back into his arms again. “It’s not going to take that. Maybe I just want to be sure I can be loud enough for you, you think of that? In case you do something really good. You know. Something that’ll make me scream.” She ran a hand over his forearm, let it linger there for a moment, then let him go. “See you tomorrow.”

  Then she walked off and thought, Ha. Look who isn’t a good girl anymore. What are you going to do about that, Iain McCormick? You’ve got about twelve hours to figure it out.

  All the Way Home

  One second, she was walking away from Iain, savoring her moment. The next, he was in front of her.

  “Wait, how . . .” she began.

  “That the only reason?” he demanded.

  All the laughter was gone from his voice, and hers wasn’t entirely steady when she asked, “Wh-what?”

  He moved a step closer, put a hand under her chin, and tipped it up. “Tell me,” he demanded. “Is that the only reason? That you’re afraid you’ll be too loud? That you don’t want to do it where my dad will hear? That you’re embarrassed?”

  “Uh . . . yes,” she said. “But I meant it.” Your choice, she reminded herself. You only do it if you want to. The trouble was, he was still holding her chin, was staring down at her, the hungry intensity clear to see on his barbarian’s face, and that was all it took. She wanted to.

  “Right,” he said, then dropped his hand, and she fought the disappointment. The next instant, she was squeaking, because he’d dropped into a crouch, driven his shoulder into her hips, and was lifting her, one hand secure around the back of her thighs, the other flat on her bottom, and she was spreading her hands out instinctively to brace herself against his back as she was upended over his broad shoulder.

  “Wait,” she’d started to say, but he was already striding across the yard to the hammock, grabbing the duvet, and heading down the track to the beach. He tossed the duvet down onto the narrow strip of sand at the edge of the grass and said, “High tide. Private beach. Waves. Noise.”

  She was still upside-down, her hands on his broad back, feeling the muscles shift as he moved, and his hand had gone under the elastic of her underwear, was running over her bottom, his touch so dangerously thrilling.

  He said, “If you don’t want this, tell me now,” and just like that, she was shivering.

  “Uh . . .” She couldn’t think, and it wasn’t because she was upside down. “Wait. Condom.”

  His hand stilled. “I had a medical three months ago. Haven’t slept with anyone since. And don’t tell me you haven’t had one, too.”

  “Not on . . . birth control,” she managed to say. “I was supposed to . . . have a baby.”

  “Oh.” He was still standing there, and she was still upside-down. “Do you want a baby?”

  It took her breath away. “I can’t—” she began. “I think—we should use one. A condom.”

  “Right,” he said. “Right.”

  He turned around and was heading up the track with her, still holding her tight.

  “You can’t . . .” she hissed as he strode across the yard again and through the back door.

  “Shh,” he said. “Dad’ll hear.” He was taking the stairs two at a time, running up them as if carrying her were nothing at all, then, dizzyingly, around the spiral staircase to his room, slapping the rocker switch on the wall and letting go of her with one hand. She heard a drawer opening and closing, and then he was standing again and headed out of the room.

  “Iain,” she gasped. “You’re crazy.”

  He didn’t answer. The blood was rushing to her head, and she had to hold on tight to keep from banging against his back as he ran down the stairs and across the lawn. Down the track to the beach, and he was sinking onto the duvet, spilling her gently onto it, then pulling it flat around her.

  The night was full of the crash and roar of the waves, the rattle of the palms. The clouds shifted in the black night overhead, the canopy of stars glittering in their gaps.

  And Iain on his knees beside her.

  She couldn’t look away. He’s proportional, that’s all, she tried to tell herself. Not like she didn’t know it. She’d had him in her hands, in her mouth. She knew exactly how big he was.

  It didn’t help. She was trembling with more than the night air now. With need, and with fear.

  Not fear of Iain. Fear of disappointing him.

  One hand brushed over her cheek, gentle now. “Hey,” he said softly. “This all right?”

  “Oh,” she said, trying for some kind of mastery of the situation, “now you’re asking me?”

  “Yeh.” The back of his hand was caressing her face, moving over her throat, her shoulder, down her arm, gentle as a kiss. “I’m asking you. If you don’t want it, we’ll stop.”

  What would happen after this would happen. “I want it.” It was barely more than a whisper. “I do.”

  “Then I’m going to love you.”

  He had a hand under her tank, was pulling it up for the second time that night, and she arched her back and let him lift her and yank it off. He was straddling her, his hands on her upper arms again, holding them over her head. Her hands were in the sand, her arms on the cool cotton, and she wasn’t cold anymore.

  “Beautiful,” he said. “And mine.” He moved down her body, lowered himself over her, and took her mouth in a hot, sweet kiss. His hands were still on her arms, holding her gently, but firmly, too, his thumbs stroking over her tender flesh, his mouth exploring, probing, as if it were the first time. As if he couldn’t get enough, and she was helpless under those hands, that mouth.

  His hands slid over her, up and down, awakening every one of her senses. Her head was full of the sound of the waves, the smell of the salt sea, the taste of Iain. When he lifted his head, she whimpered to lose him.

  “Oh, yeh,” he breathed. “That’s my girl.” Then he was rolling off her, pulling her underwear down her legs, getting rid of it, sliding a slow hand back up her calf, her thigh, separating it from its neighbor.

  “This,” he said, sliding down again, brushing his cheek, rough with beard, over her breasts. “I remember this.”

  As he sucked an aching, hardened peak into his mouth, his hand found her, was delving, swirling and exploring, and she was arching right off the duvet.

  He had those fingers inside her again, was stretching her, spreading her. His mouth was at her neck now, kissing her there, speaking low into her ear.

  “Think you liked me carrying you,” he said. “Think you want this now.”

  “Oh.” She was having trouble talking. Her hips were moving, as if she had no control over them. She dragged a hand down, got it in his hair. “Please.”

  “Please, eh.” A third finger, now. “You sure?”

  “Iain. Stop teasing. Come on.”

  He took his hand away, and she wanted him back. He was ripping the condom packet open, and she sat up herself and ran a hand over his side.

  “That all for me?” she asked.

  “Nobody but you,” he said. “But you’re meant to be lying down for it. What did I say?’

  He had hold of her under the arms now, was lowering her onto her back, and she said, “That you wanted me on my back.”

  “I’ve wanted you like this for so long,” he said. “And now I get it.” His hand was stroking again, and then he was guiding himself inside.

  He met resistance at first. She’d tensed up despite herself, and she was drawing her breath in hard. He was on his elbows, threading his fingers through hers, raising her hands high, next to her head, and that was even better. Her back was arching right off the sand. The stretch of him, the heat of it . . . It was almost a burn.

  And then he started to move, and it was a burn. The good kind. The best kind.

  He took it slowly at first. Smooth and even, and she’d never been filled so completely, or so well. She was panting, and the waves were pounding, the sound filling her ears as Iain filled her body. Over and over, taking his time, until it wasn’t enough anymore. Until she needed more.

  He still had her hands, and her legs were wrapping around his waist, trying to pull him in. Her head was thrashing from side to side, and she moaned, “Please. Please.”

  “Please what?”

  She was trying to get closer. Trying to get more. And then he pulled out of her, and she cried out.

  He rolled fast, onto his back, and was pulling her over his body, taking her hips, lowering her onto him, making her cry out again. She was on top, but he was shoving her down, then pulling her up again, driving the pace and the rhythm.

  His face was urgent, straining in the moonlight. “Touch yourself,” he said.

  “Wh-what?” she gasped.

  “You need more, and I need to watch. Do it now.”

  Oh, God. She put her hands on her breasts, was stroking, circling, and she could feel what it did to him.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Keep playing with them. Show me what you do.”

  He still had hold of her, was driving hard into her, and she was gasping with the force of it. She kept one hand on her breast, ran the other one down her body, and then she was doing it. Touching herself in a way she’d never dared to in front of a man, showing him how she did it. And she could tell that all it was doing was turning him on.

  Iain wasn’t doing all the moving anymore. She was going with him. She’d been shy at first, afraid to move in case it was wrong, in case it was awkward. Now, though, the sensation was taking her over, and she had to get him in the right place. She had to feel him.

  “That’s right,” he said, his voice ragged, his hands gripping her hips hard. “Show me that. Arch that pretty back, Nina. Touch yourself. Ride me. Come on, baby. Do it now.”

  One of her hands had gone to the ground, and she was rocking on him, taking over the rhythm, timing her strokes to her frantically moving hand, letting out little mews of excitement, going higher and higher, winding tighter and tighter. He was watching, and she didn’t care. She was almost there. Almost.

  He was watching her, though, and she couldn’t quite get there. So close, but drawn back from the edge every time, and she was panting with frustration, with need.

  “I can’t . . .” she said. “I can’t . . .”

  He lifted her straight off of him, and she cried out. “No,” she begged. “Don’t stop. Don’t . . . It’s all right. Keep going.”

  He had her on her back again, and this time, he had an ankle in each hand, was lifting them straight over her head, and she was squirming and saying, “Iain. No.”

  “Does it hurt?” he asked.

  “No, but . . .”

  “Do you trust me?” he demanded.

  “Yes,” she gasped. “Yes.”

  He was over her again, settling her legs over his shoulders. “We’re going to do this harder,” he said. “We’re going to do it deeper. So get ready.”

  When he plunged into her, she screamed. The angle . . . the friction . . .

  “Yeh,” he said. “That’s it. That’s right.” He was on his palms, and the position had lifted her hips straight off the ground. Then he plunged again, and again, and he was hitting that spot again, the one he’d found with his fingers. Deeper than she’d ever felt a man, harder than it had ever been. The waves were roaring in her head. It was the sea, and it was Iain. Faster and harder, more and more, every stroke hitting her just right, then sliding back along aching, stimulated nerve endings. Nothing but feeling. Nothing but being filled more completely, being touched more deeply than she’d ever been.

  “Long as . . . it takes,” he said. “Hard as . . . you need it. Forever.”

  It was like he’d turned the key, had unlocked the door, and there was no more frustration. No more effort. Her hands were clutching the small of his back, then rubbing over it, and he groaned.

  “Oh, yeh,” he said. “Do that. Touch me there.”

  Her fingers began to drum at the sensitive base of his tailbone, and she felt the change in him. He seemed to get even bigger inside her, and he was swearing.

  “Fuck, Nina,” he gasped. “Do that. Oh, yeh.”

  His excitement fueled hers, and she was over. She was going. Her fingers spasmed against his skin, even as her body began to spasm around him. She was crying out with every hard stroke, and he was groaning, swearing.

  The waves, the wind, the darkness. She was going. Going. Gone.

  * * *

  He barely had enough self-control left to lift her legs over his shoulders and pull out of her, then to dig a hasty hole in the sand with shaking fingers and dispose of the condom. A bad citizen, and he’d do better tomorrow. But now, he was rolling over Nina again, kissing her sweet, panting mouth.

  “All right?” he asked.

  She nodded, and he could feel her swallow. He said, “Nina. Sweetheart. What’s wrong?”

  She opened her eyes, and he could see the tears in the corners of them. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I took too long, I know. I made it too hard for you. I just . . . I got nervous.”

  “Aw, baby.” He laughed, and it wasn’t the steadiest it had ever been. “Did it feel bad?”

  “No. It was amazing. You were amazing.”

  “Know how it felt to me?”

  She dropped her gaze. “No.”

  “Felt awesome, that was how. To know it wasn’t easy, but that I got you there. And that thing you did with your fingers? That was the best.”

  “You liked that?”

  He smiled at her, the tenderness almost overwhelming him. “Couldn’t you tell? I liked it. I liked all of that. We’re learning each other, that’s all. And can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure,” she said, but she didn’t look sure at all.

  He smoothed a hand over her cheek, kissed her forehead. He wanted to wrap her up. He wanted to hold her forever. “Do you usually come with a man?” he asked her gently.

  She closed her eyes and swallowed again, and he said, “You can tell me. You can say.”

  “No,” she said. “I . . . I haven’t. Not during intercourse, and usually not at all. I fake it. Because I . . . can’t. That’s one reason why I said no. I didn’t want you to find out and be disappointed. I wanted you to think I was sexy.”

  He was so touched, and at the same time, so ridiculously proud. “That wasn’t fake, though. I felt it.”

  She laughed that sweet, husky little laugh, and just like always, it killed him. “No. That was real. That was . . . wow. That was what they talk about.”

  “Do you know how good that feels to me?” he asked her. “To know I could get you there, make you forget yourself enough to let it happen? Not every woman’s the same. For a man, it’s easy. If you stimulate him enough, he’s going to come. For a woman, though, it’s trickier. So we’re going to have one rule. You ready for it?’

  “Yes.” He could feel her trembling, and he did wrap her up in him then, trying to tell her with his arms whatever she couldn’t hear him say.

  “Right, then,” he said. “No faking. I have to know what works, or we can’t get you there. We find out what works for you, and we do that.”

  “I think you know.” She was smiling now, the tiniest thing.

  “I know one way. And you could say I enjoyed it. And next time?” He dropped another kiss on her sweet mouth. “We go back to school and learn some more. And I can promise that I’ll enjoy every bit of that, too. If it takes longer? That’s nothing but good. You know one thing I know about sex?”

  “No, what?” She was relaxing now, snuggling against him, pressing a kiss to his collarbone, and bloody hell, but he was so deep in. So far gone.

  He kissed her forehead again and told her. “Longer’s better.”

  Getting Out

  He did sleep with her, in the end. They climbed the stairs together, Graeme or no Graeme, took a long, sweet shower, soaping each other up and washing each other down, all sighs and murmurs and long, slow touches. Both of them sleepy now, warm and sated. And then he went upstairs with her, crawled into his bed, and discovered what it felt like to fall asleep with his arms around her and her head on his chest.

  He woke the next morning to the sound of her moving softly around the room.

  “Hey.” He hauled himself up in bed to find her pulling a T-shirt over her head. Unfortunately, she had a bra and shorts on already.

  “I’m going back over to the cottage,” she said.

  He put a hand out for her. “How about coming over here a second?”

  She hesitated, then came and sat beside him.

  “Embarrassed?” he asked.

  She shrugged and looked away. “No. Fine.”

  “You’re rubbish at lying.”

  This time, she smiled and actually looked at him. “All right. A little embarrassed.”

  He rubbed a hand up and down her forearm. “Nah. All good. I woke up a hell of a lot happier than when I went to sleep last night. And if you want to spend the two minutes I’ll be in the bathroom getting yourself naked again and climbing back into bed, we can do a bit more of that research. I’ve got a few ideas.”

  Her shoulders had lost some of their tension, at least. “Too much to do,” she said. “We’re leaving at nine, and I’m betting that ‘research’ could take a while. Plus, I can hear your dad down there.”

  He sighed. “You’re probably right. Never mind. Got that soundproofed room at home and all. Go on, then. You’re not going to have sex with me? Then get out.”

  She was laughing now, and she leaned over and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. “See you at nine.”

  He cooked breakfast for his dad, got a quick run, a shower, and his own breakfast, packed up his kit, and headed over there. Nina must have heard him, because she came into the kitchen with duffel in her hand.