She wanted to draw in that rich, deep male taste. And she did. She wanted to see her hand, pale and feminine, against his tanned skin. And she did. The sensations it brought her were something she’d never be able to describe with cool, clear reason, but she recognized happiness.

When she felt the top of her bikini loosen there wasn’t any self-consciousness, only pleasure. Touch me. Her mind hummed the words only an instant before they were obeyed.

Lost in each other, they twisted on the bunk, demanding as much as they gave, offering as quickly as taking. As his mouth followed after his hands, she arched, crying out in astonished delight. If there was more, she’d have more. But if this was everything, she’d need nothing else.

Had she known her body was so sensitive? Had he? Incredibly, he seemed to know just where she craved to be touched, where she longed to have his lips brush or linger. There would be no less for him.

Bold, confident, she yanked at his brief trunks until there was nothing between him and her hands. Excitement careened through her when he groaned, when he shuddered. When she felt the last dregs of civilization desert him.

He’d made love before. He could remember what it was to feel a woman’s body, to bury himself in one. Why was it he couldn’t remember anything like this? If needs had ever clawed at him this sharply before, he had no knowledge of it. She was filling him, overwhelming him. All at once, there was nothing else—no sea lapping, no sun streaming through a door, no subtle movement of a boat beneath. There was only Gabriella, strong, sleek and seductive. There was only Gabriella, and a desire so tangled with emotion he couldn’t fight it. He couldn’t fight what he didn’t understand. Instead he gave himself to it, and to her.

She arched, with her fingers digging into him like spurs. He heard her gasp, felt her stiffen. Then she was going with him, racing with him. Neither knew nor cared who set the pace.

* * *

Perhaps only moments had passed. It seemed like only moments. They were still tangled together, damp flesh against damp flesh, fast heart against fast heart. She wasn’t relaxed, but stunned. Perhaps, she thought as Reeve’s breathing continued to come unsteadily against her ear, she’d never relax again. Certainly she’d never be the same again.

She looked at the sun coming into the cabin. The same sun. She heard and felt the motion of the sea. The same sea. But not the same Gabriella. Never the same, from this moment. Innocence was gone. It was only now that she could be certain she’d had it to lose. And it was only now, she realized, that she was sure she’d wanted to.

“So there was no one else,” she murmured, thinking aloud.

He felt something twist inside him. Lying still, he closed his eyes until it eased. When he lifted his head, he saw that her eyes were heavy, but her skin had that glow that spoke of the aftermath of passion. And he saw, when he looked down at her, that he’d lost a great deal more than his objectivity.