His hand was still resting lightly on her chest. Georgie shifted her shoulders, trying to get more comfortable, and the unexpected movement cause his hand to slip sideways. His palm cupped her breast, and Georgie sucked in a shocked gasp. Their eyes met—and a jolt of pure erotic tension flashed between them. Her stomach flipped.

“Georgie—” Wylde groaned hoarsely. His fingers tightened on her breast for a split second, before he seemed to realize what he was doing, and tugged his hand away as if she burned.

Georgie almost moaned at the loss. She wanted him to keep touching her. His breathing was deeper than normal, as if he’d been running, and as he shifted again, she became aware of the rigid length of him pressing against her leg. Her eyes widened in sudden realization. He wanted her!

He dropped his head against her shoulder with an odd, muffled sound, then gave a slow despairing exhale near her ear. “That’s what you do to me,” he whispered. “Every minute of the day. You make me crazy with wanting.”

He lifted his head and met her eyes. Only a few inches separated them. His lips were so close that their breath mingled, and Georgie quivered as longing liquefied her insides. Unable to help herself, she gave into impulse and lifted her hand to trace the outline of his lips with her fingers as if she could learn their contours by touch alone.

He stilled, then sucked in a shuddering breath and shot her a what-do-you-think-you’re-doing look. “We can’t,” he whispered. He tilted his head to indicate the muffled sounds still coming from outside the hull.

But Georgie didn’t care where they were, or who might hear. She slid her hand around the side of his neck, lifted her head from the wooden boards, and sought his mouth.

“Georgie—” he groaned again, almost in despair, and she waited for him to turn his head away, but instead, his lips found hers and her heart kicked against her ribs. His tongue flicked out to taste and tease, and then he was kissing her, openmouthed and full, and she nearly swooned with pleasure.

He tasted of coffee and sin. Georgie threaded her fingers through his hair and pulled him down to her, greedy, wanting more. Languor kindled into a hunger, a craving, in a heartbeat. His hand returned to the swell of her breast, deliberately this time, molding and kneading, and she arched up, inciting him, as her own hands stroked his neck, his shoulders, wherever she could touch.

She wriggled against him, and he gave an almost inaudible hiss, then caught her hand and drew it down his body, over his chest and abdomen, down to the bulge in his breeches. She almost pulled away when she realized where he was leading her, but curiosity got the better of her, and she let him mold her fingers around the rigid shape of him. Oh, dear Lord.