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of satisfaction as he leaned toward her and slid his tongue right into the diamante edged cut-out.

CHAPTER THREE

    The words ‘a bitch on heat’ swam through her brain as he laved her with slow slippery deliberation. The sounds she made were animal, and very far removed from any past murmurs of pleasure. The sensation that accompanied them caused her toes to curl down hard, her fingers to grab for his hair, and her hips to tilt forward in helpless demand.
    His tongue stroked and retreated, over and over, and every sliding caress drove her higher and made her more incoherent.
    He drew back and she moaned at the loss.
    “Off,” he rasped, and his big hands smoothed further up her thighs, his thumbs hooked into the sides of the thong, and he drew it down, following it with small hot kisses until he reached the top of Bella’s long boots. “You taste like chocolate,” he murmured as he sat back on his heels and devoted himself to the more difficult task of working lace and elastic past suede.
    Frankie lifted each foot in turn, hoping he’d soon resume his luscious torture, because she felt so...so...desirous and desperate and overheated and astounded.
    She saw more of him now his hat was gone. Those wonderful shoulders. Glossy dark hair, cut short. But his face remained in total darkness as he looked down, concentrating on stripping her bare. Trembling, she lifted the front of her skirt again in invitation, and he glanced up, a white smile visible against his darker skin.
    Now his tongue could wander at will, could sweep and flick and tease. Now there was room for his fingers to roam and stroke, and hold her exactly as he wanted her.
    Frankie sighed, and panted, and groaned as he pleasured her acutely aroused body and carried her ever closer to release.
    “Legs further apart,” he said roughly, and she thrilled at the husky demand and slight hint of desperation. He wanted this as much as she did! Sounded just as turned on by the decadent atmosphere and the tacit ‘permission’ their concealed identities granted.
    She obeyed, and heard again that sexy grunt of masculine intent as he grabbed one of her legs behind the knee, and pushed it up until he’d totally exposed her.
    She flung the opposite arm out against the wall for balance, and squeezed her eyes shut, knowing his face was close because his breath fanned hot against her skin as he spoke.
    “Time to get serious, Rose.”
    Then his mouth settled against her again, his questing tongue located her swollen clit, his lips surrounded it, and he sucked.
    Her shuddering scream apparently pleased him greatly because he laughed—lips vibrating against her flesh.
    Somewhere during the pleasure overload, he slung her leg over his shoulder. As she climbed and climbed toward her shattering climax his long fingers slid inside her and pressed upward, forward...and she started to spasm and clench, lost to everything except his insistent demands and the pulsing waves of ecstasy threatening to steal her very consciousness.
    Reality trickled back as he gentled her down.
    She once again heard the rock music thumping and soaring from the big white marquee. Felt a gust of breeze blow by, stealing leaves from the overhanging trees and scattering them across the courtyard, and over her exposed arms and breasts.
    She smelled leaf mould, and the salty water of the inlet, and the distinctive acrid scent of gunpowder from the skyrockets rushing into the blackness and releasing their starbursts of incandescence. And by their light she saw the Captain rise to his feet and extend his arms to pull her into his embrace.
    “Good girl, Rose,” he teased, close against her ear. “You needed that, didn’t you? Feeling better now?”
    Frankie gave a strangled groan of objection but his mouth took hers, and in seconds she was lost again. She tasted herself in his kiss. Salt and chocolate and sexy female flavors. An instant later she fell through the sky as he pushed her down onto the rustic