Free Lost Lady by Jude Deveraux

felt her body relaxing. She had no idea what he was doing, only that by some magic he seemed to be making her body melt. She closed her eyes, giving herself over to Travis, hardly aware when he slipped off her dress and laid her naked body face down on the bed. The gentle, deep sound of his voice added to this new pleasure she was experiencing.
    â€œWhen I was a boy,” he said, “I shipped out on a whaler for three years. Terrible experience, but at least there were some interesting stops, such as China, where I learned to do this.”
    Wherever he’d learned it, she was grateful. His hands dug into her and sometimes even hurt her, but she soon found that when she relaxed the pain stopped. Fingers massaged along her spine, kneading out the soreness from crouching in the alleyway for hours. Cramps in her legs and calves relaxed, and when he started on her feet new areas of her body sank deeper into the soft mattress. It amazed her that even her arms could be tense, but Travis’s hands loosened knots of tight muscle and made them limp.
    Since Regan was too relaxed to move, he turned her over as if she were a heap of rags and began on her front. From the feet up, he rubbed, pummeled, stroked, gouged, caressed every pore of her body. When he reached her face, his thumbs gently touching the muscles in her cheeks, and around her nose, she was near senseless.
    Feeling so relaxed, she wasn’t aware of the sensuality of the massage, that the feel of Travis’s strong hands, his eyes on her nude body, had awakened her passion. She felt like a big cat stretching in the sun, every muscle quiet, awaiting the adventures that lay ahead.
    When Travis’s hands returned to her thighs, it seemed the most natural thing in the world. A sweet, knowing smile curved her lips as she kept her eyes closed, preferring only to feel, to give her mind over to her senses. The change of pressure in Travis’s hands, perhaps his own lust coming through his fingertips, was subtle, but she understood it.
    â€œYes, love,” he growled throatily, his breath extraordinarily deep.
    He didn’t use his lips or any other part of his body except his hands—those marvelous, big, hard hands that she’d seen used to toss grown men about as if they were weightless. Wide, callused fingers were artfully agile, deliciously provocative as they reexplored the skin they’d just touched.
    Regan felt a deep hum inside her, some primitive piece of machinery beginning to work. Arching slightly, rhythmically, she gave herself over to him. “Please,” she whispered, her hands rising up his arms, fingers tracing the muscles. “Please.”
    Travis lost no time in obeying her, as he was close to the breaking point. The sheer sensuality of their lovemaking and the beauty of her slim young body had fascinated him, and when he entered her it was slowly, very slowly, never once relinquishing the gentle, ethereal quality of their pleasure.
    Regan had learned enough about lovemaking to know to prolong their movement, and she followed his lead as if they were two heavenly bodies joined in a union that would last through eternity. Yet she could not hold off long, and soon she began to breathe quicker and to dig her hands into Travis’s flesh. Within seconds their gentleness turned into ferocity, their hunger equal, greedy, starving.
    When at last their passion peaked, Regan cried out and felt tears coming to her eyes at the violence of her release.
    For some minutes she lay still, afloat in a sea of nothingness, sated and happy, relaxed and deeply quiet.
    Slowly, Travis rolled off her, propped his head on one elbow, and looked down at her. His brown eyes were dark, and she noticed the thickness of his short lashes.
    Who is this man? she wondered. Who is this man who makes my body sing to some heavenly music? He didn’t say a word, and she felt she was seeing him for the first time. He held her prisoner, yet he took care