Free Interior Designs by Pamela Browning Page B

her stomach and raised herself on her elbows. She'd never seen Drew in repose before. Until now, he'd always been filled with a dynamic energy that threatened to overwhelm anything and everything around him.
    Drew's chest muscles swelled with a definition that made her want to reach out her hand and touch him. His chest rose and fell in a rhythm that seemed familiar, and she found that her own breathing, she didn't know whether consciously or unconsciously, was timed to his. His black lashes swept up, so long that they cast shadows across his cheekbones. What was it that she and Judy had done with their eyelashes when they were kids? Oh, yes, butterfly kisses. You batted your eyelashes against someone's cheek to give a butterfly kiss. Drew looked as though he would be very good at it.
    She should have known that he would open his eyes and see her watching him, staring at him as though entranced.
    "What were you thinking about just then—no, don't pull away." He reached out quick as lightning and captured her face with his hand.
    "Butterfly kisses," she said.
    "Butterfly kisses," he repeated, as though the words were foreign words and made no sense. His pupils expanded, blending with the irises in incredibly dark pools, and he tightened his fingers on her face before bringing her closer with the sheer magnetism of his eyes. Then his arm was around her, pulling her across the top of him, so that the hair on his chest touched her breasts just above the tiny bikini top.
    Her left arm slid under his shoulder, so easily and naturally, and her other hand found a place on his chest. He said nothing, nor did she. Their eyes held, searched, found. In silent assent her lips parted and dipped toward his.
    Against the inside of her wrist, she could feel his heart pulse. His nipple stiffened and hardened beneath her fingertips, and easily, slowly she caressed it. When at last he released her lips with a low moan, she bent her head to touch his nipple with her tongue, sensing herself go dizzy with the feel of his chest against her lips. He eased his fingers through her hair until he found the barrettes and removed them so that the long, silken strands tumbled around her face and across his body.
    "So what do you say you give me one of those butterfly kisses?" he said.
    Slowly she lowered her head, and in the breathlessness that followed, she batted her eyelids against his cheek. Once, twice, three times, until he said, "Oh, Cathryn, what a delight you are."
    His hands, gentler than she would have imagined, caressed her spine, pausing at the small of her back to tickle the sensitive spot there, then rippling tantalizingly away again. She felt her breath rising in gasps, and he drew her into a long, deep, satisfying kiss to which she responded as she had never responded to any other man.
    There was no awkwardness in their movements, just mounting sensation sweeping over them in waves like the movement of the sea. The warm sun made them languorously slow, and there was no sense of hurry or doubt.
    Above him, the sun limned her in golden light. Dancing rays shimmered through the curtain of her hair as it fell toward him, brushing his chest, and her eyes were liquid gold. He didn't mistake the desire reflected there but understood the message that she found in him exactly what he found in her—consideration, caring, companionship and something more, something transcendental.
    Excitement shot hot sparks through him at the thought that this woman, whom he had wanted for so long, who had held him lovingly when he couldn't control the pain of losing the two who had been most dear to him, that this woman wanted him. It seemed too good to be true, and her desire inflamed his own.
    He found her lips irresistible, her breath sweet and arousing. He pulled her hard against him, stroking the nape of her neck as they kissed, until he felt her trembling before she let her weight fall on him, her breasts crushed against his chest.
    She tried not to tremble