Dangerous Tides

  "Tyson!" She caught his dark hair in her fist and yanked. "You're killing me."

  "It's all good, baby," he encouraged. "I want you ready for me." His fingers pushed deep, found gold and she bucked, her back arching, as wave after wave of orgasms rocked her from head to toe.

  Tyson shifted instantly, moving between her legs, thrusting deep into her silken sheath. Her muscles gripped him, fought his entry in spite of her slickness, but gave way as he powered deeper, pushing through the tight, hot folds. There was unexpected resistance and then he sank into her, holding still for a moment, savoring the absolute pleasure of being inside Libby Drake.

  He leaned his head towards hers, his arms bracing him above her, his mouth seeking the sweet addicting taste of hers. His hips began to pick up a hard, quick tempo, as he lifted his head to watch the pleasure bursting through her. Passion raced through his body with the force and heat of a firestorm. No fire he'd ever fought had seemed so hot. Flames licked over his skin and burned through his gut and in his groin as the strokes grew harder and deeper and more forceful. All the while he watched her face, devouring the pleasure washing over her.

  Her nails bit into his shoulder, her fingers dug into his back, once she lifted her head to press a string of kisses along his chest. Each touch drove him closer to insanity. Her fingers brushed his skin, so did the silk of her hair. Her gaze locked with his, glazed, dark with sensual need, alight with something that sent the fire crowning, flashing, searing his soul. He didn't dare believe she could love him, but she felt emotion, not just lust, and it was enough for him.

  "You're so tight, Libby, and so damned hot I think I'm going to come out of this scorched for life."

  Nothing in his life, not even his most erotic fantasies had prepared him for sharing Libby's body. She gasped his name again, the small, helpless plea for release tearing his last thread of control so that he caught her hips in his arms, holding her still while he plunged deep, over and over, the passion washing through him, sizzling and cracking and roaring like thunder in his ears. He felt her spasm around him, grip tightly, her soft cries mingling with his strangled one. The sensations started somewhere in his toes and slammed through his body with such force, he thought he might not survive the pleasure.

  Libby dug her nails into his back, holding on to the only anchor she had as her body fragmented and the earth spun away. She lay underneath him, feeling as if her heart might explode out of her body, uncaring that it was pounding way too fast and that her lungs burned for air. Ripple after ripple shook her, and she clutched at Tyson, shocked that she could feel so much so fast, that her untutored body could respond with such powerful orgasms. She was a doctor. How often had she counseled women that it could take awhile before one had an orgasm--or multiple orgasms.

  She ran her fingers through his hair, small little caresses meant to convey the enormity of what she was feeling.

  Tyson lifted his head, easing his weight off of her. "You might have mentioned you wanted me to go slow, Libby. By the time I realized, it was too late."

  Libby smiled up at him. "I think we can agree that things went rather well for our first time. Well, I may have rug burn."

  He brushed the hair from her face, fingers lingering on her skin. "You look very satisfied. Sleepy, but satisfied. I love that I put that look on your face."

  "We're going to have a bit of a mess on the rug."

  "I'll get another one," he said, rolling over, taking her with him so she was lying on top of him, her head on his shoulder. "I don't want to squish you."

  Libby closed her eyes, loving the feel of his arms around her, of his body beneath hers, legs and arms tangled together. She let herself look around the room, something she hadn't even done up until now. It was enormous. The floor was light wood to capture the sunlight that would pour through the wall of glass facing the sea. The view was spectacular. Outside, the waves rushed toward the rocky beach beneath the bluff, soothing them both until she began to drift toward sleep.

  Tyson held her close. She seemed so fragile and delicate in his arms. He had a much larger frame and he was definitely endowed. He'd been afraid of hurting her, yet she'd been eager for him, not in the least fearful. He had never imagined Libby Drake draped naked over him, her mouth pressed to his chest, and her body moving with restless abandon under his. He let her sleep for a half an hour before he moved out from under her to find a towel and clean them both up. He already wanted her again. Maybe he was destined to spend the rest of his life in a semihard state.

  Libby woke to his kisses. Soft. Gentle. Tender. She kissed him back and smiled, wrapping her arm around his neck. "This is a wonderful way to wake up."

  "I was missing you."

  She laughed, her eyes sparkling at him. "What's it been, an entire hour?"

  It gave him secret pleasure that he knew she would laugh at his remark. "I was going cross-eyed staring at you."

  She leaned into him again and brushed a kiss across his mouth before wiggling free. "Bathroom."

  He pointed. Libby was shocked that she didn't feel in the least bit embarrassed to walk around in front of him totally naked--in fact she enjoyed feeling his gaze on her. When she returned she deliberately walked past him to the window where the moonlight could shine down on her as she looked out to sea.

  His gaze grew hot. Predatory. "You're killing me, Lib. I can't look at you without getting hard."

  Libby laughed softly, feeling sexy for the first time in her life. It was a feeling she could get used to. "Really?" Deliberately she allowed her gaze to drift over his body, teasing him, provoking him. Flirting. She'd never flirted. She didn't even know how.

  He came across the floor like a tiger, pouncing on her, spinning her around until she was pressed up against the glass. Both of his hands covered her breasts, his erection already thick and hard, pressed against her buttocks. "Really," he answered, bending his head to her shoulders, giving her teasing little bites that sent shivers down her back. He applied pressure, slowly bending her forward to drop kisses and bites down her spinal column. He paused to swirl his tongue over the rug burns on her back.

  She pressed the palm of her hand up against the glass to steady herself, turning to look over her shoulder at Ty. His face was etched with passion, with lust, his eyes so dark with desire her breath left her lungs in a rush and her body dampened and contracted in anticipation. "You can't possibly want me again."

  "You're so beautiful, Libby," he answered. He loved her naked, surrounded by the plush white rug and the open glass gleaming behind her. He hadn't yet turned on the electricity to the house but lights weren't needed. The moon spilled enough light over her body to see her curves, and the clouds threw intriguing shadows over her soft, inviting skin. Her hair was a cascade of midnight black silk falling over her shoulder and swinging free. He stroked the curve of her bottom, the inside of her thighs, moved his hand to find her slick with response. "That's what I'm looking for, baby," he approved, his voice going hoarse.

  He loved the marks of possession he could see on her skin. His marks. His woman. The way she responded to him, the way she looked at him, her breathless little cries when he stroked her with his fingers, all of it was amazing to him, a new wondrous world he wanted to dwell in for the rest of his life.

  She groaned aloud, her hips pushing back against him. He pushed two fingers into her, stroked and caressed until she was riding his hand with a small mindless sob. Her sheath was hot and silky, her muscles clamping tightly around him so that his own body hardened all the more. Blood rushed and pounded and he lifted his hand to slowly lick her taste from his fingers.

  Libby couldn't look away from him, loving the way he made her feel so sexy, so completely his. Every touch, every look was so intense. Tyson was a single-minded man. When he researched, he gave his all. She should have known he would be a thorough, dominant lover, in the same way he approached everything else in his life. He wanted her to feel pleasure, not just that, sheer ecstasy, and he set about it with that
same purpose he did all things.

  She watched his face as he caught her hips and pushed the broad head of his shaft against her bare entrance. He felt like a brand burning through her skin, pushing through tight muscles with exquisite care, invading her body inch by slow inch. She wanted to scream with pleasure, her body shaking under his caressing hands. His fingers tugged at her nipples, every stroke of his strong fingers sending electric shocks straight to her hot tight sheath.

  Libby gasped for breath, pushing back with every powerful stroke. He rode her hard and fast, and then suddenly, when she was certain she would burst into flames, slowed to long, lingering strokes that nearly sent her over the edge, only to build up the speed and fierceness of his possession a second time. Every muscle, every cell seemed to coil in readiness, needing, begging for release, but he kept her on the edge, until she was certain she couldn't take the intense pleasure another moment.

  Something dark moved in her mind, past the bright colors and the erotic bliss rushing through her. A tendril of insubstantial smoke, no more, but goose bumps formed on her skin. She opened her eyes and looked out the window into the cloak of darkness shrouding the house. Tyson's fingers dug into her hips, dragging her into him, sending the heat spiraling through her body until the breath slammed out of her lungs and she couldn't form a coherent thought.

  But there it was again. Something moving in her mind, past all the pleasure, a twisted shadow that grew larger and larger. She thought to pause, to catch her breath, take a moment to clear her mind, but it was too late, her body betraying her, her orgasm ripping through her with such force she nearly fell, forced to clutch the glass to save herself from falling. Behind her, Tyson's fingers dug deep into her flesh, holding her to him while he emptied himself into her, his guttural cry ringing through the room. Everything around her spun out of control as her body fragmented. For one moment, Libby felt as if she could touch the sky.

  She gasped for breath, as he helped her to stand, as he took her into his arms, bending her back over his arm so his mouth could find her sensitive breast. Her eyes closed and she gave herself up to the soaring pleasure. The shadow moved again, blocking the sky, slamming her back to earth so hard her eyes snapped open and she looked around her wildly.

  Libby stepped away from Tyson quickly, feeling waves of animosity, ugly hatred, a dark malevolent presence watching. Watching them through the glass. Whatever, whoever, was outside had seen Tyson taking her with such ferocity and hunger, had intruded on what should have been one of the most wonderful moments of her life. The thought sickened her. A beautiful, private time was shattered by something so ugly, so deviant she backed away from the glass, her hand going protectively to her throat.

  "Someone's out there, Ty. He can see us." She reached out to him with shaking hands, still backing up to the wall, trying to draw him with her. "We should call the sheriff."

  He turned toward the window, looking so fierce, Libby caught his arm to hold him back. "Are you certain?" His tone was low, but there was a controlled fury radiating from him.

  She nodded. "I'm really afraid, Ty. Don't get too close to the window. What if he has a gun?"

  He pulled her into the protection of his arms, his body shielding hers from view. "I'm not going to let anything happen to us, Libby."

  "I feel his hatred."

  "Who is it?"

  She shook her head. "I don't know. I can't tell other than he's male and he wants me--us--dead. Please call the sheriff."

  "I haven't turned on the phone here yet." He gathered up her clothes and handed them to her. They were far enough back into the room that he doubted anyone could see them. "Get dressed."

  "He saw us."

  "Maybe not. He couldn't have been there the entire time or you would have felt uneasy." Tyson yanked on his jeans. "Wouldn't you?"

  "I don't know." She choked back a small sob. Her body still burned from Ty's possession of her. She felt his brand in places she hadn't known existed, delicious sore places that still throbbed and pulsed with too much pleasure, yet someone might have been a witness to those beautiful, perfect, private moments. The idea sickened her so that her stomach churned and she pressed a hand to her mouth. "I was feeling, not thinking, Ty. I doubt if I could have told you my name."

  He caught her chin with hard fingers, forcing her to meet the turbulent fury in his eyes. "What we have together no one can take away from us, Libby. Do you understand me? I don't care if a hundred people saw us together. I made love to you tonight. They can call it anything they want, but that was me, giving you everything I could of myself." He leaned down to claim her mouth, both palms framing her face, holding her still for his kiss before pulling her shirt over her head. "Do you understand what I'm saying? He's not taking you away from me, not by harming either of us, or not by trying to humiliate or embarrass us. And personally, Libby, I don't give a damn if anyone sees us together."

  Libby stared up at him, shocked at the hard truth on his face. She dragged her jeans on. For some reason, his seething rage calmed her. She even managed a faint smile. "I'm a little more modest."

  He wiped away her tears with the pad of his thumb. "That's a good thing--with any other man. I don't share well."

  "Do you think someone's trying to kill us, Ty?"

  "Not so far, baby. Just stay calm. I'm going to go out first . . ."

  "No!" Libby shook her head. "No way."

  "I'm going to get the bike and bring it to the door and then we're out of here. I'm not going to stay trapped like a rat in a cage. I'll go out the back way and work my way around to the bike."

  "I don't know where he is."

  "You said he was watching us. If he was, he had to be in the front, maybe up by the circular viewing area overlooking the ocean. And if he had a gun, he should have used it right then."

  She curled her fingers around his sleeve, hoping to keep him inside. Pressed back against the wall where she was certain the watcher wouldn't be able to see them, she closed her eyes and tried to clear her mind, to reach for more of the energy the unseen man was giving off.

  The energy was already dispersing. Whoever he was, the man was gone and the malevolence he left behind faded quickly. Libby let her breath out slowly. "He's gone."

  Tyson frowned. "Are you sure? Are you sure anyone was here?"

  "Let's go. I want to go home. My sisters are going to be frantic."

  "I thought you had telepathy." Tyson yanked open the door and peered outside. He didn't know what to think, whether or not Libby had simply frightened herself, but she'd seemed so certain, so scared.

  "Elle does, not me. And she can't just find me anywhere." She looked around her. "Do you see my jacket?"

  "It's right here, where I tossed it--" Ty's voice broke off as his gaze dropped to the walkway where he'd slid the jacket from her shoulders. Adrenaline exploded through his body, needing an outlet.

  The jacket lay in strips, shredded and stabbed repeatedly, viciously, the leather in pieces.

  12

  "WHAT is it?" Libby asked, trying to get around Tyson to see. Instead of stepping out of the doorway to make room for her, he stepped back into her, forcing her back into the room.

  "Are you absolutely certain he's gone?" he demanded. Tyson shook with rage. It swept through his body and into every muscle. He wanted to smash something. In all his life, he'd never felt helpless. His intellect and his physical abilities had always given him supreme confidence in virtually any situation, yet the unseen enemy clearly threatening Libby was out of his reach. She looked so pale and frightened that his guts twisted inside.

  She studied his grim face. "Tell me, Ty."

  He shrugged out of his jacket and held it. "Put this on." When she began to shake her head, his expression hardened. "I'm not arguing. Put it on." He forced gentleness into his tone. "We're getting out of here. I want you to stay put while I get the bike. Don't leave this house until I'm at the door ready to go."

  She blinked up at him, opened her mouth and then clo
sed it. She wasn't going to argue with a possible killer on the loose. She was still feeling the aftereffects of the waves of hatred and malice. Libby slipped her arms into the jacket and stood quietly trembling while he zipped it up.

  Tyson leaned down and brushed a kiss over her mouth. "We'll be fine, baby. I'm just going to be gone a couple of minutes. Keep the door closed behind me." His fingers slid into her hair and tugged once before he slipped out the front.

  Libby rested her head against the closed door, listening hard for any sound. It was the longest few minutes of her life before she heard the roar of the motorcycle. The sound increased in volume and she knew he was right outside the door. She yanked it open and, slamming it behind her, raced toward him.

  Tyson handed her a helmet and waited until she was on the back of the bike, secure with her arms around him before taking off down the drive. Libby laid her head against Ty's back and closed her eyes.

  The motorcycle sped down the coastal highway a little faster than before, but not so fast it was reckless. Tendrils of fog reached out in the darkness from over the sea to creep toward land. The cycle shot past several wisps and suddenly, with no warning, the back wheel began to slip out from under them.

  Libby controlled a scream of fear as the motorcycle went into a slide across the highway, heading straight for the narrow shoulder and flimsy fence, the only barriers between them and a long rocky drop toward the sea.

  "Tyson!" she cried. Her arms instinctively tightened around his waist. She could sense his sudden fear for her as he frantically tried to control the skid.

  As if in slow motion, the bike tipped to one side and began to slide across the road. She felt the crush of weight on her leg and hip, the rough road tearing at her clothing and flesh as they skidded along the surface, dragged by the bike. She couldn't hang on to Tyson, ripping fingernails as he was torn from her arms and disappeared out of her sight. She felt herself falling, tumbling sideways off the bike to land on the road surface hard, coming to an abrupt stop, gravel embedded in her skin.