Modern Romance March 2021 Book 5-8 by Carol Marinelli (most romantic novels .txt) 📕

For a moment, he was lost in the sea of her eyes. Then he answered, “Long, creamy stretches of near-white sand.” His gaze took in her limbs hungrily, recalling the supple lengths of milk-pale skin pressed against his head while he feasted on her. His trousers tightened, but he continued his perusal, his gaze trailing up to meet the incredible gemstones of her eyes. “The water is crystal clear,” he added. “Ranging from the deepest sapphire-blue to turquoise.” Then he looked up, eyes locking on the starlit strands of her short silver-blond hair. “The surf shimmers, glittering both day and night, whether it laps beneath the sun or moon.”

Her breath held as he paused, her attention fixed on his lips.

His mouth quirked up. All he had to do was get her alone and give her enough time to stare at him and she seduced herself. The fact that he got the distinct impression this was a new phenomenon for her wasn’t hard on the ego. Even if it made other things hard.

Each encounter with Helene had been electrifying, unprecedented and edifying. Helene was an innocent, not simply to physical pleasure, but romance, as well. And, he suspected, attraction in general. It was clear in the way she threw herself wholly into the throes of the moment. How she was caught, mesmerized by her own reaction to him. How there was a vulnerability in her approach that existed in nothing else he’d seen her do.

Existed for him alone.

A tremor went through him at the thought, strange and tangled and possessive, but there was no time for it. No time for poetry and no time for... There was no time for any of it. His future was on the line. Justice was on the line.

He licked his lips, and she swallowed and he told himself the rush that surged through his veins was triumph rather than a trap. “Amongst the dunes,” he said, voice thick, “palm trees sway in the breeze. Tall, slender, supple...” he continued, his voice dropping, luring her to lean closer.

She took the bait, scooting her body closer to the helm, and he continued. “In the sunlight, its beauty is nearly blinding, it’s so bright and crisp.”

She had turned around to face him, still cross-legged, attention snared. “When did you find it?”

Drake smiled at the memory. “By accident, a long time ago. We were retreating.”

A little laugh escaped her. “I wasn’t sure the term was in your vocabulary...”

His smile widened, as he let her see hints of his bite in the expression. “I said it was a long time ago. And as it turned out, our retreat turned into the discovery and claiming of a heretofore unknown island, as well as the opportunity to stage an ambush and collect our first prize...on behalf of King Amar of Sidra, of course.”

“How efficient.”

He inclined his head. “I try.”

“And humble, too.”

He shrugged, about as humble as a house cat. “It doesn’t pay to get ahead of yourself...”

“Certainly not,” she agreed, rolling her eyes. “How lucky that you stumbled upon a completely uninhabited, previously undiscovered island. In the Mediterranean.”

He laughed at her dry words. “I never said undiscovered, I said unknown—to Sidra. It falls just this side of the edge of Sidran waters, hence being left alone by the rest of the sea, but it’s use predates the establishment of Sidra. Until my men and I landed there was no modern record of its existence. After our report, an official review revealed that the island had been used as an ancient military port but had fallen out of use after the country’s first wave of modernization.”

“Hmm-m-m...” She stretched out the hum of the M and he felt the thrum of the vibration all the way in his bones. “Ancient military outpost. So, structures?”

He nodded, pleased with her quick mind. “Yes. And a bit more glamorous than what the men and I were used to as professional sailors. Ancient generals had it good.”

She grinned, and in it he sensed her solidarity with those ancient military men, even though they wouldn’t have recognized her place among them.

He was under no such illusions. Having encountered her in action, he knew without a doubt that the woman at his side was a warrior, through and through. She didn’t just live—she attacked existence. She had been that way as a child, he recalled now, as more and more memories of her as a girl returned, visions of her long hair trailing behind her as she trailed behind him.

The long hair was gone. The girl, however, was surprisingly alive in the woman at his side.

The heir to his greatest enemy.

The memory of Dominic d’Tierrza brought along with it the usual surge of rage—it was the beast that had hunted him from the moment he’d washed up on that shore thirty years ago. One he would be free of with the achievement of his vengeance.

All he needed to do was get the agreement of the tall, bright and deadly woman at his side. A part of him resented that he needed even that much. But he was making progress...

He guided them through the slight change of direction that would take them on the current that led to Yancy Grove. The more dominant current, which veered north sharply, took ships out of sight of the island.

Then he reached out to take her by the back of the head and draw her closer. Her eyes widened but she merely watched him, body taught, ready to strike should he push her further than she wanted to go.

The knowledge of her coiled strength, more than a match for his own, did not deter him in his intention. She was strong, but he was dominant and relentless.

Her hair felt like cool silk slipping through his fingers, her skin beneath it faintly chilled.

She stared him directly in the eyes as the space between them disappeared, her lips parting slightly as their inevitable contact neared.

And then she was gasping, pulling back abruptly, her eyes widening into blue