“Oh.” Tomasso shrugged helplessly. “I am not sure. One was missing by the time we got to shore. You either lost the other in the air, or when that shark was nosing around us in the ocean.”
“Shark!” she screeched with dismay.
“It was a small shark,” he said soothingly. “But it did keep nipping at your feet so I had to punch it in the nose to make it go away. It probably pulled your shoe off.”
When Abigail just stood gaping at him, Tomasso caught her hand in his and swung her toward the shoreline. “I will hold your hand this time so I know you are beside me and not dropping back. Every time I turned around you’d fallen behind earlier. I must remember you have shorter legs than mine, and therefore shorter steps, and adjust accordingly.”
Abigail was quite sure that was babbling for Tomasso. He just didn’t talk that much, but apparently felt the need now. She suspected it was an effort to soothe and distract her with words . . . from the fact that a shark had been “nipping” at her feet.
“Good Lord,” she muttered, quite glad she’d been unconscious for that part of their adventure. Shaking her head, Abigail asked, “What did you do with my other shoe?”
“I took it off to examine your foot and make sure none of the punctures went through and had pierced your skin,” he admitted with a grimace and then quickly added, “It hadn’t. Both of your feet were unharmed by the shark.”
“Jeez,” Abigail muttered, peering down at her feet. She couldn’t see them well in the dark, but hadn’t noticed any injuries earlier when it was still light, so presumed her feet had escaped the shark’s interest without injury as he said.
“Your shoe is probably still back lying by the palm tree where we rested,” Tomasso announced, then paused to ask, “Shall I fetch it for you?”
Abigail goggled at the suggestion. Surely he wasn’t offering to run all the way back to fetch one, now useless, shoe?
It seemed he was, she realized when Tomasso added, “It would not take me long. I can run very fast and you could rest here a little longer and wait for me.”
“No,” she said dryly, starting forward again. “I think I can do without the shoe.”
Tomasso merely grunted and resumed walking too.
They continued in silence for several moments, and then Abigail decided conversation would help pass the time. Hoping it would also distract her from the tingles his holding her hand was sending up her arm, she asked, “What’s your brother like?”
“Like me.”
His short answer made her smile wryly, and she teased, “You mean, big, gorgeous, sexy and heroic?”
“You think me gorgeous and heroic?” Tomasso asked with interest.
“You left out the sexy part,” Abigail pointed out with amusement.
He shrugged that away. “Of course you find me sexy. We are life mates. I am more interested in the gorgeous and heroic part.”
Abigail stopped walking, forcing him to a halt. She stared at him with amazement for a minute, and then asked, “Life mates?”
Tomasso considered her briefly, his lips pursed, and then turned to continue walking, pulling her along with him as he said, “My question first.”
She frowned, but supposed that was fair and took a moment to try to recall what his question had been. The life mates bit had pretty much knocked her for a loop. It was just so . . . Abigail didn’t even know what to call it. It wasn’t like calling her his girlfriend, which would have thrown her as well since they’d known each other for such a short period of time. But somehow the term life mate sounded more . . . important somehow. More official or something. She had no idea why.
“So?” Tomasso prompted.
Abigail made a face. “Right. Gorgeous and heroic.”
“Sì?”
“Well, you must know you are gorgeous,” she said with exasperation. “You have an amazing body, and your face would be an artist’s dream. It’s almost too pretty for a man.”
“Thank you,” he said sincerely. “I find your body and face lovely too.”
Abigail snorted at the claim. She didn’t yet love her body so found it hard to believe he could.
“What does that snort mean?” Tomasso asked, pausing again to peer down at her. “You do not agree you are lovely?”
Abigail shrugged uncomfortably, but then decided what the hell, and admitted, “I’m too big. I wish I was slimmer for you. Like one of those swimsuit models. You know, perky breasts, a flat stomach, and slim hips.”
“Boys have slim hips,” he said firmly. “Women have curves. It is how it is meant to be.”
“Yeah, but I have way too many curves,” she argued at once.
“I like your curves,” Tomasso assured her, moving closer. “And your breasts are perfect. Every time I look at them I want to peel your clothes off and hold and kiss them.”
Abigail swallowed. His hands had moved to her waist and slid up her sides as he spoke. They now rested there, his thumbs lightly brushing the sides of her breasts. It was an innocent caress really, at least his thumbs were nowhere near her nipples or anything, but that light caress was still sending shivers down her spine. His words hadn’t helped, of course. Now Abigail had that image in her mind, of his peeling her clothes away and—
“You are trembling,” he said, his voice a husky growl. “And you are looking so . . .” Tomasso closed his eyes briefly and then opened them again and said, “You must stop looking at me like that, Abigail, or . . .”
“Or what?” she whispered, moving a little closer.
Tomasso hesitated and then shook his head slightly and frowned. “We should not do this. Not here. Not now.”
He was probably right, Abigail acknowledged to herself. They should keep walking, should check on Jet and report in to Tomasso’s people. But her body was trembling . . . with need for him. Still, she tried to fight it off, and eased back the step she’d taken forward with a little sigh. Trying to distract herself, she asked, “What is a life mate?”
Tomasso groaned as if she’d asked him to make love to her and growled, “A life mate is everything.”
Abigail’s eyes widened at that, and then his thumbs stopped sliding along the sides of her breasts as his hands shifted position. One slid around her back to urge her forward, while the other rose to cup the back of her head and tilt it as his mouth descended on hers.
Like every kiss she’d experienced from this man, this one was a powerhouse of passion and need. Honestly, Abigail didn’t stand a chance of resisting him. Not that she wanted to really. Surely a few minutes’ delay in their walk would not make so much difference, she told herself.
When his hands suddenly dropped to her waist to lift her up so he didn’t have to bend so far, she didn’t just wrap her arms around his shoulders, but her legs instinctively wrapped around his hips too to help him bear her weight. The action positioned her core right over his leafy loincloth, and Tomasso growled into her mouth as his hands shifted to cup her behind and press her more firmly against him.
Abigail gasped at the contact, and adjusted her legs so that she dropped a little lower, sliding along his shaft.
“Dio!” Tomasso gasped, breaking their kiss and dropping to his knees in the sand. “Ti voglio.”
Abigail didn’t have a clue what that meant and didn’t care. Grasping his head, she pulled his face back to kiss him again, this time thrusting her own tongue out to find his. Tomasso responded at once, kissing her back, his tongue dueling with hers.
She felt the cold wet sand on her back and then the cool breeze on her stomach as his hands pushed the material of her tank top up, and then that evening breeze was caressing her breasts and she broke their kiss to glance down and see that her blouse had fallen to the side, her tank top was now gathered under her chin, and Tomasso had managed to tug her bra down to get at her breasts. They were now squeezed up and together by the neckline of the simple white cotton of her bra. Even as she noted that, Tomasso’s head ducked and he closed his lips over one hard, rose-colored nipple.
“Ahhh!” Abigail cried, her head falling back onto the sand and her back arching upward as he drew gently on the already erect nub.