“Don’t touch me. Just feel.”

He moves behind me again and brushes my hair to the side. His mouth hovers over my skin, his warm breath coming in light puffs, and then the wet velvet of his tongue strokes me where his breath has just been. He trails my spine with his fingertips, making small circles against each vertebra, and I clench my fists, aching to touch him, but I manage control and keep them by my side. Heated liquid pools between my legs, making me pulsate with desire. “Please, Eli . . .”

Finally, he touches me. His wet hands skim my sides, down my ribs, over my hips. Hooking my panties with his thumbs, he slides them down and I step out of them. He reaches down, grabs them, and throws them to the shore.

“Christ, you’re beautiful,” he whispers close to my ear, sending another wave of shivers through my taut body. Slowly he kisses me again, and it’s so painfully slow and erotic that I nearly explode right there. Again I don’t. But I can’t control the moan of pleasure that escapes me.

I don’t miss his sharp intake of air.

I don’t know how much more I can take.

I want it to go on forever.

His large hands close over my breasts as his mouth claims that portion where my neck meets my shoulder. His thumbs brush the hardened, sensitive tips, and my head drops back to rest against his chest.

He moves his leg between mine. “Settle back against me.”

I do, and the full erection pressing into the small of my back makes me moan again.

He kisses my jaw, then moves his mouth to my ear. “I want to see how ready you are for me, love. Can you stand it?”

Between breaths, I shiver and whisper, “Can you?”

A low growl rumbles deep in his throat. “Be very still.”

Keeping one hand possessively cupped over my breast, he slides his other hand over one hip, over the flat of my stomach, then farther, closer.

The moment he touches me, an uncontrolled growl tears from my own throat.

“Christ, woman,” he says, holding his hand still against my wetness. His whisper turns hoarse. “Now.” He dips inside of me with one finger, holding me tightly against him. I suck in a raw breath and hold it, squeezing my eyes shut, fighting not to explode against his hand.

It doesn’t work.

A gradual climax, one pulse at a time, increases with each beat, with each movement of his hand against me, until I turn my face against his shoulder, taking his flesh between my teeth as the orgasm claims me. Slowly it subsides.

With his arms encircling me, he walks me forward, the flesh between my thighs still quivering from pleasure.

I tread water and welcome its tepid temperature to somewhat cool the fire he has caused within me. Yet . . . I’m somehow not satisfied. I hadn’t wanted to explode, but, damn it, I couldn’t help it. I wanted it to go on forever.

Bathed in the milky glow of the moon, this enigmatic male, Eli, stands tall, thick, muscular, and powerful. Volts of energy shimmer off his body in sizzling waves. His hair, silver from the moonlight, hangs loose to his waist, making him look wild, untamed, and I easily drum up a vision of him standing on a craggy Scottish sea cliff, a bolt of plaid draped over one shoulder, sword strapped to his side, a fierce wind whipping his hair. The beauty of it sucks the air from my lungs. And I have no idea where that vision comes from. Eli isn’t Scottish. And he’s not a Celt.

He releases me for a moment, ducks under the water, swims a ways off, and rises, hair soaked and dripping down his chest. He holds out an arm.

“Come here.”

I swim to him, eyes locked, something more than lust propelling me. Inexplicable. I push it to the far corners of my brain and just . . . accept.

We both tread water as we meet. “Look at me,” he says.

I do. I still can’t see his face. Not completely anyway.

“I can only offer you this moment,” he says. Regret underlines his words.

I draw in a deep breath. “Don’t be silly, Eli,” I whisper. “We’re engaged. Remember?”

“Hold on to my shoulders,” he whispers.

Hard, thick muscles jump under my fingertips as I hold on. With one hand under the water, he pulls me against him, his fingers digging into my lower back. His thick arousal crushes against my belly. My throat tightens.

With the pad of his thumb, he traces my lips, hooking the corner, then lowering his mouth to mine, urging it open. Our tongues meet, slow, exploring at first, and then he breaks the kiss, angles my head, and moves his mouth over my throat. Sensations ripple through me, the brackish water lapping between us, mixed with his unique taste settling on my tongue, making me crave more.

He gives it.

Treading me backward, his eyes, still two dark orbs not fully visible, lock with mine and he turns, lifts me around his waist. Biceps muscles flex. “Hold on to me, love. Lock your legs around my waist.”

As my legs encircle him, he slides into my slick wetness with one swift push, burying himself. I gasp, moaning as my feminine muscles stretch and accommodate the invasion. I almost come again.

“Put your arms around my neck,” he commands.

When I do, his mouth claims mine, devours me, his tongue tasting every corner. He moves his hips, pulling himself almost all the way out, then thrusting back in. His motions mimic his tongue, both making love, and I hook my ankles around his waist and move with him.

He thrusts faster, once, twice, a third time, and I close my eyes as jabs of heat flash across my skin and light erupts behind my eyes. And then as waves of powerful orgasm break over me, the feminine muscles contract, pulse, and squeeze in an unstoppable rush. A moan rips from my throat on a ragged breath.

His body jerks as his own climax convulses him, the muscles in his stomach flexing with each thrust, the vein in his neck thick, the columns of his neck prominent. His movements slow, yet he remains inside of me.

Wrapping his arms around me, he kisses my mouth in a slow, erotic movement of possession. Under the water, his fingers dig into my buttocks, pulling me closer still.

He kisses my throat, making my head tilt back, and he gently bites the small hollow of my pulse.

Opening my eyes, while his mouth makes love to my neck, I stare at the sky, at the tiny flashes of starlight glittering like a trillion blinks of camera flash. It’s surreal. This whole thing is. This moment is.

With one hand, he palms the back of my head, bringing our mouths a whisper apart. He stares, the moonlight glistening against his wet, slick skin, and he kisses me deep, then brushes whispered words against my ear in an ancient language, words I have no understanding of. I don’t dare ask their meaning.

The haze begins to fade, darken, and soon the moonlight is completely obscure. Once more that oppressive feeling comes upon me, and I have no idea what time it is, where I’m at, or who I’m even with. I don’t care. I’ll worry about it later.

All that matters at this time, this place, is the man holding me close.

He lifts his head and looks at me, a flash of light appears from nowhere, and a silver gaze meets mine, and I gasp . . .

Awareness of my surroundings floods me, and I open my eyes. Adrenaline propels me and I bolt from the bed. I’m standing, naked, in my room at the Crescent. The drapes are pulled, but there is a fading light creeping in through the crack. Still daylight.

The dream. Highly erotic sex with . . .

Those eyes. Not Eli’s. Not Eli at all.

Fury builds within me, begins low in my gut and fires up into my chest. I start for the door, remember that I’m buck-ass naked, then turn, go to my chest, grab sweatpants and a hoodie, yank them both on, shove my feet into my Nikes, and fly out the door.

Everything is coming back to me now.

Everything.

Every. Last. Detail.

I’m on fire.

Flying out of my room, I storm out into the corridor. The moment I start hurrying down the hall, I hear steel clang against steel overhead. I change directions and climb one more set of stairs, sweep into the dojo, and eyeball my target. His back is to me as he rests, bare chested, the flat of his sword against his shoulder. He’s talking to Jake.

I cross the mat, yank Noah around, rear back, and punch him square in the jaw.

His sword falls to the mat.

“Shit! Ow!” he says, holding his jaw, although I know it didn’t really hurt. I just surprised him. “What the hell, Riley?”

“Outside, Miles. Now!” I say, and turn and head back out of the dojo without waiting on him.

I know he’ll follow.

Meanwhile, I hide that I think I just broke my hand on his steely jawbone.

Right now, I don’t give a crap. I’m mad as Hell.

I fly down the corridor, down the steps, and into the receiving room. Then straight out the front doorway. Down the steps I go, and wait. I don’t have to wait long.

“What is wrong with you?” Noah says, his sandy brows slashes above angry mercury eyes. “You know you didn’t hurt me with that punch. Your hand is probably broken, Riley. What the hell?”

I round on him. I fight to keep from whacking him again. “I trusted you,” I say. “Completely. And now . . . how could you, Noah?”

Noah’s brows furrow closer. He’s quiet for several seconds. “What?”

“I saw you,” I say, continuing my rant, then lower my voice. “It was you. In my dream. I saw your eyes, Noah. Nobody has eyes like yours.”

A slow, predatory smile lifts both corners of Noah’s full mouth until he is broadly smiling. “Dreaming of me, Poe? That’s— Ow!”

“Shit!” I say in a hiss, almost in unison, shaking my head. I broke it that time. I know I did.

Noah grabs my hand, and when I try to jerk it back he pulls me closer and holds it steady. His dreads slip over my wrist as he bends his head to inspect my hand. He lifts his head. “I don’t know what’s got you so riled up, girl, but I had nothing to do with your dream.” He grins. “Not that . . . whatever you dreamed I wouldn’t want to do, because apparently you’re wound up about it,” he says cockily. “But swear to God.” He looks at me. “I’m innocent this time.”