Storm over the Caribbean

10. Flickering Flames

Sweet. So very, very sweet. I had kissed Mr Rikkard Ambrose so many times already. So many lip-locks. So many unforgettable memories. And yet...

None of them could compare to this.

Sweet, seductive, and simply irresistible. His lips mingled with mine, caressing me with a fervour that made my blood boil and my mind go blank. Somewhere, distantly, I was aware that I probably had more important things to do than kissing the daylights out of him, but my lips didn't seem to agree.

"We..." I swallowed, tasting the sweetness once more. But...was it the sweetness of the fruit, or of him? "We should stop. We should...look for...shelter...food..."

"Indeed," he agreed, his voice gruff. "We should."

Then he kissed me again, and I shut my mouth. Metaphorically speaking, at least. Because, an instant later, his tongue parted my lips, invading my mouth with overwhelming force, spreading sweetness everywhere. I hadn't realized until then how horribly parched I'd been. Both for water and for him. Only now, as he soothed my dried lips with soft caresses, did I realize how much I'd needed this. Needed him. The taste of him gave me new life and hope. It almost...almost tasted better than...

No! That's blasphemy!

But it was true. It almost tasted better than solid chocolate.

"Well?" he whispered against my mouth. Dipping one finger into the milk, he lazily trailed it down the side of my face, over my cheek and to the corner of my mouth. "Do you agree now you need to drink? Do you want another taste?"

Unable to squeeze out a single word, I nodded.

"Well, then..." He raised his finger, a single drop dangling from it—then lifted his finger to his own mouth, and licked. "I shall oblige you."

And, once more, his lips came crashing down on mine. A flood of sweetness invaded my mouth once more. Before I knew what was happening, Mr Rikkard Ambrose captured the back of my neck in his grip and, slowly, inextricably, lowered me down till I felt my hair brush against the sand.

This...this is a little more than just a kiss, right?

We should really stop. We were shipwrecked on a bloody island, for heaven's sake! We had a thousand things to do if we wanted to survive, and—

And his lips claimed mine once more. His grip on me tightened, and he guided me the rest of the way down to the ground. Like a beast on the prowl, he bent over me. I could see the desire shining in his cold eyes, the unquenchable need.

Dammit! We shouldn't be doing this! We should be focusing on survival!

But I couldn't stop him. I couldn't even stop myself. Because deep, deep down, I wanted this. I wanted to forget about everything that had happened, and lose myself in the arms of the man I loved. There was nothing I could do to stop this. There was nothing anyone could do to stop this.

He bent forward to kiss me, and—

Suddenly, he was stopped in his tracks.

Oh.

Anyone except one, apparently.

I tried not to smirk. I tried very, very hard—and failed utterly. Above me, Mr Rikkard Ambrose leaned forward again, intent on ravishing me—only to once more bump into a little problem. Bumped into a bump, to be precise.

"What is it?" I enquired, my eyes innocently sparkling. "Is there a problem?"

"Indeed, Mrs Ambrose," he growled, trying to twist his body this way and that, attempting to get to me—with little success.