Eric darted a quick glance toward the horizon, relieved to see that nothing approached. Then again, he wasn't sure how much good he'd be if someone attacked them in that moment.

Christ, how was he not on fire right now?

He let his eyes roam over this woman, this fantasy who'd suddenly dropped in his lap.

Her weight was perfect, her flesh warm. Right here, through two thin layers of fleece, he bathed in her glow.

She leaned into him, so close, and he barely held back a long, low groan. This woman. Damn, this woman.

He'd had a crush on her, but he'd never imagined he'd feel this thrill when he finally held her. That was it, right? Adrenaline from whatever the hell was going on out here.

Their attraction couldn't possibly be this extreme. But he'd take it. He'd take whatever she gave him. Speaking of which. "Your lips."

"Eric. This is..." She circled her hips in a way that made him wild before meeting his eyes. Hers were glazed over. He could just picture how he must look. He felt absolutely shell-shocked.

"Yeah" was all he managed, and then "Come here," though that was almost impossible. How much closer could she get when she was already plastered to his lap, her body cradling his?

She leaned in, put her elbows on his shoulders, slid her hands into his hair, and—still undulating like a siren— whispered, "Why haven't we been doing this for the past two years?"

He bit back a groan and shook his head. Couldn't meet her eyes, since her body was so close and her face a little too high, but that just gave him a chance to take in the way she moved. The woman was sexy. Insanely sexy.

He had a flashback to the first day he'd seen her. At least two years ago now. He'd been newly retired, his back messing with him, but also his mind, and after a few near- sleepless weeks, he'd finally headed out on the Daphne. He'd wound up at San Elias, expecting peace and quiet. No interruptions.

She and a blond—no clue what her name was— had shown up in their wet suits, greeted him with wide California smiles, and continued on toward the rig, wind whipping in their hair.

Charlie's Angels, he remembered thinking. Latina Angel, Surfer Angel... Where was the redhead?

But his pulse had picked up at the way she'd watched him while the blond had chatted him up. Nothing overt or sexual, but curious. As if she'd wanted to figure him out. And then her smile...

The next morning, when he'd gotten up, again at loose ends, he hadn't even asked himself where he'd go for the day.

All the memories flew off, replaced by this solid, very present dream woman who was showing him she was miraculously real as she kissed him on the temple, then lower, then lower still to his rough cheek, and across to his ear. Her breath sent tight little shivers from his ear down to the tips of his toes, hitting every inch in between.

Unconsciously, he lifted his hips a little, and she replied by pressing down, her silent sigh music in his ear.

"Can't get enough of this. Of you." He tightened his arms, pressed her chest to his, and ground their bodies together, letting himself imagine this without clothes. If she were bare against him, they'd be there in seconds. That amped him up, made him hard as a rock, and turned him ferocious—for her body, but also for her life. Nobody messed with this woman. Nobody.

As if she knew what he was thinking, Zoe placed placating kisses along his hairline, down his jaw, and then she stilled, her bottom lip caught by the top one, her eyes roving over his face.

"You're beautiful." Her words shocked little embarrassed pulses from his body.

"Never been called that before." His voice was rougher than he'd ever heard it.

"You are." She dipped her chin, ran her lips over the other side of his face, then pulled back to gaze at him again. "You're like a statue or something. Like an old-time actor."

"These are good things?"

She smiled mysteriously. "I remember the first time I saw you."

He raised his brows.

"You know what you reminded me of? A lion, sunning itself."

"Hmm?" Not much of a response, but it was the most intelligible thing he could force from his mouth.

"You looked so lazy. Indolent. Slow and easygoing. Jane said you were cute or hot or something when we left you, and I remember thinking, What? That man is not cute. Not in a million freaking years. That man is dangerous."

"What do you think now?"

"I think I've got a lion between my thighs." She drew closer until their mouths touched, like that first kiss they'd never had. "And the last thing I wanna do is tame him."

He cupped her face, barely noticing how heavily they were both breathing. He leaned in to take her mouth... and stopped. This is a big deal. Don't hurry it. Don't mess it up.

He'd had this feeling at the start of every mission he'd ever been on—high emotions, high stakes. And so he did what he'd always done when things were too big to comprehend: he slowed the hell down.

He ate her up with his eyes, took in every detail from the spray of freckles dotting her cheeks to the tiny hole in her nose where a stud had once been, and down to lips that were plush and pert and, frankly, the stuff dreams were made of. Her eyes—a dark whiskey in direct sunlight— were now bottomless pools of brown. And damn if he didn't want to dive right in.

Breath stuttering, he finally gave in to his desire and put his mouth to hers.

Don't rush this. Take it easy.

The tip of her nose was cold, but her lips were hot, with just the right amount of give. Christ, how many women had he kissed without noticing these little details? He'd always been quick, unemotional, pragmatic. With her, he couldn't help but soak up every little move, each reaction.

Her lips were warm and lush, and her breath came out in quick little bursts that mirrored his. He wanted to eat her.

Maybe it was the two-year build-up to this kiss, but he didn't think so. It felt like more—a perfect storm of chemistry, hormones, adrenaline, nerves. So much self-denial.

He pulled away, pressed his back to the cool stone behind him to gather himself for just a second, and heard her swallow.

"Again," she whispered.

He complied. Damn, this is good.

Like every meal he'd ever eaten when he was starving.

Like water on a dry throat.

He sipped at her, consumed her slowly but more greed- ily than anything he could remember.

It was long past time to stop, back off, do a quick check

of their surroundings. For her safety, if nothing else. But he couldn't. Not yet.

Because now that he'd tasted her, they'd have to blow up the whole island to pull him away.