Safe Harbor by Christine Feehan

missing anything so spectacular."
    Jonas frowned and rolled over, his arm settling around her waist. "Just remember who you belong to, Hannah. I wouldn't want to have to shoot anyone—or strangle you."
    She leaned over to kiss his shoulder. "Why am I the one to be strangled?"
    "It's a much more personal death."
    "You've been a cop too long." She dragged the blanket up higher to cover her breasts. "I can't move."
    "You don't have to move. Just go to sleep. When we wake up, I'll show you some other very intriguing things we can do."
    "There's more? There can't be more." She yawned and snuggled closer to him. "I have to catch a plane in the morning, Jonas. You know it's a four-hour drive to the airport."
    "Take a later one."
    "Mmm. Maybe." She could barely speak, let alone move, and the thought of a four-hour drive and an additional plane ride to the East Coast was daunting. And she needed a hot bath to soothe her sore body. "I think you beat me up."
    Instantly he shifted, his arm going around her hips, his hand pushing the blanket from her body to inspect her. "I got a little carried away, Hannah. I should have been much more gentle your first time. Hang on, baby, I'll
run you a bath." There were marks on her thighs, on her breasts and even on her belly. "And I'd better shave. You have whisker burn on your face."
    And on the inside of her thighs, but she wasn't mentioning that.
    "I'm not certain I can actually take a bath right now," she admitted. "Let's just lie here and count the stars." She waved her hand and the candles flickered out. A second wave had the French doors opening to let the night in.
    At once a breeze cooled her body and Jonas tugged her closer to keep her warm. It was amazing to feel at peace. For his body to be at rest. She belonged to him. She'd given herself to him and Hannah didn't ever do things by half-measure. She'd been frightened, but his loss of control hadn't driven her away. She'd accepted his physical needs the way she accepted his temper and arrogance.
    He slipped his hand beneath the blanket and let his palm, fingers splayed wide, drift possessively over her body.
His
. He tasted her in his mouth, breathed her in his lungs, had spent time inside her hot silken sheath. If there were miracles, he was living one. She didn't protest his touch, but turned her head toward him, her gaze locking with his. He held her with his eyes, not wanting her to look away while he explored every square inch of incredible skin. Warm and soft like nothing else he'd ever experienced.
    "I love that you're mine," he whispered and nuzzled the blanket from her breasts so he could enjoy the sight.
    Deliberately he allowed his hand to move lower. He felt her stomach muscles clench as his fingers skimmed over her. She tensed when he cupped her mound so he rested his hand there, letting her get used to the feel of his possession. He wanted to touch her like this whenever he wanted. He wanted her open to him, loving him, giving herself to him, and more than anything, he wanted her to feel the same way back.
    There was no "if" they were together. They were. He'd made that clear before making love to her, and he wanted her to realize he was a physical man. There would be touching—lots of it. Her curves, her body, belonged to him and his to her. It wasn't about groping her—it was about loving her. He needed her to feel the difference.
    Her nipples had peaked in the cool night air and he bent his head to run his tongue over one of them. He felt the instant answering flood of warm liquid against his palm and he slid one finger inside her. She was as tight as ever, her muscles clenching, the hot silk ready for him. He rubbed his head against her soft skin, blinking back emotion that threatened to spill over.
    Hannah was completely, utterly, relaxed under his hand and she never made a single move to reject his advances. She might be a little nervous, but she was open to whatever he chose to do. He chose to kiss her. He loved