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An Excerpt From: WINDS THROUGH TIMED
 Copyright CHARLOTTE BOYETT-COMPO, 2009.
All Rights Reserved, New Concepts Publishing
He dragged her against him, molding her tightly to his hard length, imprisoning her hands between them. His mouth came down to capture hers in a ruthless kiss she felt all the way to the tips of her satin slippers. Beneath her trapped palms she could feel his steady heartbeat as his arms went around her to cage her in his strong embrace.
The thrust of his tongue between her lips made Summer's knees weak and she clutched helplessly at the soft fabric of his fine lawn shirt. Against her belly, she could feel the silver buckle of his leather belt pressing.
"A ghrá mo chroi," he whispered, calling her the love of his heart.
His sword hand dipped to cup her derriere, locking her lower body to his. The thick bulge between his legs flexed and Summer groaned low in her throat, aching for the sensations that delicious weapon could wield.
"You want me," he said, kneading the soft flesh of her buttock. He spread hot kisses down her chin, her cheek, the column of her neck until he pressed his lips into the hollow at the base of her throat. He ground against her suggestively.
"Pax, no!" she protested but they both knew it was no more than a token objection. There had been too much beneath the bridges of their lives for any flimsy word of denial to have meaning for them.
"You want me," he repeated. "You know you do."
He released his grip on her rump and brought that hand up to mold it around her breast.
"Paxton!" she gasped, her breath drawing in on a shuddery intake.
"Tell me you don't want me," he ordered then lowered his mouth to her breast, clamping his teeth lightly on the nipple straining at the bodice of her dressing gown.
"You cad!" she accused but lifted her hands to his black curly hair. She laced her fingers through the thick strands and held him as he drew on her nipple.
Her womb clenched as he pushed his erection against her thigh.
"He needs you, Lady Summer," he told her. "He aches for you."
As she ached for him, Summer thought. Despite what he was. Regardless of the bounty placed on his dark head by the king. She had loved him too long and too hard not to have become addicted to what only he could give her.
Paxton Drake—the scourge of the seas, the deadliest blade in the realm—snagged his hands in the silk front of her gown and threw it ruthlessly over her shoulders, dragged it down her arms, then tossed it away with a grunt of satisfaction. His amber eyes fired with lust as he took in the beauty standing before him.
Summer had no desire to cover herself. This man, this dangerous pirate had seen her naked many times. She let her head fall back and he walked her backward until she was against the wall. Leaning into her, locking his mouth on the sensitive area where her neck met her shoulder, he grazed his teeth over her flesh, laughing when she shivered. He was the bastard she had named him, she thought.
He smelled like raw, hot sex—a manly scent that played havoc with her senses. His hard body was tight against hers, one heavily-muscled thigh insinuating between hers so she all but rode him. As he rocked his erection against her, she clung to his shoulders, biting her lip to keep the moans at bay.
"You are mine, Lady Summer," he stated. "Mine to do with as I will."
"So you would like to believe," she had the presence to say although all she really wanted was to kiss her way over every last sun-kissed inch of his powerful body.
"I'll let you," he said.
Summer frowned. It was at times like this that she forgot he was gypsy-born, a fondling left on an earl's doorstep, a changeling with the ability to snatch wayward thoughts from the ether around him.
"Let's end this charade, lhiannon," he said between clenched. He dipped his knees, putting an arm beneath her legs and the other behind her back.
"This settles nothing," she said as he swept her into his brawny arms.
"We'll see," he replied.
It took only four strides of his long legs to carry them to her bed. He laid her gently atop the velvet counterpane. He sat down, drew off his heavy boots and set them aside. Standing, he tugged the shirt from his leather pants then unbuttoned the cuffs. All the while his golden gaze was hot on her nude body.
"You are the most beautiful woman I've ever known," he said in a husky voice. His fingers ran down the front of his shirt, flicking it open. Shrugging from the garment, he let it fall to the floor while he made quick work of his belt and the jet studs that held closed the fly of his pants. "No other woman has ever satisfied me as you do."
Summer lifted her arms above her head and his fevered gaze fell to her breasts. "No other woman ever will, milord pirate," she replied.
Pax pushed the pants down his hips and the jutting evidence of his arousal sprang into view. His lady licked her lips and his shaft stirred, eager to satisfy the gleam that had entered her beautiful green eyes.
"You play with fire, milady," he said as she stepped out of the pants.
"I am fire, milord," she countered. She opened her arms to him. "I am on fire."
Dipping his right knee to the mattress, he swung his left over her prone body, straddling her. He stretched out atop her, sinking into her eager embrace, slanting his hard mouth over her soft lips, claiming what was his.
Wrapping her arms around her lover, Lady Summer Collins took his savage kiss and gave back in kind. She nipped at his full lower lip and smiled as he grunted from the slight pain. She swirled her tongue in his mouth—meeting him thrust for thrust—and raked her manicured nails down his scarred back.
"Witch," he accused as he slid his lips to her ear.
"I am what you have made me," she returned.
He kissed his way down her neck, her shoulder until he could fasten his lips upon the peak of her creamy breast. He laved her pebbled nipple, grazed his white teeth over the dusky tip, then drew it into his mouth where he alternately suckled and stabbed at the hardening nub with his hot tongue.
"Evil, evil man," she whispered.
"Aye," he agreed, "and about to get more so."
He trailed hot nips from her breast to her navel and when his head dipped lower still, she raked her hands through his thick curls and held him as he took possession of her most sensitive pearl—working it thoroughly with his lips and tongue.
Summer opened her legs wide to him, her knees falling apart as he pleasured her. The stroke of his fingers along her wet folds, the gentle thrust of one fingertip into her aching channel as he applied exquisite torture to her clitoris caused her to dig her heels into the mattress, her hands into his hair.
Just as she neared the culmination of his expert ministrations, he slid his body over hers—slithering that hard muscled weight up hers—and rammed a hand under her rump to lift her. In one quick thrust he was inside her throbbing body. Two hard, grinding thrusts later she was coming in a whirl of spinning colors and quivering heat, clinging to his broad shoulders as he emptied his essence into her shivering body.
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