Deadly Promises (Tracers #2.5)(54)

“We will help,” Tun had added with a respectful bow. “I have car. When it is time, I drive you to meet your friends.”

That had been three hours ago. Carrie had been sleeping for five, as the ride on the oxcart had taken the better part of two hours. Since she needed to recover physically, and it was still too early on the timetable to move on, Cav let her sleep.

When a soft tap sounded on the door, he shot across the room and opened it up to Thura. She was carrying a tray loaded with a teapot, two cups, and a plate of cheese and fruit.

“She is well?” she asked with a concerned glance toward Carrie, who didn’t stir even when Thura set the tray on a small table.

Like her son, Thura was delighted with the opportunity to practice her English.

“She’ll be fine,” Cav assured her. “Thank you again, Thura, for your help.”

After Thura left them, Cav watched the rise of Carrie’s breasts beneath her T-shirt, was captivated by the gentle curve of her hip, the sleek muscles of her thigh. Even found himself smiling at the utter serenity of her deep breaths, the thick lashes that were an intriguing mix of golden blond and honey.

He should take the opportunity for a quick combat nap himself before they set out again. He eased down onto the bed of blankets on the floor beside her, careful not to wake her. Dog tired, he closed his eyes. And after a few moments of just listening to her breathe he drifted into sleep.

AWARENESS CAME LIKE light, easy, unannounced. He was asleep, then he wasn’t.

Awareness. That the shadows had shifted, that the day had grown shorter. The room had warmed under the noon sun; a soft breeze drifted in through the open window.

Awareness. Of soft eyes open and watching him.

He slowly turned his head and encountered blue as perfect as a New England summer day.

“Hi,” he whispered.

She blinked once, slumberous and slow, as she rolled to her side facing him. “Where are we?”

He checked his watch; barely half an hour had passed since he’d lain down. He shifted to his side, facing her. “We’re someplace safe,” he assured her.

Her smile was soft, secure. “I already had that figured out, or you wouldn’t have been sleeping.”

He tried not to read too much into her trust in him. Tried not to feel protective and possessive and… Christ. This was so insane.

He barely knew her. And yet… he knew her. Knew her strength and her heart and her remarkable, resilient spirit.

His heart rumbled hard in his chest when those blue eyes full of questions and longing searched his. When she reached out, touched his face with the very tips of her fingers, he knew he should pull away. Just like he knew he couldn’t.

Didn’t want to. Didn’t intend to.

He covered her hand with his—sandpaper against silk—and brought it to his mouth.

“You’ve been through a lot,” he whispered a warning against her fingertips.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t know what I want.” Sky blue transitioned to smoky cobalt as she brushed an index finger along the seam of his lips. “Doesn’t mean I don’t know what I need.”

He groaned and gave a Hail Mary thought to playing the saint, but he didn’t have it in him.

“Sometimes,” she whispered, moving in until her face was just inches from his, “it’s just got to be about the moment.”

He was humbled by the entreaty in her eyes and by her lack of expectation beyond the here and now. She’d just told him not to feel any responsibility, any obligation or guilt. She’d given him a pass in the accountability department.

He wasn’t feeling quite as cavalier. Possibly a first for him.

“I’ve had a lot of bad moments lately,” she went on. “I need a good one. I want it to be with you.”

He sucked her fingertip into his mouth, bit it lightly, then drew her flush against him. “Just promise me you won’t be sorry.”

She brushed her mouth against his, then skimmed her tongue along his lips. “I think you worry too much.”

“Occupational hazard,” he agreed, and finally kissed her.

She was turning to him in desperation. He knew that and felt guilty about it. Just not guilty enough, he thought as he deepened the kiss and slipped his hand under her clingy T-shirt to feel skin on skin.

She arched into his touch, letting him know she was totally on board, totally involved, and wonderfully responsive.

Silk, he thought, as he skimmed his palm up her rib cage and cupped a full breast in his palm. She made a soft sound that was a mix of pleasure, impatience, and a lot of encouragement. Following his lead, she slid her hands up and under his shirt. And damn near blew the top of his head off.

The touch of her hand was so sensual and seductive he had to remind himself that no matter how eager she was he needed to go easy with her. She was bruised both physically and emotionally. He was not going to charge in like a bull and overwhelm her with his own need. He didn’t want to add to her problem. He wanted to fix it.

So he took his time with his hands, leisurely drank his fill of her mouth, enticing her unhurriedly to that place where pleasure outdistanced any possibility of pain, where satisfaction became the prize in a lazy and lengthy seduction that took him to a place he’d never been before with a woman: complete commitment to her needs.

He’d never been selfish, but he’d never desired to be selfless either. Until now.