Ultimate Weapon (McClouds & Friends #6)(93)

“I’m not crying because of that,” she snarled, but the soggy words became garbled. She was dismayed to realize that she was. She really was. And that was not good news. That was a lot of unshed tears. Way more than they had time to cope with. They had too much work to do.

Ah, hell. Maybe it would scare him out of her bed, she thought with a spark of vindictive amusement. Served him right for dragging up the past. Getting her all whipped up into a frenzy. Invasive jerk.

But he did not leave. He just cuddled her. He tucked her head under his chin, stroked her back, and murmured sweet, senseless, tender things in a jumbled soup of languages.

When the deluge finally moved through her and passed on, it left her beaten to the ground. Too exhausted to object to the fact that even after all the tears, the drama, the sneaky bastard still dared to pretend that he loved her.





Chapter


17




Tam’s eyes fluttered open to a scene of perfect beauty. She blinked, disoriented. She was in a baroque painting. Arches, sky. Clouds glowing a delicate pink, lit by the sunrise. The morning star glittering in the vault of pale blue and gold. All that was missing were the cherubs cavorting.

Her body felt so soft, so warm…ah. That would explain it. Beneath the thick wool blankets, she was wrapped in Val’s arms.

It was the first time in her life that she had awakened in a man’s arms without stiffening and trying to establish her personal space again as soon as possible.

This morning, she was in absolutely no hurry. She could happily stay just like this. A little moment of stolen peace. She wanted it to last and last.

She gazed at his sleeping face. Slumber soothed the rough edges, the lines of stress and strain. He looked vulnerable.

She didn’t want him to be vulnerable. She had enough problems. Let him be tough as razor wire, steel spikes, boot leather. Let him look out for himself, for God’s sake.

But her hand hovered over the contours of his face, taking in every detail. Each scar, the shape of his bones, the strength of his jaw. Each line and hair. Her finger almost touched his cheek, close enough to stroke its fuzzy nap without touching him, feeling his vital heat.

His sleeping face looked so young. She thought of his bleak childhood. It clutched her heart, how strong he was, how uncomplaining. How fragile.

I wasn’t always this big.

It made her jaw clench painfully to think of anyone hurting the vulnerable boy that he had been.

She cuddled closer. Her skin was so sensitive every brush of contact was a kiss, a deliberate caress. There was a throbbing glow in her belly and heart, a quivering tightness in her throat. Hot eyes. Her face wore an expression she’d never felt before. She wondered if she’d recognize herself in the mirror. She was afraid to look.

She didn’t want to call it happiness. That implied too much idiocy on her part. It was more like a kind of madness. But so lovely. So soft.

She should squash it. She knew how to suppress painful emotions. It had to be easier to kill beautiful ones. They were more delicate. The urge was almost automatic—but she suspended it, breathing deep to catch it, like the vanishing smell of a violet. So easily banished or lost.

Her fingertips gave in to temptation. She finally did touch his cheek, enjoying the supple heat of his skin. She studied the hollow of his throat, the tendons in his neck. The dramatic sweep of his eyebrows, each dark hair a pen stroke that emphasized his masculine beauty.

There was an ugly, recent scar twisting across the thick front part of his shoulder. A bullet wound, not the one he’d suffered on the bus. Her fingers hovered over it and moved away. Scar tissue could be extremely sensitive.

His eyes had opened. She felt a jolt of alarm, as if she’d been caught doing something for which she would be punished.

But his eyes did not mock her. They mirrored her own. Full of wonder.

He drew in a breath. Without meaning to, she touched her finger to his lips to silence him. Whatever he might say could ruin it. The moment was as fragile as a snowflake or a curling whorl of smoke. One of a kind, never again. Utterly improbable.

Let it breathe, unfold. Let it just exist for a while before they cheapened it with blunt words and hard realities. Please. Just a little pink and gold dawn fantasy. It wasn’t so much to ask, she told herself rebelliously. She might never feel this way again in her life. In fact, she might not even have a life. No, it was not so goddamn much to ask.

She made do with so little. She never let herself complain.

His lips were so soft against her hand. The warm rose blush of them against her finger was a miracle of nature. He clasped her palm, cradling it inside his own, and kissed her fingers. He turned it and kissed her palm. Reverently. As if her hand were a precious, holy reliquary. As if kissing it could grant power and redemption.

Their lips brushed. A glancing touch, so soft, it was more like a thought. The kiss bloomed sweetly, slowly. Their bodies melded.

Fear clawed inside her, and lost. She wanted to get inside him, she wanted him to be inside her. She wanted to see and know him, to be seen and known. All of her, all of him. The bitter and the sweet.

She climbed on top of him, flinging off the nightshirt. She welcomed the dawn chill against her hot skin. Her skin just perceived the coolness as another caress, and Val had heat to spare, blazing beneath her. So big and powerful. She straddled him, positioning his stiff penis carefully, adjusting the angle, then closed her eyes and flung her head back with a sigh of delight as she sank down, enveloping his beautiful, enormous cock into herself. She felt so tight and full, she could barely move at first, but she melted into him and found a way.