Lethal(99)

He had already used them on her dad’s pants. They’d been hacked off at the knees.

She took the scissors from him. “Thanks.”

“Dig in.” He motioned toward the food, then went into the bathroom and closed the door.

She hadn’t eaten since the breakfast sandwich from the truck stop, but she wasn’t hungry. She did, however, take the scissors to her jeans, leaving them with a ragged, stringy edge just above her knees. It felt worlds better to be rid of the fabric that was stiff with dried mud and swamp water.

The ceiling light was glaring, so she turned it off and switched on a small reading lamp on the nightstand. Then she moved to the window and separated the inexpensive, no-frills curtains.

It had been an overcast day, but the clouds had thinned out. Now only wisps of them drifted across a half moon. I see the moon, and the moon sees me. The song she and Emily sang together caused her heart to clutch with homesickness for her daughter. She would be fast asleep by now, hugging her Elmo and bankie close.

Honor wondered if she had cried for her at bedtime, when homesickness was always the strongest. Had Tori told her a story, listened to her prayers? Of course she had. Even if she hadn’t thought to do so, Emily would have reminded her.

God bless Mommy and Grandpa, and God bless Daddy in heaven. Emily prayed the same prayer each night. And last night, she’d added, God bless Coburn.

Hearing him emerge from the bathroom, Honor hastily wiped the tears off her cheeks and turned back into the room. He had dressed in the cut-off khakis and the oversized T-shirt he’d pilfered from the chest of drawers. He was barefoot. And he must have found a razor because he had shaved.

He looked up at the extinguished ceiling light, then over at the lamp on the bedside table, before coming back to her. “Why are you crying?”

“I miss Emily.”

He raised his chin in acknowledgment. He glanced at the food items. “Did you eat anything?”

She shook her head.

“How come?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Why are you crying?” he asked again.

“I’m not. Not anymore.” But even as she said it, fresh tears slid down her cheeks.

“Why’d you risk your life?”

“What?”

“Why’d you leave the garage on foot? Why were you coming toward the train?”

“I told you. I just… I… I don’t know.” The last three words rode out on a sob.

He started walking toward her. “Why are you crying, Honor?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know.” When he reached her, she said once again in a hoarse whisper, “I don’t know.”

For what seemed like the longest time, he did nothing except stare deeply into her tearful eyes. Then he raised his hands to either side of her face, slid his fingers up through her damp hair, and cupped her head. “Yeah you do.”

Angling his head, he kissed her as passionately as he had the night before, but this time she didn’t fight the sensations it evoked. She couldn’t have even if she had wanted to. They were explosive, consuming, and she gave herself over to them.

The stroking of his tongue, the mastery of his lips, even the placement of his large hands when they moved to her hips and drew her up against him made the kiss intensely sensual and caused dark and seductive curls of arousal deep within her lower body. And when he growled against her lips, “Are you gonna stop?” she shook her head and drew him back to continue the kiss.

He lifted the hem of her T-shirt and worked it up her torso, then unhooked her bra and took her breasts in his hands. Honor whimpered with pleasure at the light tugging of his fingertips and gasped his name when he bent his head and closed his mouth around her nipple.

With one hand, he unfastened the khakis, then raised his head and held her mesmerized by the blue-hot intensity of his eyes as he took her hand, placed it on himself, and moved it up and down. He lifted his hand away, but hers remained and stroked him. He hissed a curse of surprise and delight when her thumb rubbed the tip.

Leaning into her, with his mouth against her ear, he whispered, “I think I’m gonna like the way you f*ck.”

They kissed recklessly and hungrily as he kicked out of his pants and whipped the T-shirt over his head. He removed her T-shirt and bra just as quickly, then dropped to his knees and undid her jeans and pulled them down her legs along with her panties. He pressed a kiss just below her navel as he drew her down onto the floor.

Moving between her thighs, he stretched out above her, then thrust into her. Once. Because, as he did everything, he acted without hesitation or apology to claim her entirely. Her eyes went wide and her breath caught. Holding her gaze, he pressed himself deeper, barely easing back before pressing deep again.

She loved his weight on her, loved the heat of his clean skin, the feel of the hair on his chest against her breasts, the pressure he applied from inside and out, the smell and rough texture of his body, his maleness. Boldly, he pushed her knee back toward her chest, changing the angle of his thrusts and heightening the friction, and the pleasure increased tenfold.

It was immense. Almost unbearable. She bit her lower lip. She covered her eyes with the back of one forearm, while with her other hand she tried to get a grip on her spinning universe by attempting to dig her fingers into the hardwood floor. But she continued slipping, slipping, slipping toward…