And Then She Fell(84)

Because she was watching, she saw the shadow that passed across his face. He drew a tighter breath, then met her gaze. “That was just luck. Pure luck that you leaned forward.”

She held his gaze, gripped his hand tighter. “True, but fate took a hand and . . . I’m still here.”

His voice lowered. “We’re still here—as I see it, as I feel it—there’s no longer any me or you, only we and us.”

She studied his eyes, then her lips lifted. “I’m glad you feel that—think that—because I do, too.”

A minute ticked by while they simply looked at each other, while they drowned in each other’s eyes, marveling anew, reveling again in the connection, in the power of what now bound them.

The flaring intensity peaked. Moved by it, compelled, she shifted, fluidly coming up on her knees to lean closer; placing her hand on his shoulder, she tipped her head and set her lips to his, and kissed him.

She parted her lips and drew him in, then let the kiss spin out, and he kissed her back; releasing her hand, he raised his and gently, so gently, framed her face, careful not to press against her wound, and held her steady, balanced on her knees before him, so the kiss could extend, could stretch and evolve, so they both could savor.

So they could calm their inner demons, exorcise their fears, and through the caress, through the intimate sharing, be once again assured—of the other, of them.

That they were still there, were hale and whole and still together. That their joint future was still there, theirs to claim, waiting for them to own it.

Her lips supped from his, then his from hers. Passion and desire swirled in the darkness, subtle flames licking over their skins, teasing their senses, tantalizing their nerves.

Tempting them.

Eventually, she drew back; breasts rising, she filled her lungs on a slow, deep inhalation, then, eyes locked with his, mere inches apart, she murmured, her tone low, a blatant, sultry, unequivocal invitation, “You are going to stay, aren’t you?”

His lips softened, fractionally curved. His eyes didn’t leave hers. “That would be my preferred option.”

She laughed soft and low, and drew him down to the bed.

Drew him into her arms as he tipped and they rolled, and passion swelled. But in instinctive accord they caught it, reined it back. Tonight was theirs—no threat could reach them, no would-be murderer touch them, not there. They had no need to rush, and much more reason to loiter.

To linger, and savor, and rejoice.

James had rolled to his back, had settled her atop him. Cradling her head in one large hand, he looked up into her eyes. “We’ll have to be careful not to hurt your head.”

“We will be, and we won’t.” Settling her elbows on his chest, she stared down into his eyes, then seductively smiled. “Just kiss me.” As she bent her head to teasingly brush her lips over his, she murmured, “Make love to me.”

He needed no further invitation; cupping the back of her head, he waited, let her play and script the kiss for several heartbeats, then he took over and let the kiss turn hungry.

Hungry, but leashed.

Tongues tangled, dueled; their lips parted only to meld and fuse again as the exchange grew more heated. More intent.

Their breathing grew ragged; soft sounds of passion floated in the air.

Clothes fell, flew, vanished. Hands grasped, then caressed and sculpted.

Weighed and flagrantly possessed.

Their lips parted only so they could savor the other’s skin, so they could taste the other’s passion.

So they could drive each other on.

They both knew what they wanted; they both wanted the same thing. Tonight even more than previously they were in perfect accord.

In perfect empathy.

What followed was a symphony, one orchestrated by them both, with first him directing, then her conducting, then, hand in hand, body to body, skin to skin, they let passion and desire and all that flowed from the physical and emotional conflagration sweep them up and away.

Together.

As one their hearts seized as he entered her and joined them; as one they paused, senses wide, to drain every last scintilla of heightened pleasure from that critical second . . . then with flawless rhythm they started the dance, their journey to completion.

They were as one in their grasping desperation, in their giddy, reckless, passionate joy, as one with their hoarse, rasping breaths as they rode, skins damp, senses burning, for the ultimate distant peak.

And found ecstasy waiting, powerful and sure, to embrace them, shatter them, and once again remold them. To once again fuse them, but at an even deeper level, in an even more unbreakable bond.