Into the Mist (Falcon Mercenary Group #1)(56)

He sat there frozen. It was only a matter of time, but he hadn’t wanted it to be now. He didn’t want to face her disappointment. He didn’t want to hurt her.

“Eli? Did I say something wrong?”

He turned to face her, pulling one knee up on the couch. “Tyana, I’m not like the others.”

She nodded. “I know. We just went over that.”

He sighed. “No, I mean the chemical agent didn’t do anything to me.”

Her eyebrows drew together in puzzlement, and she put the empanada down on her lap.

“You’ve been looking to the wrong guy for answers. I don’t have them because I was able to shift long before the accident in Adharji. I was…born with the ability. Some freak accident of nature.”

Her mouth fell open, and her pupils dilated in shock. “But…that’s impossible. It’s not logical. People aren’t born that way.”

He put his hand over hers, but she snatched it away. She stood abruptly and whirled around, her face a mass of confusion.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, Tyana. I’m serious. The whole reason we were able to get out of that damn prison camp before they started any experimenting was because I was able to shift. It’s a secret I’ve carried since birth, but after the others…it became easier to hide. I mean, I no longer had to hide it. It could be explained by the chemical agent.”

She closed her eyes and her shoulders slumped forward. “Then…then there really is no way to help Damiano, is there?”

He flinched at the grief in her voice, thick, so heavy it seemed to blanket the room. He’d expected anger, not resignation. But then he suspected she was at the end of her rope.

He stood and put his hands on her shoulders. When she wouldn’t look at him, he moved a hand to her chin and gently prodded it upward.

“Listen to me, sugar. We’ll find a way. Esteban started this and we’re going to finish it. If he has information that can help us, we’ll find it. I need you to believe that.”

She leaned in close, laying her forehead against his chest. Her hands gripped his waist, balling the fabric of his shirt in her fists.

He put his arms around her and went with his instincts.

“Let me love you,” he whispered. “Tonight is ours.”

Her head came up, her eyes flashing a brilliant green. “You said you wouldn’t sleep with a woman who didn’t trust you.”

He cupped her chin and ducked his head. His lips hovered a mere inch over hers. “You trust me, sugar. You would’ve never told me everything you did if you didn’t trust me.”

Vulnerability shadowed her beautiful eyes. She swallowed then loosened her hold on his shirt. She let her hands fall to her sides.

“I do trust you,” she whispered, and he realized how very hard those words had been for her to say.

He slid his hands down her lithe form, to the hem of her shirt, delved underneath then let his hands glide upward again, taking her shirt with them.

“This isn’t sex, Tyana. I’m not going to f**k you.”

Her breath escaped in a jerky wave.

“I’m going to make love to you.”

Her lips parted in invitation, but he had to hear the words from those lips.

“Say it,” he murmured. “I want to hear you say it.”

She trembled against his fingers as he coaxed the shirt higher.

“Make love to me.”

It was said so quiet he had to lean in to hear. Her breath blew softly against his cheek and sent a shiver down his spine.

“Kiss me,” he said.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and slid her lips across his, soft as a butterfly’s wings. He ran his hands under her arms, around to her back and pulled her close. Her shirt bunched between them as he deepened the kiss, as he explored her mouth.

He took a step forward, forcing her to take a step back. Slowly he moved them toward the bedroom, their lips fused tight. He tugged at her clothing, releasing her mouth long enough to yank the shirt over her head and toss it aside.

He lowered her to the bed, his mouth working down her jaw, to her neck and to the hollow at her throat. He kissed a line between her br**sts as his fingers fumbled with her jeans.

The fly parted, and he pulled at the material, easing it over her hips and down her thighs. As the denim gathered at her knees, he bent and pressed a kiss to the soft cotton-covered vee.

When the jeans were removed, he stood staring down at her nearly naked body. Only her panties remained, a small scrap covering the softness of her womanhood.

He leaned down once more and spanned her small waist with his hands then dipped his fingers into the thin elastic band of her underwear. Tiny little goose bumps dotted her abdomen as he slowly started to lower the panties.

The silky, dark curls between her legs came into view, tempting him as he removed the last of her clothing. She lay naked in front of him, vulnerable, and yet there was such trust in her actions.

No tension, no wariness in her eyes. No suspicion.

He began to take off his own clothing, moving slow, wanting to prolong the moment. There was no rush, no race to orgasm this time. It wasn’t about a quick f**k. It was about the delicious savoring of bodies, of their connection. It was about respecting the trust she’d offered him.

He lowered his body to hers, flesh on flesh, the warm sensation of skin sliding together.