Part 24 (1/2)
His mouth was a shallow breath away. Heat pulsed off of him like a heartbeat.
”N-no towel?”
He shook his head, brushed his nose against hers. ”No. What I need is you.”
”Oh, G.o.d,” she sobbed and flew into his arms.
She didn't care anymore that she should exercise caution. And when his mouth slammed over hers in a kiss of desperation and desire, she knew he felt the same way.
He lifted his head long enough to murmur, ”Bedroom,” against her lips before taking her under again with a blistering kiss that stole what was left of her breath.
They managed to stumble down the hall, fumbling with b.u.t.tons and zippers before falling onto her bed. Naked. Hungry. Beyond greedy for the feel of skin on skin, his mouth on her breast, his hands in her hair, his body pressing hers into the bed.
”I'm sorry,” he whispered against her breast, his breath hot and damp on her nipple. ”I'm sorry I let you go. I'm sorry I hurt you.”
She choked out a sob, a memory of the pain of losing him, and embraced the reality of now. He was here now. He was hers now. And there wasn't any pain. Only deep, penetrating pleasure.
She arched against him, reveling in his weight and his heat and his pa.s.sion as he parted her thighs and entered her on a long, deep stroke.
She cried out with wonder as he led her to a rich o.r.g.a.s.m that shot through her like a fire that an entire year of rain could never douse.
Trembling, clinging, crying, she rode the stunning wave while he pumped into her one last time, then collapsed as his own release ripped through him.
IT WAS DARK by the time Cav roused himself enough to realize he was alone in the bed. A dim light glowed from the top of a chest of drawers across the room. by the time Cav roused himself enough to realize he was alone in the bed. A dim light glowed from the top of a chest of drawers across the room.
He rolled over to his back, willed the fatigue away, and indulged himself in his surroundings. Soft greens, pale, pale blues. Cloud whites. The woman knew how to create a serene, peaceful haven.
Ultimately, that's what he'd come here searching for. A safe haven in the arms of this woman he loved.
”You're awake.”
He glanced toward the doorway and felt both arousal and grat.i.tude when he saw her standing there. Her pretty blond hair was a mess and he felt a swell of pride that he'd been the one to mess it up. To mess her her up. Her lips were swollen. Her eyes were slumberous and dark. up. Her lips were swollen. Her eyes were slumberous and dark.
She was wearing his s.h.i.+rt. One b.u.t.ton b.u.t.toned, falling off her left shoulder. It had never looked better.
He held out a hand. She crossed the room, took it, and sat on the mattress by his hip. He lifted their linked hands and studied the fit of their entwined fingers before s.h.i.+fting his gaze and searching her face.
Her beautiful, open face.
She was uncertain about what would happen next. And she was edgy with it.
”I'm not going anywhere,” he said, because she needed to hear it, he needed to say it, and because it was true.
She closed her eyes and lowered her head, but not before he saw a tear trail down her cheek.
”Come 'ere,” he whispered and tugged her down beside him.
He wrapped her in his arms and held her while she cried.
”I'm sorry,” he murmured against the silk of her hair.
”I don't know why I'm doing this.” She sounded embarra.s.sed and angry at herself.
He knew why. And it broke his heart.
”I'm not usually such a weenie.”
”Sweetheart.” He squeezed her hard. ”I know what you're made of. You don't have to apologize for anything. But I do.”
She sat up and wiped her eyes. He scooted over so she could sit cross-legged beside him, the tails of his s.h.i.+rt tucked between her legs.
”I didn't think I was ever going to see you again.” She looked down at the cuff of his s.h.i.+rt, which hung well past her fingertips.
”That was the original plan.” He reached for an extra pillow and propped it behind his head.
”But you changed your mind.”
Hands crossed behind his head, he stared at the ceiling. ”I'm not sure I'm going to be any good at this,” he admitted. ”At being the man you need. At being the man I need to be. For you. And for me.”
”Cav-”
He cut her off with a shake of his head. ”You need to know up front what you're getting into, Carrie.”
More than that, he needed to tell her.
”My old man was career military,” he said after the long moment it took for him to decide to just tell it like it was. ”Loved the army, his booze, and his family, in that order. He was a good man. Just didn't always have his priorities straight, you know? He always figured he'd die in action, but in the end it was the booze that got him.”
He glanced at her, then away, and went on before he lost his nerve.
”Look, I don't want this to come out like the ramblings of a poor, neglected army-brat son of an alcoholic. It wasn't that way. I admired him. Even though I knew where I stood on his food chain. And it was okay. It set my career course.”
He glanced at her again, half expecting her to ask, but she didn't. Another measure of her intelligence and sensitivity. She knew instinctively that he had to tell this in his own time, his own way.
”I was CIA,” he said, knowing those three little letters were right now painting a picture in her mind of shadowy warriors pus.h.i.+ng the envelope of diplomacy and international law.
”We're not everything the novelists and journalists would have you believe we are. We don't do all the things you might have been led to believe we've done.”
”You save lives,” she said simply. ”You serve your country.”
He swallowed, humbled by her absolute, unquestioning belief in his motives and integrity.
”Yeah,” he said. ”All that.”