of her untouched. He learned her. He enjoyed her, this sweet, vulnerable girl with a heart more exquisite than diamonds. He licked and laved at the scars on her legs.
“So beautiful,” he told her. “So perfect.”
“Me? You’re the beautiful and perfect one.”
When she looked at him with pleasure and passion and need in her eyes, he felt like the handsome prince he’d wanted to be as a little boy. “You would not change anything about me.” A statement, not a question.
“Only if you wanted to leave this bed before we actually got to the good stuff!”
He chuckled. Humor. In sex. He had never known it was possible. But then, he’d never been with a woman like her, a woman of love and light. “I’ll show you the good stuff,” he growled with mock ferocity.
He set out to do just that. His own need should have overpowered him, should have driven him to hurry, but this was too important to rush, he craved her satisfaction too desperately, was so determined to make this a memory she would cherish for the rest of her life, that he was careful to study her reactions.
When she gasped, he knew she liked what he was doing.
When she moaned, he knew she really liked what he was doing.
But when she writhed, he knew he
All the while, she kneaded and scratched at his back. She couldn’t seem to get enough of him, seemed to
He nearly burst out of his skin. “Are you ready for me, sweetheart?”
“
She’d stolen the word right out of his head. “I need to grab the condom. I’m safe, I’m clean, but we don’t want to risk a baby.”
“No. I want to feel you. Only you. Just this first time.”
Oh, yes. She was surely plucking the words out of his mind. He knew the risk, just as he’d told her, but he couldn’t seem to make himself care just then.
He shifted into position, getting ready, but not taking her. Not yet. She wrapped her legs around him, and their lips met in another fevered kiss. Finally he moved forward. He meant to be gentle, but as small as she was he had to exert more pressure than he’d intended. She gasped when he at last slid home, her body jolting from the shock of his invasion.
“Okay?” he gritted.
“Yessss,” she said on a moan.
Then he’d done his job, had prepared her properly. As he moved against her, she offered another moan and gave him more than he’d ever imagined possible, nothing withheld. She surrounded him, clasped at him, breathed in his ear, shouted his name, arched into him, moved with him, cried out, pulled his hair, scratched at his back some more, kissed and kissed and kissed him. And when he knew she verged on losing her breath, he lifted his head and peered in her eyes. Deep, so deep.
“Vika,” he intoned. “I’m going to give you everything I have to give, this I vow to you, and you’re going to like it. Vow it to me.”
“Solo, darling, Solo.” Her trembling increased. “I vow it. And I’ll give you everything. Everything I have.”
“Make you so happy you said that.” As he kissed her and claimed her, he went a step beyond what he’d promised, giving her all that he would ever be. She was everything he’d ever wanted, everything he’d thought he would never have, and she began to gasp his name, over and over, calling to him, drawing him ever deeper.
As her back bowed off the bed, she shouted with the force of her release. He felt her relief, and lost the rest of his control.
And when he collapsed on top of her a few minutes later, he quickly rolled to his side, not wanting to hurt her. His eyelids were unbelievably heavy—and he could only smile wryly about it. He’d trekked through the ice-caked mountains carrying a hundred-pound bag of jewelry without ever tiring, yet this one little female had exhausted him.
He was keeping her, he decided as he drifted off, and woe to anyone who ever tried to take her away from him.
Twenty-seven
WHILE HER SWEET, EXHAUSTED Solo took a nap, Vika dressed and enjoyed a wonderful dry enzyme shower. She heated a bowl of tomato soup and ate it while studying the cabin. It was bigger than she’d expected and quite homey, with log walls and comfortable, well-worn furniture. A soft brown rug covered the living room floor, and pictures of roses and lilies covered the walls. An even softer rug covered the kitchen floor, and pots and pans hung from a metal rack just above the granite island counter.
An eclectic mix of old and new, as though a man and a woman had shared the decorating responsibility. The man had decided what belonged on the floors, and the woman had decided what belonged on the walls.
Was Solo’s boss married? she wondered. If so, what would the female think of Vika? She had never socialized with people outside the circus, and wasn’t sure she knew how to make a good impression.
For that matter, what would Solo’s friends think of her? Would they slap Solo on the back for a job well done, as males sometimes liked to do, or would they pull him aside and warn him to stay away from her?
How would Solo react if they did?
He’d once told her they would protect her, but that didn’t mean they would like her or approve of her. A burning heat inched up the center of her chest, one that had nothing to do with pleasure.
“Worry only buys you wrinkles,” her mother used to say. “Well, those and rotten bones.”
Vika forced the depressing thoughts out of her mind and peered out the ice-fogged window. Now that she was toasty warm, she could enjoy the sheer winter majesty around her. And maybe . . . maybe her love also stemmed from the fact that, for the first time in her life, she didn’t have to fear doing or saying the wrong thing and “earning” a beating. She was safe. Solo would never physically hurt her, something he’d proven again and again as he’d fought to save her.
She was . . . cherished. Yes. She was. No matter what his friends might say about her!
The man had kissed and touched her, and he’d done it with unabashed relish, intense need, and a hint of joy. She had loved every second and had only craved more. Nothing he’d done had scared her. Everything had excited her, softened her.
Was that the way making love was for everyone?
No. No way. The things she’d witnessed throughout the years had confirmed the opposite. Sex could be violent, explosive, angry, or laughing, fun, and seemingly carefree. But tender? No, she’d never witnessed that. What she and Solo had done was special, and she would hold the memory in her heart for all of eternity.
A movement outside claimed her focus.
Heart picking up speed, she abandoned her soup to race around the kitchen counter and press her nose against the window glass. Roughly forty yards away, a gorgeous white tiger prowled from one patch of trees to another, leaving a ruby line in his wake.
Ruby . . . blood? Was he injured?
Had to be. Only desperation for help would have brought him so close to human life.
But . . . she shouldn’t help him. She wasn’t foolish. Well, not all the time. She knew he was a wild animal, unlike her tame, fun-loving Dobi with the marking problem. She suspected he would bite her head off if given half a chance. Or even one-third of a chance. Fine, even if she failed to offer him any kind of chance. But . . . she couldn’t leave him out there, injured, without at least trying to aid him.
