so sharply, so sweetly it was almost like pain:
Then, with a thoughtless, childlike anger:
Raising herself on one elbow, she gazed down at the unguarded face of the man who still slept beside her. Her fingers tingled with a desire to touch him. Such strong bones he had, sparsely covered with flesh…he’d be magnificent, she thought, even when he was old. Rich dark hair, artificially frosted with silver…the newly straightened brows and the temporary scar she’d given him. His brutally altered nose. Jaws and chin rough with a night’s growth of beard…and oh, she was glad he’d talked her out of the goatee. It would have hidden his mouth… his wonderful mouth, that smiled so seldom and so wickedly.
Her vision blurred, like watercolors in the rain. Thoughts and comparisons flew out of her head; there was only awe, and a love so intense it almost overwhelmed her.
Maybe she’d trembled or given a start; maybe he felt the weight of her gaze…or her thoughts. In any case, the thick, dark lashes flew open. She caught her breath, and was momentarily disconcerted by the blue-eyed glare until she remembered he was still wearing his contacts. Until he surged upward, like a sea mammal surfacing for his first breath, to claim her mouth.
“Mmm…’morning,” she murmured huskily into the kiss, smiling at the unbearable sweetness, the impulsiveness of it.
“’Mornin’…” And his hand was already hooking around her neck, pushing under her hair as he pulled her down to him, and his mouth was opening under hers…hot and hungry…famished…
Desire twisted violently in her stomach, skated along her skin and began to throb in the part of her already swollen and sensitized to his touch. Dizzy with it, she thought fleetingly of things that would once have seemed important to her:
But when she would have carried her hungry forays even farther, to his chest and torso and belly and beyond, as she had the night before, he stopped her with a growl, and a guttural, “No, you don’t, darlin’-my turn now…” as he rolled her deftly onto her back.
Delightedly vanquished, she lay with her eyes closed while he trailed kisses across her throat and then her breasts, biting her lip to keep from whimpering, shivering and trying not to, her body wanting to arch with every touch, like a cat being petted. He kissed her nipples, first one then the other, and the sensation…unbearable pleasure…knifed through her. She drew up one knee and curled herself toward him, seeking him…her hands gathering in the silky thicket of his hair…urging him…begging him.
Answering her need, his head, and his mouth, moved lower, while his hand swept down across her belly to cup the hot, aching place between her thighs.
And something in her woke to a faint and distant cry…of warning…of dismay.
Her hands clutched in his hair, her body spasmed inward, and panic burst from her in a single anguished cry. He lifted his head, brow furrowed. “What is it-did I hurt you?”
“No!” She could feel his hand on her belly, a heavy, aching weight. Squirming helplessly under it, she gasped, “Yes…I don’t want you to-please…don’t…”
Something in his eyes kindled…and burned. “You mean…this?” She could feel his fingers opening wide across her stomach, spreading warmth like healing balm. “Did you think I didn’t know about it?” As penetrating as his gaze was, his voice remained gentle…even wondering. “You told me, remember?”
“About the accident. But…you haven’t
“And you thought…
Too miserable even to nod, she lifted one arm to cover her eyes. Her face burned, though her body, except for the place where his hand was, burned with a cold sharper than ice.
“Celia-open your eyes. Look at me.” Now his voice was harsh…commanding; she wouldn’t have thought of disobeying it, though she wished she could have. Even through the ice-blue contact lenses, the hurt in his eyes stabbed at her, so fiercely she flinched. “Lady, I know you’ve got some strange ideas, but I’d have thought you’d have more trust in me than that.”
She held her breath, unable to reply because of the sob that waited shuddering just beneath the words.
“Celia…” His voice softened as he lowered his head to lightly brush his lips across her stomach, then grew ragged as he lifted it to say it again: “Celia…” And then, “I’m going to touch you now, love. Don’t stop me. Don’t think about anything…”
He lowered his head once more. She felt his mouth on her belly. His tongue stroked her with liquid warmth. And as he did that, his hand was gliding up and down her legs with a touch both sure and gentle, relaxing her, easing her until her inner shaking ceased and she opened for him without thought.
His fingers moved over her delicate, heated flesh in the most intimate exploration…slowly and with exquisite care, sometimes a feathering touch that half maddened her…sometimes deeply, rhythmically, pushing…throbbing with the beat of her own pulse.
Her breathing unraveled in a series of gasps and mindless whimpers. And just before all thought left her and her body spiraled completely and deliriously out of her control, she heard him say, in a voice as smug and thick and sweet as syrup, “From now on when you think of your scars, I want you to remember this…”
Later that day, after Max had come and gone, Roy went with Celia for a walk on the beach. It wasn’t something he normally did-that particular beach had some less than pleasant associations for him-but on this occasion, for some reason, when he saw her heading out into the evening in her bare feet and jogging clothes, he felt a strange sort of yearning…a disquieting reluctance to be separated from her. A need-dangerous though it was, to be alone with her for the first time since breakfast that morning.
Roy had put in a call to Max before he’d even showered, knowing how much there was to do and only a week to do it in. It had been hard, coming straight from Celia’s bed, with the scent of her still in the pores of his skin and the taste of her in his mouth, to know what to say to the man who’d been his handler, mentor and friend, just about from the first day he’d joined the DHS. Guilt made him edgy; he was sure Max was gonna take one look at him and know.
And if not him, then Celia for
Once again, though, he’d underestimated her. Or he’d forgotten how good an actress she was. By the time Max showed up, she was fresh out of the shower and looking about nineteen, with her cheeks scrubbed and her hair tied up in a ponytail, and that incredible body-of which his intimate knowledge gave him continuous guilty and haunting images-hidden away in its customary T-shirt and jogging pants camouflage. And if she seemed a little bit more than usually excited and keyed up, Max would most likely put that down to the obvious fact that the operation was heating up-looked, in fact, to be heading for its conclusion, whatever that might be.
Which was a thought that gave Roy cold chills. For a whole lot of reasons.
In any case, after the briefing in Celia’s living room, the only comment Max had made as he’d taken his leave was a stern and cryptic, “Stay focused, you two.”
Which, Roy told himself, could mean just about anything.
It wasn’t that late by the time Max left, though at that time of year it seemed the day was already almost gone. Only a few days past winter solstice, the twilight would come early. Still, the air was unusually balmy, thanks to the mild Santa Ana that had been blowing all day. The sunset promised to be spectacular. A nice evening for a walk on the beach.
Especially since, walking on the beach at sunset, it was easier to pretend things hadn’t just drastically changed between them. Easier to avoid saying things that had to be said.
