by Gayle Wilson
She said nothing, of course, and his teeth nibbled the hard nub his tongue had created. He wasn’t gentle. Again she realized that the feelings he created verged on the edge of pain. Walking that thin, erotic line between agony and ecstasy.
She put her hand on his cheek. Protest or caress? Even she wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter because it had no effect on what he was doing. And she had known that it wouldn’t.
She realized finally that his hand no longer cupped the breast his teeth and lips were tormenting. It was moving instead. Tracing over the bones in her rib cage. Finding with his fingertips the small protrusion of her hipbone. Sliding across the softness of her belly. His thumb dipped into her navel and circled. Slow. Infinitely patient.
Two distinctly different sensations. Almost too much for her mind to hold on to at one time. Too much for her body to bear. His mouth, teasing painfully against her breast. And the slow downward glide of his fingers. Moving so tenderly, so incredibly slowly, over her skin.
She knew what he intended. Again anticipation surged. She was already savoring the first knowing movement of his fingers. And there was no doubt now that they would be knowing.
Do you know what that is? he had asked. Foreplay. Now she knew, if she had not before. He had taught her, a lesson she had begged him for.
The fingers that had been tenderly examining every inch of her skin suddenly invaded. They were long, hard and demanding—as demanding as his body had been before. Only with their touch did she realize she was sore. The pleasantly satisfying soreness that follows hard lovemaking.
It had been a long time, he’d told her. An apology, she thought. But it had been a long time for her, too. A long emptiness, and she wanted him to fill it. To fill her, just as he had before.
His fingers moved in and out as the back of his thumb began to caress the center of her need. All her needs. She knew he could satisfy every one. Satisfy her, more than she had ever dreamed anyone could. She arched upward, trying to increase the pressure. To quicken the tempo of what he was doing.
His mouth suddenly fastened over hers, his tongue’s invasion matching the unrelenting movement of his fingers. Waves of sensation roared through her body, touching nerves and muscles in their path with sweet heat. Powerful. Demanding more than she could give.
Too many sensations, she thought again, her brain shattering under their impact, the ability to think spiraling away in the darkness. It was too much. More than she could bear.
The waves of sensation converged into one, lifting her, and she was powerless against its flood. Was drowning in it. Drowning in feelings. Heat. Fire.
Her body arched again and again, fighting it, and then, finally, because she had no choice, simply riding the crest like a spent swimmer. He wouldn’t release her. He wouldn’t let her go. Again and again he demanded. And every time, her body answered, responding to his touch.
Only when she truly believed she would shatter, as her mind had done, under the repeated ecstasy, did he relent. His head lifted, his lips hovering an inch above hers. His fingers stilled, allowing her body to slowly descend from the mountain of sensations he had built. Her breathing eased, and finally she found the strength to open her eyes. To look into his.
“Too much,” she whispered. It was the last rational thought she had in the maelstrom of feelings he’d created.
“No,” he said softly, shifting his body. “Not nearly enough.” He pushed into her, the size and strength of his erection almost frightening. Almost.
His hips began to move above her in the darkness, the dampness of his chest clinging to the softness of her breasts and stomach. And she was aware of the other wetness. Too much, she thought again. Too wet.
His movements were controlled, powerfully driven by the muscles in his thighs and buttocks. Deep enough to take her to the edge of pain. And then the long, slow withdrawal. So slow. Anticipation building again. Waiting for the next downward thrust. Bone against bone. Hard and hot and deep. So deep.
Although she would not have believed it to be possible, the same sensations that had destroyed her intellect were building again. Swelling from the inside outward. Clawing this time for release, a release that was nowhere near. Too wet. Too slow.
Now, she thought. Her demand, and unspoken. Now She lifted trembling legs, unsure her exhausted muscles would obey the command of her brain. She wrapped them as tightly as she could around his waist, drawing him to her. Into her. With his next thrust, so deep she knew he had touched the walls of her soul, she cried out.
Still he didn’t give in. His control. His decision. Slow withdrawal. A small seep of cold air between the hot slickness of their skins.
Desertion. Just like everyone else always had, he was leaving her. Don’t go, she thought. Don’t leave me.
“No,” she begged, turning her head against the dampness of his shoulder to gasp out the plea. “No,” she whispered again. “Don’t go.” Her nails dug into the strong, broad back that strained above her. She felt him flinch at the unexpected pain.
He punished her for it, driving into her body until she cried out again at the unrelenting force of what he was doing. Finally, just when she thought she could stand no more, his voice joined hers, at first guttural, hoarse with need, and then triumphant.
The crest of the wave that had carried her alone found them both. And it was strong enough to carry them together this time, their bodies still entwined in the concealing darkness.
Chapter Eleven
The razor was drawn downward again, revealing a path of brown skin in the middle of the white foam. Hawk’s eyes were fixed resolutely on the image in the mirror, watching the movement of his hand, following each stroke. As if this familiar ritual, something he must have done almost every morning of his adult life, demanded his full attention.
“Did you know?” Tyler asked him again. “Had you already set this meeting up?” Before you came to my room? Before you made love to me through those endless hours? Did you know that today this would be over, and I’d never see you again?
She didn’t understand why she didn’t pose all those questions aloud. Why she didn’t demand answers she was certainly entitled to. Old lessons, maybe. Never forgotten. Just smile at them, sweetheart, but don’t open your mouth.
“I knew,” Hawk said.
Another stroke, pulling the blade downward over the golden whiskers that had brushed erotically against her skin last night. His hand was as steady as it had always been. As steady as when he had held the gun on her that first day. As unwavering as when he’d shot those men in her mother’s house in Mississippi.
“Then why?” she whispered.
Not demanding, not even now, she realized. Her soft question had been almost plaintive instead. Begging him to make her understand why last night had happened. Why he had allowed that to happen if he already knew...
If he already knew she would never see him again. The words echoed painfully in her head, as they had been since he’d told her. To be fair, something she wasn’t in the mood to do, he had warned her. Only yesterday, she realized, although it seemed an eternity ago. He had told her that after she gave her description of the assassins to the authorities, someone else would provide protection for her. That it wouldn’t be him. Couldn’t be him.
He had even told her that would happen soon. But still, she hadn’t believed it would be like this. This... unexpected. This painful. Especially after last night.
Hawk turned his head, no longer focusing on the mirror, no longer pretending he needed to watch the long, brown fingers direct the razor. The half-finished shave should have made him look ridiculous, but it didn’t.
One lean, tanned cheek was completely exposed. The once-broken nose. His lips, which she had thought were thin and hard, and which she had learned last night were not. She remembered the feel of them moving over her skin. Moving under hers. Suckling her breast.
She pulled her gaze away from them. Away from the knot of tension at their corner. And looked into his e
yes instead. They were cold. As empty as they had seemed the day she’d met him. Almost as frightening. She had thought, after last night, that she would never see them like this again. Without feeling. Without emotion.
“I didn’t mean for that to happen,” he said softly.
She was surprised he bothered to explain that much, given what was in his eyes. Given the kind of man she knew him to be. And what he had said was probably even true, she thought, because he had never lied to her before. He had told her all the unpleasant truths her situation demanded. But still...
“You came to my room,” she said, hoping for something more. More than this coldness. This truth.
“To make sure you were all right.”
She shook her head. That was his self-deception. “You didn’t have to—”
“I came the night before,” he interrupted. “To see if you had a fever. I touched you. You didn’t wake up. You didn’t even move. Last night I thought you’d taken the pain capsules again. There was a glass of water on the table. The cap was off the bottle. I had no reason to think you hadn’t”
Everything he said was logical. He hadn’t come to her room with the intention of making love to her. And he wouldn’t have if she hadn’t invited him to. At least that’s what he was suggesting. Maybe it was true. Except, even if it were, she didn’t think it changed what had happened between them. To them.
“So what do we do?” she asked.
And waited, hoping that his eyes would soften as they had last night. Lighten with amusement as she had seen them do then. Or darken with passion as they had when he breathed that single, tantalizing word against her bare shoulder. Foreplay.
“We go to this meeting. You tell them exactly what you saw. That’s what we do,” he said, his voice low and hard. And then he added, almost spoiling the effect he had tried for, “Because there’s nothing else we can do.”
“I can think of a couple of things,” she said.
She wasn’t going to make this easy for him. Despite her inability to rail at him for what he’d done, she hadn’t achieved all she had the last twenty years without stubbornness. Without the determination not to let anything defeat her dreams. After all, this was the only one that was left, and she didn’t intend to lose it.
Despite the fact that he had said almost nothing to her last night, had made no promises and suggested no future for them together, she didn’t believe that what had happened had been only physical. The last of the dreamers, she supposed, mocking her naiveté, but for some reason she believed that for Hawk as well, last night had been about more than two bodies in the darkness. About more than satisfying needs.
“Nothing else that will work,” Hawk said.
He was still holding the razor, but at least he wasn’t using it. At least he was still looking at her. But nothing had changed in the cold blue depths of his eyes.
“I trust you more than I trust them,” she said. She didn’t want to go into witness protection. She didn’t want her life, even with her current problems, to change, to disappear, to be destroyed. And now that she’d found him, she didn’t want to lose Hawk.
“I can’t keep you safe,” he said. “They can. It’s as simple as that.”
His tone said “end of argument.” And she knew she was supposed to shut up and do what she was told. That seemed to be what he expected. What everyone always expected of her. Only this was too important. Too important not to fight for.
“Then I guess I won’t be safe. Because...I’d still rather be with you.”
He said nothing for a long time. His eyes didn’t flinch at the offer she had made. An obvious and unapologetic offer. Made without any explanation to soften the proposal that lay at its heart. Demanding nothing in return. Nothing except to be allowed to stay with him.
“It’s no good,” he said finally. “It won’t work.”
His eyes told her nothing, their lightness seeming suddenly as opaque as Amir’s had always been, as good at hiding his motives. And she had to wonder about those. Why Hawk was so eager to get rid of her. In such a damned hurry to get her off his hands.
“I’m not asking you for anything,” she said softly. “You do understand that? Nothing but to stay with you.”
“That’s your problem. You should be asking,” he said.
“What does that mean?” she asked, stung by his rejection. Humiliated by the criticism it implied.
“You were willing to go along with whatever Amir wanted because it was easier than standing on your own two feet. You want to stay with me because it’s easier than doing the right thing. Easier than telling the truth about what happened and dealing with the consequences.”
“That’s not true. And it’s not fair,” she said hotly.
It wasn’t. She had made her own way since she was seventeen. And she hadn’t done too badly. Except in trusting Paul. And it was because of his betrayal, she now knew, that she had gone along with what Amir had wanted.
But she had really thought Amir loved her. She had thought maybe that would be enough, as close to the heart of that old, almost-forgotten dream as she was likely to get. She hadn’t been able to figure out any other reason for Amir’s whirlwind courtship. And she had really tried. But of course, she could never have imagined, not in a million years, that he was simply using her to set up his father. Using her.
“Nothing is ever fair,” Hawk said softly. “Life isn’t. You don’t need me. Or Amir. You don’t need anybody.”
A tough old broad, she thought. Maybe he even meant to be flattering, but this wasn’t a matter of need. Maybe she didn’t need him. But she wanted him. She would always want him.
“One more question,” she said softly.
He didn’t nod or give her permission, but his eyes didn’t release hers. They held on, and so she asked the only question that mattered now. And hoped he’d tell her the truth about this, too.
“If it were different...” she said, wondering if he’d understand. “If they weren’t looking for me,” she continued. “If we had met some other time, some other way. If all this weren’t going on, then...”
She paused, not even sure now what she wanted to ask. He had made no promises last night. Given no commitment. Said nothing besides what his hands and body had told her. And maybe she had been wrong about what she thought they were saying.
“If everything about this was different...” Her voice faded, but she was still watching his eyes. Still hoping for something.
“If we were different people,” he said softly.
Not a question, maybe, but she nodded. “Yes,” she whispered.
“Then I guess the outcome might be...different, too.”
Not exactly all she had wanted. But something. Maybe even as much as a man called Hawk could give. As much as he was capable of giving. That and last night.
And those were, of course, far more than she had had before.
HE HADN’T PARTICULARLY liked this setup from the beginning, Hawk thought, as he pulled the rental car into the underground garage. Despite the fact that it was a little before noon, it was almost dark in this concrete hole, dug to provide below-the-street parking for the tenants of this exclusive office building.
Maybe he hadn’t liked the arrangements, but he trusted Jordan Cross. After all, as he had told Tyler at the beginning of all this, eventually you had to trust someone. And if Claire Heywood was willing to help, then he supposed it would have to be on her terms. Despite the premonition that stalked along the nerve endings at the back of his neck. Despite the fact that he knew there were too many factors in this situation he wouldn’t be able to control.
Hell, he couldn’t even control himself, Hawk thought in disgust. He glanced to his right, toward the passenger seat, and found that Tyler was looking at him, wide violet-blue eyes locked on his face.
What kind of bastard would do what he had done? he wondered again, as he had been all morning. What kind of son of a bitch makes love to a woman he’s never going to see again? A woman
he knows he’s going to hand over to someone else’s control in less than twenty-four hours? What kind of man lacks the discipline to deny himself that long?
“Now what?” she asked, seeing his eyes on her. Despite the question, her voice was almost disinterested. Certainly it was without the emotion that had colored the others she had asked this morning.
“We wait here until it’s time to go up,” he said.
She nodded, turning her head to look out the window on the passenger side of the car. The view in that direction was not all that interesting—an indistinct row of parked cars stretching off into the darkness. A concrete wall.
“Is this where we say goodbye?” she asked, her gaze still directed outside.
Hawk didn’t answer. There really wasn’t much point in discussing goodbyes. He had never been good at them. And he understood, even if she didn’t, that in a few minutes everything she thought she knew about him, all those fantasies she’d dreamed up about why he had come to find her and exactly what he was bringing her here to do, would be exposed for what they were. Myths. Fantasies. Lies.
He could tell himself from now to eternity that they weren’t his lies. That he hadn’t been the one who had thought them up. But that didn’t really matter. She believed them. Believed he was someone—something—very different from what he really was. And considering how al-Ahmad had used her, finding that out would probably have been devastating, whenever and however she discovered the truth. But after what he had done last night...
Hawk took a breath, his chest tight with self-loathing. Just a little discipline, he thought, just some damn self-control, and none of that would have happened. She would have walked away from him today—maybe with regret. With anger that he hadn’t told her the truth. But certainly not with what she would inevitably feel after today’s revelations.
“Hawk,” she said softly.
His eyes were examining his hand, the right one, the one that was still, for some reason, gripping the wheel. At the sound of his name, the only name she knew and would probably ever know, he watched his fingers tighten, brown skin stretching taut around the muscles and sinews and bones that had never before failed him. That had never trembled or faltered in carrying out a mission.