So she sang, quietly at first, moving him directly beneath the shower as the first verse rolled out. He’d moved like a wooden soldier, stiff and resistant, and “Amazing Grace” sounded a little squeaky, but not for long.
At the second verse, she lifted the bottom of his shirt and held it, letting her eyes ask the question as the song and warm water worked its magic. He tensed, and she would’ve obeyed if he’d hinted that no, this wasn’t what he wanted, but with a quick, curt nod he gave her the go-ahead. He blew out a breath that caressed her breasts when she eased the fabric up. He raised his arms to let her pull it over his head and off.
Without asking and still singing, she dropped the shirt and reached for the bath wash while she started the next chorus. Filling her hands with soap, she began a slow, soft scrub across his hair-roughed chest and abdominal muscles. His scars.
The man had some serious power beneath his anxious panting. His shoulders rippled all the way to his elbows. The cords of his neck were clenched so tightly, she wanted to throw him down to the tiled floor and massage the heck out of him. Sheets of water sluiced over that wide chest, rippling between his pecs and down his furrowed six-pack.
Tess kept her touch gentle and her voice sweet. A world of latent anger lay beneath the tortured surface of this savage beast. She’d never wanted to tame one—until now.
His poor ribs had taken the brunt of Nizari’s knife. Thin scars. Razor thin. So much pain and agony had been etched on his body. All his scars were healed, but she knew the truth. Each angry mark was a portal back in time to that ugly day. He could run from it all his life and never get away, because he took it with him. Every lash. Every hit. Every cut.
Without asking, she lifted up on her toes and planted a row of kisses along the scar that ran from collarbone to collarbone. Her breasts skimmed over the roughness of his chest. His breath hitched. So did hers. But this wasn’t about sex. Foreplay, maybe. Not sex. Not yet. This gentle man required hands-on therapy first.
Despite the noisy cadence of her heartbeat, she lowered her lashes and resumed singing. At the third verse, she’d washed as much of his skin as she’d bared. It was time to get brave, but when she slid her fingertips along his waistband, Lee stiffened. A groan grumbled up from his gut. He clenched her hand. “No.”
She lifted her gaze to meet his, and the same fierce green stabbed at her. She hesitated. He looked angry, but confused. Climbing into her shower fully dressed was his idea. He had to lead—or let her.
He drew in a deep breath. Again came the quick nod, and she faltered. Drops of water clung to his eyelashes, giving him a little-boy quality. This wasn’t therapy any more. She wasn’t helping just him. She needed this next step, too. The order of the verses jumbled in her mind. “’Tis Grace that brought me safe thus far...” she sang timidly.
Very slowly, she slid her fingers beneath the waistband at his hips and let them rest there. What on earth did this have to do with Heaven’s almighty grace? Tess worked massaging circles over his hipbones, the pads of her thumbs pressed into the inner crease of his thigh. She girded her loins and pressed on.
Never in her life had she felt more exposed or so unsure. This was uncharted territory; this “Amazing Grace” therapy that seemed to be helping a man brimmed to overflowing with his wretched past. He stared down at her, his tongue skimming his lower lip as his eyes flickered over her nakedness. The fierce angry green had softened with another, more dangerous light. Darker. Ominous.
Her heart lodged in her throat, constricting her airflow with its every pulsing beat. “And grace will lead me home...” She let the song linger, humming the melody because she could no longer remember the words, and her voice had grown too tremulous to project anything close to confidence. Her heart pounded with the audacity of her actions. Why do I always have to push one step too far? Why can’t I leave well enough alone? Why is he here?
Slowly, she knelt and eased the gray pants to the floor, leaving him only in boxers and socks. Looking up at him, past thighs as big as small tree trunks, brought the oddest sensation. This man whom she barely knew exuded shuddering waves of raw masculinity. He was damaged, yes, but what a sight, him standing over her like some angry god, his fists clenched, his bulk shielding her from the spray. Lightning might flash at any moment. Thunder might boom. He shoved the soggy pants behind him with one quick kick.
She’d already seen the black pockmarks on his stomach. They seemed sporadically placed, but she recognized them for what they were. Burns. Her heart pitched. The frightened voice of that little boy from the nightmare revisited her mind. Did he scream when they’d tortured him? Did he grit his teeth and writhe and hold it all inside when they carved into him and burned his skin? Did he cry? Suddenly, she needed to know.
Still crouching before him, she rested her fingers on his feet, not sure she had the strength to continue. The shape beneath the socks appeared normal, so he had all his toes. That much was good. Without asking permission this time, she unrolled the socks to his ankles. He flattened his palms to the tiled shower walls and lifted first one foot, then the other as she bared his feet.
Her heart stopped. Discolored rings revealed where the flesh had been burned nearly to the bone from electrical wires. All his toenails were gone. His toes were black. The kind of blackening that would never go away. The kind of torture the Taliban was known for. Damn. Suddenly, her brazen decision to seduce Lee Hart seemed more cruel than helpful. She’d pushed too hard this time. He’d been hurt and trying to hide it, but she’d egged him on.
The spray hid her tears but not the pain rising up in her throat, tearing her heart out. How could she look him in the eye? How could she not?
“Tess,” he whispered hoarsely, his hand cupping the back of her head. He tugged her to her feet and pulled her close.
The moment her cheek caressed his bare chest, the tears fell. She bowed her head, not letting him see. It wasn’t pity she felt. It was something else—something that truly scared her. She wanted to give her heart to him—all of it.
“I sang that same song,” he said quietly, “the whole time I was held prisoner. I sang it every day and all night. Before and after. They came and they went. It was all that kept me sane. When you started singing, I don’t know what came over me. I had to hear—more.”
She listened and tried very hard to breathe normally without sobbing. This brave warrior was a survivor. He didn’t need pity, and she had none to give.
“In my head,” he whispered. “I couldn’t let them hear me, so I sang it in my head. Over and over. Every day. All day. All night, too.”
She wrapped her arms around his waist, fully aware the only article of clothing between them was his drenched boxers, ready to be gone but only when he decided. She would’ve settled for simply sexually assaulting him before. Now she wanted that same more.
Large masculine hands caressed her back, smoothing over her shoulders and neck to sink lower to her hips and her backside. At last, they cupped her bottom. So gentle. So strong. The paradox of the world of men puzzled her. She knew the strength of this man who held her now. Lee Hart was big enough to take the world apart if he wanted to. He could hurt her. He just wouldn’t.
“That song saved me.” He nuzzled his nose into her wet hair, pushing it aside to reach her skin. Soft nibbles graced the line of her neck. The sensual warmth of his tongue outlined her ear, and she shivered all the way to her toes. “It saved me then like you’re saving me now,” he whispered. “I couldn’t before, but I’d like to sing it with you now.”
“Yes,” was all her squeaky voice could muster.
He pressed her ear to his chest, his big hands on her back, and Lee began the first verse again. How odd. He wanted to sing at a time when most other men would’ve wanted sex. Odder still, Lee’s deep rich voice didn’t drown her soprano out, not even when he lifted his face to the ceiling and the song felt more like a prayer of truly amazing grace.
She wept openly, her voice hoarse, and her heart full fo
r this incredible man. There they stood, singing in the rain, only each verse rang differently now. Each truly spoke of being desperately lost and then amazingly found. Of being valued. Of being loved even during the worst of times. A ragged sob caught in her throat. The song was her wretched story come to life. Finally found. Finally safe. Home at last.
When the duet ended, he tipped her chin, his mouth so close the water ran from his lips to hers, a trickle of life-giving, soul-saving grace. “May I?” he asked, his deep voice resonating through the sins of her willful soul. Claiming her. Redeeming her.
She blinked, not understanding what he was asking permission for, not needing to know, either. The trust in those green eyes encompassed her in a shivery kind of warmth that had nothing to do with the now cold shower. Her soul trembled. Her faith.
“Yes,” she answered meekly. Forever. Yes.
He leaned down, lifting her into his arms as easily as he would a child. “I’m ready now, Tess.”
“Me too,” she whispered, her voice suddenly too soft for the tough woman she was.
He turned the shower off and parted the curtain. She didn’t remember him opening the bathroom door, only that he wrapped her in a towel. When he placed her on his bed, he did it so carefully she felt like one of those stolen museum artifacts of immeasurable worth. Like she was priceless.
Like Agent Lee Hart might love her enough to stay.
I once was lost, but now I’m found.
The line of the song filled Lee with the strongest feelings for the woman in his arms. Tess rested sweet and seductive alongside him. He’d dropped his waterlogged boxers to the bathroom floor before he’d joined her on the bed, and now they lay together, the pizza still unordered, but his appetite about to be satisfied.
Was this love? He held her in his arms and prayed it was. Could he wait to find it in his life? No more. The fire between them drew him onward. Somehow, an ember had always existed between him and this rare exotic creature, a link he couldn’t deny. Not one made of gold, but of something more priceless than time itself.
“Tess,” he breathed, closing his eyes only to mentally whisper her name again and again, an echo he didn’t want to lose. She halted further conversation, her hands on the sides of his face, pulling him into her mouth. Fire swept through him, up from his toes, his thighs, his spine.
Somewhere in the back of his mind a voice whispered that an agent shouldn’t engage in sex with a client, but somewhere else in his heart, the forces of nature conspired to do just that. Tess Culver wasn’t just another client. This was the woman he was going to make love with for the rest of his life. This was Tess. His woman. His soul. And if it wasn’t the right time to tell her, he could at least show her.
Her hands roamed freely over him, never pausing a second as she stroked and petted his ribs and waist down to his hips. She had no problem touching his skin or his scars. Never flinched. Never grunted with disgust. Just covered him with what his body craved—her sweet touch. Her tender kisses.
The animal inside him flexed its unused lustful muscles and growled in compliance. Her eyes lit with that same fire. All that wet hair turned into writhing fingers that pulled him onward as they tumbled together, caught in the rhythm and beat of a song of lust as old as life. Like threads, it weaved a silky connection, binding them together in passion and fire.
He let his fingertips explore the silky softness of her breasts, to feel the weight of those plump delights that surely craved his tongue as much as their tips peaked and hardened. He savored both, nipping and suckling to arouse her body the way she had done with his.
One knee found its way between hers, and soon, he was wrapped intimately inside the tight, silky sheath of her sexy body. The movies always showed fireworks, but this pleasure felt more like piled-high-in-the-sky thundering storm clouds that lifted Lee to the stars before they crashed him down. Down. Down into ecstasy. Down into Tess. Again and again. He clutched the cheeks of her sweet ass, pushing all his love deep inside of her. Claiming her.
I love you, Tess. The words escaped the filter of his heart, but not his mouth. He cringed even as he gave her all he had to give. Too soon to think like that, dumbass. Way too soon.
Yet it felt right. This was no temporary thing, no one-night stand. He pushed himself deeply into her again and offered more, proving the depth of his love in every physical way possible while she opened her tender body wide to receive him. She’d so willingly offered herself as a gift. The perfect gift.
When the storm was spent but the thunder still hummed loud and strong between them, his large body covered her smaller one. Their hearts pounded as one, a synchronization of souls taking place. A definite realignment in the universe. He had no more to give, and yet the temptation of her luscious body tantalized him. Still enticed and teased. He nipped her earlobe, enjoying the taste of her silky skin on his tongue, the scent of her feminine fragrance in his nose.
Her fingers laced around his ears and pushed him back. He didn’t want to look into her eyes, not yet. He didn’t want to read in them how dumb an idea this was, how she didn’t really know how to jump from hot, steamy sex to saying goodbye.
“Lee,” she whispered, the tip of her tongue soft at the end of his nose.
He groaned. Hell. He might’ve just gotten her pregnant for all the pre-planning he’d put into this very important moment in their life. Even that thought stabbed him with remorse. Their life? Was there such a thing?
He should’ve been more careful. There was no “their life” yet. There was only her and him, two strangers who’d gotten carried away. A smarter man would’ve been more careful. Agent/client privilege didn’t include jumping the client’s bones at the first opportunity. What have I done?
She bucked softly against him with her hips, not enough to dislodge him but enough to get his attention. “Will you open your eyes and look at me?”
He couldn’t help but smile. Tess was the sassiest, bossiest, most determined woman he’d ever known. He lifted his head just enough to stare nose to nose into her eyes. Violet-blue light bathed him in tenderness. Not one speck of indifference or disgust glimmered there. Only the bathroom light behind them shone on their feet and backsides. How could she glow in the shadow of his love like she was?
His doubt fled. He tunneled his fingers into her dark curls to brace her head as he kissed her deeply.
“You’re amazing,” she whispered, her breath mingling with his. He inhaled deeply and slowly, breathing her into the vast emptiness that until then was him. Arching her body against his, from bone to bone and heart to heart, she kissed his mouth with sudden ferocity. “I… can’t believe you’re here. With me. L-like this.”
That sounded promising, but it also sounded as if she’d caught herself before she said the L word, too. Not yet, Tess. Let’s slow down. Let’s not say it yet. Just show me. I’ll prove I love you and you prove you love me.
Another ember glowed, this one the deepest amethyst in her eyes, and he was hungry all over again. Nipping her bottom lip, he began to feast again on delicate feminine flesh that outdid pizza any day. Her ruby red lips were finally smudged and bruised. Branded.
He trailed a path of heated adoration down her chin with his mouth, the urge to devour her ramping up again. She lifted her head allowing him fuller access to her neck, and he obliged, his nose full of her sensual fragrance and his tongue in foreplay heaven. She stiffened beneath him when he buried his nose in her hair, kissing the edge of her ear and working his way slowly down her jaw and neck only to return to her lips again. Everything about her body called to him, but for now, he wanted the joy of consuming those beautiful, sassy lips.
Her hands roamed over his back and down his ribs while he concentrated on a way to get enough of her. There wasn’t one. She’d become his drug of choice, a sweet addiction of coconut and vanilla now steeped in cinnamon and the scent of two bodies already joined—the scent of sex and sweat. He returned from a foray of licks along her throat to her mouth again, nippi
ng, tasting, and hopelessly in love with her lips. With all of her.
He shouldn’t have been. The emotion was too soon and so sudden, but here he was, nibbling sweetness from a woman who somehow knew him inside out. Her fingers stretched soft and warm over his back and down his backside, digging her nails into the cheek of his ass and asking for more. The heat between them lurched into fire. He rained kisses, hotter and hotter on her cheeks and forehead, on her tender eyelids and softly pulsing temples. In his mind, every touch from him to her was a brand that marked her, while every touch from her to him felt like life itself. His heart was full.
When he framed her face with his big hands and tipped her chin up with his thumb to begin another assault down her neck, he heard her coming undone. Amazing. The feminine growl of this woman’s unleashed passion bestowed though the simple act of kissing pleasured him beyond belief. He restrained himself from interrupting her moment with his needs and simply held her close while she stiffened and shuddered through the waves of another climax. How terribly sweet that just his kisses brought her to the peak of joy? He grinned, proud of himself for remembering how to please a woman. This woman.
She panted beneath him, the softness of her overheated body clutching him tightly while aftershocks rippled through her. There was much he didn’t know about this exquisite treasure, more he wanted to do with and to her. He licked his lips, and then he licked hers, tracing the circle of her sensual mouth as her tongue followed suit. Sinking against her, he cradled the head of the very beautiful Tess Culver, the notorious cat burglar of Kabul, in his big hands.
Nose to nose, he breathed in the sigh of a satisfied woman. She filled him more than his body could ever fill hers. She was his, only his and all his.
So he started again.
Chapter Twelve
The pizza finally came. It was good. The conversation was better.
Lee (In the Company of Snipers Book 12) Page 14