But her hand hovered over the contours of his face, taking in every detail. Each scar, the shape of his bones, the strength of his jaw. Each line and hair. Her finger almost touched his cheek, close enough to stroke its fuzzy nap without touching him, feeling his vital heat.
His sleeping face looked so young. She thought of his bleak childhood. It clutched her heart, how strong he was, how uncomplaining. How fragile.
I wasn’t always this big.
It made her jaw clench painfully to think of anyone hurting the vulnerable boy that he had been.
She cuddled closer. Her skin was so sensitive every brush of contact was a kiss, a deliberate caress. There was a throbbing glow in her belly and heart, a quivering tightness in her throat. Hot eyes. Her face wore an expression she’d never felt before. She wondered if she’d recognize herself in the mirror. She was afraid to look.
She didn’t want to call it happiness. That implied too much idiocy on her part. It was more like a kind of madness. But so lovely. So soft.
She should squash it. She knew how to suppress painful emotions. It had to be easier to kill beautiful ones. They were more delicate. The urge was almost automatic—but she suspended it, breathing deep to catch it, like the vanishing smell of a violet. So easily banished or lost.
Her fingertips gave in to temptation. She finally did touch his cheek, enjoying the supple heat of his skin. She studied the hollow of his throat, the tendons in his neck. The dramatic sweep of his eyebrows, each dark hair a pen stroke that emphasized his masculine beauty.
There was an ugly, recent scar twisting across the thick front part of his shoulder. A bullet wound, not the one he’d suffered on the bus. Her fingers hovered over it and moved away. Scar tissue could be extremely sensitive.
His eyes had opened. She felt a jolt of alarm, as if she’d been caught doing something for which she would be punished.
But his eyes did not mock her. They mirrored her own. Full of wonder.
He drew in a breath. Without meaning to, she touched her finger to his lips to silence him. Whatever he might say could ruin it. The moment was as fragile as a snowflake or a curling whorl of smoke. One of a kind, never again. Utterly improbable.
Let it breathe, unfold. Let it just exist for a while before they cheapened it with blunt words and hard realities. Please. Just a little pink and gold dawn fantasy. It wasn’t so much to ask, she told herself rebelliously. She might never feel this way again in her life. In fact, she might not even have a life. No, it was not so goddamn much to ask.
She made do with so little. She never let herself complain.
His lips were so soft against her hand. The warm rose blush of them against her finger was a miracle of nature. He clasped her palm, cradling it inside his own, and kissed her fingers. He turned it and kissed her palm. Reverently. As if her hand were a precious, holy reliquary. As if kissing it could grant power and redemption.
Their lips brushed. A glancing touch, so soft, it was more like a thought. The kiss bloomed sweetly, slowly. Their bodies melded.
Fear clawed inside her, and lost. She wanted to get inside him, she wanted him to be inside her. She wanted to see and know him, to be seen and known. All of her, all of him. The bitter and the sweet.
She climbed on top of him, flinging off the nightshirt. She welcomed the dawn chill against her hot skin. Her skin just perceived the coolness as another caress, and Val had heat to spare, blazing beneath her. So big and powerful. She straddled him, positioning his stiff penis carefully, adjusting the angle, then closed her eyes and flung her head back with a sigh of delight as she sank down, enveloping his beautiful, enormous cock into herself. She felt so tight and full, she could barely move at first, but she melted into him and found a way.
There was no awkwardness, no anger. They clasped each other’s hands for balance, seeking the perfect angles, the perfect rhythm of sliding, surging dance. Pleasure licked up her every nerve, flames leaping and dancing for joy. She touched his face, exploring with her fingers. He reached up and touched her face. Their eyes locked.
Amazed at the startling grace of it. The unexpected gift.
She climaxed several long, lovely, melting times before she realized that he would not come himself. She had not put latex on him.
He would just serve her with his big, hot, beautiful male body, for as long as she pleased, however long it took. She loved his control. She slid off his rigid shaft, wiggling down his stunning body to take him in her mouth, and give back some measure of what he had given her.
He didn’t take long. He was primed. His climax jerked through him, and he spurted into her mouth. She held him there until all the wrenching pleasure had coursed through him and left him trembling and limp.
She crawled back up to sprawl on top of him, chest to chest.
He opened his mouth. “Tamar, I—”
“No.” She stopped him instinctively.
He looked frustrated. “But I did not expect for—”
“Me neither. But we can’t talk about it. There’s nothing to talk about yet, Val. We can’t make any promises or any plans. You can’t make any melodramatic declarations. We have a job to do. So don’t even say it. Don’t even start.”
His mouth tightened. He looked mutinous. “But we—”
“No.” She put her finger on his mouth, and was so pleased by the way his lips felt, she kept it there, caressing the softness and the warmth. She went on. “I will tell you what happens now. We put this thing between us, exactly as it is, into a strongbox with an encrypted lock. We hide the box and keep it safe while we go out there and do our jobs. If we both survive, we come back after and see if something is still alive inside that box. And we deal with it then.”
He frowned. “Things don’t live in locked boxes.”
“Strong things might linger for a while.” She tilted her head to the side and gave him a sly smile. “It also gives you some wiggle room. Think about what you really want. Me, Rachel. We’re a pair, and you know us by now. We’re complicated chicks. A huge pain in the ass, times two. Difficult. Expensive. High maintenance. Lots of big, hairy issues. Think about it long and hard, loverboy. Long and hard.”
His dark eyes narrowed with that look that pierced through all her walls. “You cannot intimidate me,” he said. “Do not try. It bores me.”
God forbid. She made a scoffing noise, but she was smiling inside. Secretly loving it that she could not intimidate him.
She slid off his body, and off the bed. “Anyhow, it’s time to get ready,” she said, turning away. “The box is closed. So’s the subject.”
She pawed through her limited wardrobe choices, seeking just the right look to encounter that spoiled bitch Ana. At least Tam assumed she was still a spoiled bitch after sixteen years. Time did not tend to improve people. Particularly the bad ones.
She concluded that her best bet would be chic, armored, but not particularly sexy. The sleek gray tailored suit with the nipped-in jacket and the flaring trouser legs over a black silk blouse. Bounty from her pirate’s raid. A good, understated foil for the poison horn necklace, the multiblade Liv ring and her sleep-shooting earrings. There was room for a gun, too, beneath the jacket, should she ever get lucky enough to score one. Contacts, to turn her eyes a smoky gray. A dab of powder to accentuate her pallor, a smudged lining of black eyeliner and mascara, for that harsh, dangerous air, good for the jewelry presentation. The cute black half boots, and she’d done the best she could with the materials she had to work with.
She’d pretended to ignore Val as he got ready, not even allowing herself to watch him shave, though he’d left the bathroom door open and done it in the nude. Shameless exhibitionist.
She