Chapter Twenty-Three
There it was again, that generic “honey” that she didn’t like, only now it didn’t sound generic at all. It sounded almost impossibly tender and like he meant it just for her.
Gina couldn’t say a word, couldn’t move. She felt as if she’d been paralyzed. Steeling herself against the memories of how she’d gotten the scars, she found herself unable to pull her gaze from his. The gold flecks in his eyes seemed to glitter as he looked at her. His lashes were short and thick and as black as his hair, she noted abstractedly. The fine grid of lines around his eyes caught her attention: they were deeper than she’d ever seen them. From concern for her, she thought.
“The plane crash that killed your husband.” Cal’s voice seemed to come to her from across a great distance. “Were you in it, too?”
Pain slammed her. If she wasn’t careful, she thought, she would slide right off the chair into a little puddle on the stone floor.
I’m stronger than that.
Gritting her teeth, she jerked her arm free and at last managed to breathe.
“Why would you think that?” Her tone was wintry, hostile—but her voice was hoarse.
He made a sound that could have been a laugh, only there was no amusement in it.
“For one thing, I’ve seen scars like those before. You were showered with burning airplane fuel, weren’t you?”
The words couldn’t have hurt more if they’d been blows. The memories pounded in harder. Pushing her chair away from the table, Gina started to stand up, meaning to walk away, to put distance between them, to go as far from the source of the pain as she could—only she was suddenly too dizzy, and too sick to her stomach, to stand up.
Before she could get herself together enough to escape, he came around the table and crouched in front of her.
He looked as big and immovable as a mountain, she thought resentfully. The sheer mass of him hunkered down in front of her was enough to keep her from standing up and walking away even if she had been able to move, which at the moment she could not. Their eyes were nearly on a level. His were dark and grave. When he reached out to take her hand—she only realized that it had gone ice cold when she felt the warmth of his long fingers curling around hers—she gave him a look of total antipathy as she tried unsuccessfully to tug it free.
“ ‘Either we’re in this together, or we’re not,’ ” he quoted her words back at her. “Tell me what happened.”
She glared at him. Stupid to be angry at him, she knew, but she suddenly was, because he was dredging up what it had cost her a lot to bury and hurting her in the process. Under the circumstances, though, she knew his question wasn’t out of line. She should tell him. She knew she should. Her answer affected both of them. He needed to understand about planes—about how she felt about planes, about flying. He’d seen her scars now. He’d guessed the cause. All she needed to give him was the barest outline and he would know why stealing a plane and flying it out of there was not going to work for her.
But the memories were sharp as knives, shredding her composure.
She only realized that she was gripping his hand so hard that her nails were digging into his palm when his thumb stroked soothingly over the back of her hand. The gentle caress caused her fingers to relax a little.
“Gina,” he prompted. His eyes held hers. “Tell me.”
The steadiness of his gaze steadied her in turn. Bare bones, she thought, I can do. Wetting her lips, taking a breath, she kept her eyes fastened to his as if they were a lifeline.
“I was the only one who survived.” She did her best to speak normally, but still the words emerged as scarcely more than a croak. “My husband. My father. My sister. All died.”
His face tightened. “Ah, Jesus,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
She nodded, unable to say anything more because her throat had closed up. Pain welled inside her as the memories ripped free of their moorings and she saw it again, all of it, in a terrifying flash that lasted no longer than a split second. She held on to his hand like she never meant to let go as the fear and grief and horror washed over her in a giant wave and then receded, leaving her cold and shaking in its wake.
He glanced down at their joined hands, then raised them to his mouth and pressed his lips to the back of her hand. His lips on her skin felt warm. Possessive. As if they belonged there.
Heat surged through her as his mouth shifted to kiss each one of her fingers in turn. Glorious, life-giving heat.
He’s a gorgeous guy, she thought with a surprising degree of detachment as she watched his black head bent over her hand while he pressed his lips to each of her fingers. The feel of his mouth on her skin made her body tighten with awareness. Hard-eyed, hard-bodied, handsome, aggressively male: what woman wouldn’t want a man like that?
More than that, he was someone she’d learned she could count on. Someone who’d become surprisingly important to her.
“It’s okay,” he said, lowering their hands to look at her. “That’s all I needed to know. You don’t have to tell me any more.”
She nodded and exhaled. He didn’t let go of her hand. She didn’t try to pull away. Instead, she entwined her fingers with his and held on.
“I can’t really—talk about it.” Her voice was ragged. “But I’m glad you know.”
“Yeah, me too.”
She smiled at him a little unsteadily. Her heartbeat accelerated as she met his eyes. They flamed at her. Other than that, his face was impossible to read.
But she could see the tension in the set of his broad shoulders and the hardness of his jaw. She could read it, just like she could read what was in his eyes.
He wanted her. She had no doubt about that whatsoever. But she’d told him no before, and it was clear that he wouldn’t cross that line.
In her book, whatever else he’d done, that made him a good guy.
The chemistry between them was off the charts. She could feel it sizzling in the air. It was there in the heat of their linked hands, in the intensity of their locked gazes. The blistering kisses they’d shared were permanently branded in her memory. Her body was aware of his like a flower is aware of the sun.
Here, she realized with a blinding flash of insight, was the key to the prison she’d been locked in. She might die tomorrow. Was she really going to let the poor maimed thing her life had become be the last chapter of her existence? He wanted her. Well, she wanted him, too—badly. There was no logical reason why she shouldn’t take what she wanted. She didn’t have to worry about getting pregnant: she had long-term protection from that. And if they weren’t together permanently, so what? There was nothing wrong with being together for right now. She could have a relationship with a man with forever potential later. Forget getting involved with him: that didn’t have to happen. To put it in his terms, they could simply get it on. This thing with Cal would be her very own red-hot love affair, an icebreaker to catapult her back into the sexual arena. When this nightmare was over, if they survived and parted, maybe she’d be on her way to being free to live her life again.
The prospect intrigued her.
The thought of sleeping with Cal dazzled her. It made her heart start to pound.
Tightening her grip on his hand, she leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his. She kissed him softly, provocatively, sliding a hand behind his head, her lips molding to the warm firmness of his as if she would memorize the shape and taste of them. Her pulse began to race. Her body began to quicken. She touched her tongue to the crease between his lips, slid it that first little bit into his mouth, found the tip of his tongue. His mouth was scalding hot. The wave of heat that swept over her made her stomach quiver.
He made a slight, harsh sound against her lips. Then his tongue was in her mouth and he was kissing her fiercely, taking control, his mouth slanting across hers, his lips hard and demanding. She closed her eyes and kissed him back, wanting him so much that she was on fire with it. Her pulse hammered and her body burned and her to
es curled in her boots.
His arm came around her waist and he stood up, pulling her up with him, pulling her tight against his body. When they were both on their feet he stopped kissing her and lifted his head. Dizzy with wanting him, she opened her eyes and looked up at him. She was plastered against him, her arms around his neck, her head thrown back so that she had a perfect view of his hard, handsome face. His arms were locked around her waist and he looked down at her with passion blazing from his eyes, but she thought she detected a hint of wariness in the set of his mouth.
“You want to tell me what this is?” There was a hint of wariness, too, in his husky question.
“Make love to me.” Her voice was throaty, breathless. She felt hot all over, as if flames were licking at her skin. Maybe from the heat of his body pressed so closely against hers; more likely from the intensity of her own desire. He’d been able to read her from the first. Now his eyes darkened as they absorbed the sultry promise in hers.
For a moment they simply stared at each other while the air around them turned to steam. His jaw clenched as his eyes slid over her face. When they met hers again, what she read in them sent an electric charge through her body.
The raw carnality smoldering back at her from his eyes took her breath away.
Her heart lurched. Her body went up in flames.
Without a word he started to kiss her again, deep, hot kisses that made her dizzy, that made her tighten her arms around his neck and go up on tiptoe and kiss him back with increasing abandon. She pressed her body against his, reveling in the feel of him against her, in the hardness of his muscles, in the sheer size of him, in his strength. She felt the rigidity of his erection between them and her body clenched fiercely in response. His big hand slid down to cup her bottom and press her closer yet, and the rock-hardness of him against her sent long tremors of arousal coursing through her.
He kissed her cheek, her ear, slid his mouth down the side of her neck while she shivered and quaked and clung and pressed hot little kisses along his bristly jawline. Dying to touch him, she stroked both hands down his wide chest to circle his waist and delve beneath his shirt, sliding up over his bare back. She was entranced by the hot sleekness of his skin and the steely muscles beneath it.
His head lifted at the feel of her hands on his back, and he made a sound under his breath that was almost a growl.
Gina opened her eyes to find that he was looking down at her, his eyes black as coal and glittering with passion.
“You sure you want to do this?” His voice was hoarse.
She loved that he cared enough about her to check with her one more time. She loved how tall he was, and how strong, and how totally male. She loved the iron bands of his arms around her, the solid muscles of his chest against her breasts, the powerful length of his legs against the slenderness of hers. She loved the way his back felt under her hands. He was hard with wanting her, and huge with wanting her, and she loved that, too. She could feel the size and shape and urgency of his erection pressing against her, and knowing how turned on he was turned her on even more. She was breathing way too fast, her heart was pounding way too hard, and she was all soft and shivery inside.
And she loved every bit of it. She loved the way she felt. She loved the way her body throbbed and burned. She was, as she had suspected, hungry for sex. But not just sex, she discovered: what she was really hungry for was sex with him.
“I’m sure,” she answered in a voice she didn’t even recognize, and reached up to kiss him again.
His jaw went hard and his eyes leaped at her just before her lips found his. Kissing her back like he could never get enough of her mouth, he picked her up, carried her over to their makeshift bed, and put her down on it.
He was still kissing her as he came down beside her, but then his mouth pulled free of hers. She made a wordless sound of protest and opened her eyes. Her breathing was fast, irregular. The flickering lamplight lent his face a fierce masculine beauty, and the hot blaze of passion in his eyes set her on fire. Her hands were deep under his shirt by that time, stroking over the flexing muscles of his back, pressing into the flat planes of his shoulder blades, following the smooth indentation of his spine. As he moved they slid down to his waist, where they lingered on the honed muscles there, and her mouth slid down to kiss the sturdy column of his neck. His skin was hot and sandpapery with whiskers and tasted faintly of salt, and she loved the feel of it beneath her lips and the taste of it on her tongue. He sat up to pull his shirt over his head and she found herself completely dislodged. Breathing unevenly, awash in the most delicious sensations imaginable, Gina leaned back on her elbows to look at him.
He was so very big, with hard, solid muscle everywhere she looked. His broad linebacker’s shoulders and wide chest tapered down to a flat stomach and lean hips. The wedge of black hair on his chest was blatantly male. He was mouthwateringly gorgeous, and just the sight of him made her so hot that she felt as if she were melting inside.
“You must work out a lot,” she said as their eyes met, and knew she sounded idiotic even as the words left her mouth. But the thing was, she was so intoxicated by the thought of what they were getting ready to do that she wasn’t quite thinking straight.
The slightest of smiles curved his mouth. “Some.” His voice was gravelly and low. “Did I mention I want you like hell?” What she read in his eyes made her shiver.
Before she could reply, he leaned toward her and kissed her, his hand sliding along her cheek to bury itself in her hair. The touch of his mouth was a total aphrodisiac for her now. She kissed him back like she would die if she didn’t and felt a hot, intense throbbing pulse to life between her legs. Reveling in the fact that she could touch him at will, she pushed her fingers through the crispness of his chest hair, stroked his wide pecs, slid her hands up over the bulging muscles of his upper arms and along the firmness of his broad shoulders. She felt her bones dissolve at the feel of his chiseled body beneath her hands—and at the intensity of his response to her touch. His breath seemed to rattle in his throat. His body grew harder, hotter. His kisses scalded her mouth. Everywhere they touched she burned.
She let him ease her back down onto the silky gray expanse of the sleeping bag as the delicious feelings surging through her turned into a tidal wave of need.
“Gina.” Leaning over her as she lay flat on her back looking up at him, he smoothed her hair away from her face in a gesture that was surprisingly tender. Then he took her mouth in a hot, lush kiss and slipped a hand beneath her shirt to find her breast. She could feel the whole hard-muscled length of him stretched out on his side next to her, and the weight of the leg he’d thrown over her thighs. She could feel the body heat he radiated, the brush of his bare skin. She could feel the slide of his hand up her rib cage. His touch was electric, searing her skin.
“Cal,” she whispered against his lips as his hand covered her breast, and she gave a little gasp as her nipple tightened and her breast surged into the hardness of his palm. Her body pulsed with need as he fondled her, caressing her breasts like a man who knew what he was doing. He was shoving her shirt up out of his way and kissing a blazing-hot trail down the side of her neck when a not particularly welcome thought occurred to her, penetrating the steam fogging her brain. On a ragged little laugh she said, “Oh, God, I don’t even know if Cal’s your real name.”
“It is.” Her breasts were bared to him now. He’d lifted his head to look at them, and as he shifted his gaze to meet her eyes her world went slightly out of focus at the intensity of the arousal she saw in them.
“Is there more? Like, say, a last name?” She was determined to get an answer even as her mind threatened to shut down to everything except the way he was making her feel.
“James MacArthur Callahan. I go by Cal.” The thickness of his voice, the way he was looking at her, threatened to undo her completely. His eyes gleamed with sexual intent. His face was tight with it. His mouth was hard with it. So was his body.
Sh
e was shaky with excitement, breathing way too fast, and so hot for him she suddenly understood how spontaneous combustion might work. Long-fingered and dark against her pale skin, his hand curved around her breast. She knew what he was doing: the same thing he had done before. He was holding her breast ready for his mouth. Only this time she was going to let it happen. Her nipples were puckered and tingling. She wanted his mouth on her so much that she trembled.
“Cal.” There was something else she needed to know first.
Leaning down, he just grazed her nipple with his lips: a tease, a promise. The jolt of sensation that went through her at that featherlight touch was unreal. Her nipples instantly hardened into tight little points. She barely managed to hold back a moan. As he lifted his head, her back arched in a futile attempt to keep her breasts in contact with his mouth. She went all hot and liquidy inside.
“Um?” He looked down at her with hungry, heavy-lidded eyes. He was breathing hard. Twin flags of color rode high on his cheekbones.
She took a steadying breath. Oh, God, he’d almost made her forget what she’d been about to ask. Looming above her, he shifted his gaze to watch the rise and fall of her breasts with concentrated interest. His body was taut and primed for sex. She could feel the leashed power in him, the latent strength. She could feel the carnal vibes he was giving off. Heat raced through her like a flash fire. Deep inside, she felt her body clench. It was all she could do not to squirm with excitement beneath the heavy leg that was pinning her down.
“You’re not married, are you?” Her voice was faintly unsteady.
“Nope. No significant other. No sexually transmitted diseases. No condom, though. Is that a problem?”
She shook her head and sucked in more air. Shirtless, with the lamplight flickering over his body, he was the embodiment of practically every sexy dream she’d ever had, and her heart beat faster just from looking at him.
“Anything else you feel the need to ask me about right now?” The words were polite. His voice was a dangerous-sounding growl.
Darkness Page 23
