She could see it now. He was so pale his eyes were like blue fire against the white of his skin. “Okay. Deal.”
He got up, went over to the AutoChef, and ordered two short glasses. When he came back, she took the one he handed her. Then switched them. “Just in case you got sneaky and tranqed mine. I don’t want to go out again.”
“Fair enough.” He tapped his glass to hers, then downed his portion. After she’d done the same, he set both glasses aside.
“I might point out that I know you, every suspicious and cynical inch. And if I’d tranqed one of the glasses, I’d have held on to it, knowing full well you’d switch them.”
She opened her mouth, shut it again. “Damn it.”
“But I didn’t.” He leaned forward, kissed her nose. “Deal’s a deal.”
“Scared you. Sorry.”
He took her hand again, just held on to it. “Summerset said you got home a bit before five.”
“Yeah, I guess. Needed the zees.” She glanced toward the window. “Must’ve gotten some. It’s going dark. What time is it?”
“Nearly nine.” He knew she wouldn’t sleep again, not now. He’d have preferred it if she would. If he could just lie beside her, holding her close, while they both slept off the dregs of the nightmare.
“You could use a meal,” he decided. “And so could I. Want to have it in here?”
“That works for me. I could use something else first.”
“What do you want?”
She laid her hands on his face, eased up to her knees to press her lips to his. “You’re better than a soother. You make me feel clean. And whole, and strong.” She slid her fingers into his hair when his arms came around her. “You make me remember, and you help me forget. Be with me.”
“I always am.”
He kissed her temples, her cheeks, her lips. “I always will be.”
She slid into him, swaying a little as they knelt on the wide bed in the half light. The storm had passed, but something inside her still quaked from it. He would calm that. He would make it right again. She turned her head, her lips brushing his throat as she sought the taste, the scent of mate.
And finding it, she sighed.
He understood her needs, what she sought from him, sought to give him. Slow, tender, thoughtful love. There were aftershocks trembling inside him yet, but she would quell them.
His lips skimmed a line along her jaw, found hers, then sank dreamily in. Deep and quiet. And she, his strong, troubled woman, melted against him. He held her there so they drifted together into the peace, mouth to mouth, heart to heart. This time, he knew, the flutter of her pulse signaled contentment.
When he eased her back so their eyes met, she smiled.
Watching her, he unbuttoned her shirt, felt her hands, steady again, loosen his. He slid it off her shoulders so he could trace his fingers over her. Skin, pale and smooth, surprisingly delicate over such disciplined strength. A low sound of pleasure hummed in her throat as she spread her hands over his chest.
Then she leaned down, pressed her lips to his ear. “Mine,” she said.
It shook him, down to the soul.
Taking her hands in his, he turned them palms up and laid his lips in the center of each. “Mine.”
They slid down together to lie facing one another, to touch, to explore, as if it were the first time. Long and lazy caresses that both stirred and soothed. Unhurried passion that lit low fires.
She was warm now, and sure.
His lips brushed her breast and made her sigh again. Closing her eyes, she floated on the bliss. She stroked his hair—all that glorious black silk; his back—hard strength.
She heard him murmur aghra—my love. And thought, Yes, I am. Thank God. And arched to offer him more.
Arousal was a long, slow climb up, gradually up until sighs became moans and pleasure became a quiver of anticipation. When he brought her to peak, it was like being lifted up on the rise of a warm blue wave.