Chains of Fire (19 page)

“I was thinking we should do something stupid!” She leered, actually leered at him. “But for longer this time!”

“That sounds like a good idea.” He wrapped his arms around her, kissed her on her chilly nose, her cheeks, her eyelashes. When she was straining toward him in frustration, eyes closed, lips slightly open, her expression an open invitation, he asked, “Could I get you to do something for me?”

“Sure!”

Her enthusiasm made him grin. “Listen before you say yes. In this cold, it’s a big favor.”

She opened her eyes. “What is it?”

“When I saw you at the party the other night . . . you looked wonderful, like the princess you are.”

“Am not,” she said truculently.

“I wanted to kneel before you, kiss you through that gown. I wanted to have you push me over and straddle my face. I wanted to pleasure you so thoroughly you would always feel my lips on yours, my tongue in your mouth, my dick in your pussy. . . .”

“Samuel, you shouldn’t say things like that. . . .” But she stared up at him, rapt.

He finished, “I want you to put on the dress.”

“Okay.”

“I want to feel you through it, know there’s only thin silk between us.”

“Okay.”

“Push it up over your hips and—”

“I said okay. Okay.” She backed away, smiling. “Oh. Kay.”

He watched her vanish into the depths of the ladies’ room.

They were going to die, and no matter what she said, he was responsible. He had failed to realize the Others would figure out his mission to release the Gypsy Travel Agency’s fortune. He had failed to realize that they would stalk him, entrap him, murder him to stop him from succeeding.

At least they had failed in that. He could go to his death satisfied that he had done his best for his friends, the Chosen.

But he hated that he had brought her into this. Because whether Isabelle liked it or not, he was her man. He was responsible for her safety. He had dragged her with him on the mission to rescue little Mathis Moreau from his kidnappers. He hadn’t recognized the danger, and when he did, he hadn’t reacted fast enough to save them. Worse, every attempt they made to escape had been thwarted.

So he could make her last night on earth a night she would carry as a treasure into the next world.

Like a courting bird, he hustled around, making their nest inviting. He lit the heater and placed it just outside the tent—it might burn oxygen and batteries, but what did it matter now?

What mattered was having the first warmth they would enjoy in days.

He spread out the sleeping bags so they could sleep together, fixed the pillows . . . shook out the fur coat and placed it over the top.

The fur . . . Remembering how he had stolen it from the closet, then found out he’d inconvenienced some pompous rich bitch who paid a hundred thousand for it . . . that made him smile.

Then his smile faded. He and Isabelle would go to sleep in each other’s arms, and they wouldn’t wake up. . . .

Damn!
He didn’t want this to be the end. He didn’t want the Others to win this battle. He wanted to live with Isabelle at his side. He wanted them both to get their full marks, their powers. He wanted them to be forever mated, forever as one.

And now that would never happen.

“Samuel.” Isabelle’s warm, intimate voice brought him back from the edge of despair.

He turned. He gawked.

After so many days of seeing Isabelle in bulky coats, sweaters, and ski pants, this was his first glimpse of heaven.

Yes, the dress was smudged. Yes, it had a tear. But the designer gown flowed over her body like a wash of gold, shimmering as it lovingly outlined her breasts, her waist, her thighs. She wore the foolish heels, making the line from her hips to her toes even longer, and like a model she turned, encouraging him in his gawkery. The silk trembled with every movement, and every moving shadow hinted blatantly of that which was just beneath.

He trembled. “My God,” he said hoarsely. “It doesn’t look like you’re wearing anything under that gown.”

She stopped, and like a thirties pinup girl she looked over her shoulder at him, one finger to her pursed lips, eyes widened in falsely innocent dismay. “Oh. I didn’t know you wanted me to wear underwear. I’ll have to go find my panties.” She took a step.

“Wait!”

She turned to him, a spin that made her gown swirl around her calves.

“If you do that,” he said, “I’ll be done by the time you get back.”

She laughed warmly, low and soft; then, as he held the tent flap open, she slid in in one graceful motion.

He followed, ridiculously pleased at her willingness to enter his domain.

“At last, a use for this coat.” She sat on the fur and petted it with her hand, then rolled back and stretched like a cat, one arm, then the other, her right leg, then . . .

As she stuck out her left, clad in the foolish Jimmy Choo gold spike heel, he caught her ankle and ran his hand up her calf, pushing the silk aside as he went.

Her hand went to her heart as if to contain the tumult.

Good
. He wasn’t the only one blasted by need, by sentiment, by the rush to seize satisfaction before they died . . . and yet, he intended to make this last as long as possible.

He bent her knee so that the silk fell in a sleek rush onto her hip, half baring her to his gaze. He halted to admire the soft lips lightly covered with fine curling hair, her blushing clit, the shadowy, mysterious entrance to her body.

“Samuel, I can feel you looking.” Her voice was slightly slurred, and as he watched he saw the pale pink of her inner flesh heat to a rose.

With one hand, he traced the inner length of her other leg from her ankle to her thigh, a long run of skin colored by loving nature with burnished warmth.

The fullness of her skirt now rested on her belly, and he lifted her ankle to rest on his shoulder. He slid his finger along her slit . . . and in an arrested voice, he said, “You’re icy.”

“Oh.” She stirred in embarrassment. “I wanted to freshen up, so I washed. . . .”

“With snow?” He was horrified at her feminine insistence on cleanliness—and intrigued.

“Don’t be silly. With water.”

“You used slushy water to freshen up?” More horrified. More intrigued.

She paused, then purred, “Am I fresh?”

Never in his life had he heard an invitation more artfully delivered. He slid down to rest between her thighs, stretched out with his mouth inches above her, and slowly dipped his head to inhale her scent. “Yes.”

“Then I guess it was worth it.”

He laughed helplessly. “There is not another woman like you in the world.”

She watched him, eyes half closed and smiling. “That is quite true.”

Now was the time to say all the things he’d always meant to tell her. Now . . . because there was no tomorrow. “All these years, I have dreamed of your taste, of the way you move when I take your clit into my mouth and suck it, the way you grow damp and needy, and best of all—the way you clamp down on my tongue when you come.”

“You make me hot from the inside out.”

“I always enjoy the taste of you, and it is a flavor I have long craved.”

She moaned softly.

His breath brushed her skin, and he said, “As long as I’ve got a face, you’ve got a place to sit.”

Tilting her head back, she laughed helplessly. “How can you be so romantic one minute and so crude the next?”

He kissed her between the legs. “Because with you, I want to be everything I am—romantic and crude, serious and funny, loving and in love. I want to buy you gifts when I’ve had a good day, gripe at you when I’ve had a bad day, be a jerk and know you’ll slap me, know that no matter what I do, you’ll love me anyway.”

“You want everything,” she whispered.

“Yes. I want everything.” He kissed her belly. “But I want everything for you, too. I want you to come to me when your friends are a pain. I want to hear you laugh too loud at silly jokes and hold you while you cry over a chick flick. I want you to feel free to be bitchy when you’ve got PMS. I want to hear you scream when you’re angry at me and know you’re not going to walk out because we’re meant to be together forever. I want everything for us . . . and all we’ve got is tonight, so let’s make this”—he kissed her again—“a good night.”

He had always been like this, wanting to know she’d found her bliss, over and over, before he found his. But today he used skills she didn’t know he possessed until she begged, “Samuel, please. Please.”

“Please what? Please . . . this?” Lifting his head, he thrust one finger in her.

That was all it took. His finger inside, moving, stroking . . . and she came. It was bliss. It was magic. It was release and pleasure. And when she thought she was done, he used his thumb to circle her clit and drive her higher, longer, until she dug her heels into the fur and lifted herself to him, an offering, a seduction.

When she subsided, she rested, panting, on the fur.

“What shall we do now?” He sounded amused.

She opened her eyes a little.

He
looked
amused.

The bastard.
She’d show him.

She used her toes to push first one shoe, then the other off her feet. Wrapping her legs around his neck, she trapped him in place. “Again,” she said.

And he obeyed.

She let him go when her legs were too weak to hold him. As he rose above her, she heard him chuckle.

Had he so firmly kept control over his lust?

She would fix that.

Smiling, she let her hands wander over the edge of her bodice, knowing his gaze would track her movements.

It did. His eyes glazed with desire as her fingers glided over the silk, around her breasts, over her nipples, pinching them gently until they were erect and thrusting at the thin material. She skimmed her palms down her rib cage in a slow, sensuous motion, stopping short of her slit. She lifted one leg so he could see . . . everything, then slid the silk up and down, back and forth, almost touching herself.

But.

Not.

Quite.

His breath was harsh in the chill air. He sat up abruptly and stripped off his shirt, pants, long underwear, leaving him clad in only a pair of navy blue boxer shorts that tented over his erection.

Now her breath was harsh; she hadn’t seen him naked since she’d run away from the home they shared, her heart shattered by his betrayal.

He looked the same: big-boned, heavily muscled, with long arms and large, capable hands. Yet she saw the subtle changes. His shoulders and chest were bulkier, as if to prepare for this job he had worked to build himself into a formidable fighter.

Politically correct or not, knowing that he could protect her gave her a thrill.

Sitting up on one elbow, she reached out and lightly ran her palm over his shoulder and down his arm.

At her touch, his eyes half closed.

“What is your pleasure?” she whispered.

“To make you happy.”

“As you wish.” Taking his hand, she placed it on her breast.

He groaned, a deep, beastly groan, then used the silk to rasp softly over her skin and rouse her nerves from their long slumber.

“Good man,” she said. Wrapping her hand around the back of his neck, she drew him close, directing him, and he followed instructions willingly, kissing her nipple, wetting the silk, then slipping his hand beneath the strap and sliding it off her shoulder.

“Lovely. So lovely.” His voice caressed the words.

This time when he kissed her breast, it was nude, the nerves were wide-awake, and he suckled so skillfully, she thrust herself into his mouth in ravenous demand.

When he lifted his head, his brown eyes gleamed with satisfaction. “Greedy.”

She surged forward, rolling him onto his back.

He let her climb on top, her knees straddling his hips.

Leaning down, she kissed him.

His lips opened.

She became the aggressor, baiting him with feints and retreats. She twisted her fingers into the smooth, straight strands of his hair, the pure tactile pleasure intensifying her passion. When the kiss became . . . not enough, she lifted her head and wondered if she should say the things she would never admit . . . if they were going to live until tomorrow.

But they weren’t going to live.

So she said, “The first time I saw you, back before I even really remember, I wanted to hold you. Then . . . the first time we made love, you imprinted yourself on me.”

“Yes,” he whispered.

“There’s never been another man for me. That’s why, all these years without you, I’ve been so angry. Every minute we’ve been apart, I longed for you.” She kissed him again. “I knew you were the only man I could ever love.”

Wrapping his arms around her, he rolled over, putting her beneath him. He looked into her eyes. “You love me even knowing I’m the one who trapped us here on the set of
Harry Potter and the Chamber of Dehydrated Rations
?”

“You didn’t trap us here; the Others did.” But she gurgled with laughter at his silly joke. “Here, where I’ve become one of the
Raiders of the Lost Lockers
.”

Beneath her, the fur tickled her neck, her back, her arms. The cool silk brushed her sensitive nerve endings.

Between her legs, his erection nudged at her.

Abruptly, she lost her sense of humor. “I love you, Samuel Faa, and I always will—in this world, and in the next.”