Dreamwalker (30 page)

Rory checked the battered door first, a lifetime of caution raising its head, but nothing untoward set off her gut. The weathered panel didn’t even have a lock to speak of. Despite creaking hinges, the door eventually swung open after she gave it a hard shove.

Inside was dark—two small shuttered windows kept out all but the cold and the howl of the wind—but nothing moved inside, so it seemed safe enough. She plucked her penlight from her tool belt and switched it on, its narrow, white beam revealing nothing out of the ordinary, not even a wild animal as she’d half expected.

The interior was all of one room. A rough cot took up one corner beside a dinky woodstove, while a crude table sat in another corner. Empty space along one wall might have served as a storage area or a pen for animals. All in all, it looked little more than a shelter for shepherds, long abandoned, centuries of dirt leaving every surface dingy. But after the trek through the storm, its promise of shelter was as welcome as a suite at the Marriott.

Since the cottage was empty, she stood aside to let Damon in, out of the storm.

He edged through the door, the bulky load on his back catching on the low lintel. With what sounded like a muttered imprecation, he backed up and shed the nuke, handing it to her before trying again.

This time he succeeded with only the rasp of cloth against rough wood to mark his passage. While he unburdened himself, Rory ducked outside to check their trail.

Lightning flickered in the clouds, brighter than daylight for a blink of an eye. That instant was enough to see that rain had reduced visibility to the tree line, obscuring the mountains around them. Barely seen branches bent and swayed before the wind, making her glad they’d found the cottage, but nothing else appeared. No lights, no cars, no people. They’d truly lost their pursuers. The relief she felt was enervating.

With the wind resisting her efforts, Rory had to put her shoulder against the door to shut it. A bar appeared in front of her—courtesy of Damon—that fit into brackets on the jamb, locking the door in place.

Her penlight’s meager beam only served to emphasize the humbleness of their accommodations. But she counted them lucky to even have it. “It’s not much, but it’s home.”

Damon gave a bark of rusty laughter at her weak quip as he worked the kinks out of his muscles.

Whoever had abandoned the cottage had done so with some haste. Rory found some threadbare shirts on the floor beneath a row of rude pegs, enough to dry with. They left streaks of dust on her skin suit, but beggars couldn’t be choosy.

Shivering from the cold, she stripped her top off, leaving it to hang at her waist. As she was about to use the rags on herself, Damon stopped her, looking up from his inspection of the nuke.

“Here, use this.” Digging through a bag, he handed her a shirt that by some miracle had escaped a soaking. It smelled deliciously of him. “Afterward, you can change into something dryer.” He held out another bag, a familiar one she’d thought had been left behind in the hostel.

“You mean you’ve been lugging that along with everything else?” Staring at Damon, Rory wiped off the rain and sweat clinging to her, stripping completely to get dry as quickly as possible. The man was a marvel of endurance to have done that.

He shrugged modestly, downplaying his feat. Setting her bag on the table, he proceeded to copy her actions, putting his muscular body on display with indifferent efficiency that made her want to protest. A show like that was meant to be savored! She’d barely seen anything in the weak light.

Then the enormity of their accomplishment hit her. “Oh, God! We did it!” She grinned up at Damon as exhilaration bloomed. They’d actually gotten away with stealing the nuke!

“We’re not out of the woods yet.” Despite his cautious words, he grinned back at her, looking equally elated. He swept her into his arms and spun her in the air.

Clinging to his shoulders, Rory threw her head back and laughed, sheer relief bubbling up as giggles. What an adventure, but they’d done it!

“You wonderful woman! That distraction was inspired!” Damon’s embrace tightened until she was flush against him, thighs to thighs, belly to belly, chest to breasts. And an unmistakable ridge nestled against her mound.

Reciprocal desire stirred in her core, hot and heavy, a longing to touch and be touched, to claim and be claimed, to stretch and be filled. She inhaled sharply and wrapped her legs around his narrow hips, pulling him closer to where she wanted him.
Oh, yes.

He caught her lips in an exultant kiss, his hot body vibrating with barely restrained power. Man to her woman. Hard where she was soft.

Rory’s fatigue burned away in the heat of his caresses, leaving her flying high on excitement. What a thrill and what a man! All of a sudden she wanted nothing more than to celebrate their success in the most basic way possible.

She raised herself with her legs around his waist, teasing them both with the touch of his blunt cock head nudging her wet slit. “I want you now.”

“Whoa.” Damon staggered backward. With a bit of fancy footwork, he spun around, sandwiching her against the rough door with her butt on the bar, ending with a sharp thrust of his pelvis that buried his cock deep inside her. He groaned as he settled to the hilt, his cock still swelling. “Damn, you’re tight.”

“Hurry.” She squeezed him with her inner muscles, melting as she urged him to move, to match her touch for touch, need for need.

Then he did—hard and fast, pumping her with all his strength, and she didn’t want it any other way. His driving rhythm forced the air from her lungs, a primeval celebration of their success, exhilarating in its pounding beat. The slapping of flesh against wet flesh mingled with grunts and cries of delight, the racing of her heart sounding louder than the thunder outside.

Sinking her fingers into Damon’s hair, Rory captured his mouth, claiming him just as thoroughly as he was claiming her. A mutual possession, infinitely thrilling and all the more satisfying for their hard-earned victory.

Passion soared, wild and frenzied. Too explosive to last.

Release came in a searing blast of breathless ecstasy roaring through her veins. Damon followed her soon after, a deep groan escaping him as he spilled inside her, shuddering in her arms. That was all she knew for uncounted time as she lost herself in rapture.

Only gradually did her senses return.

Above them, the rain’s drumming on the roof strengthened, the storm letting loose with more thunder. It brought to mind the soundtrack of an old war movie. Since they’d found shelter from the elements, Rory paid it no heed.

The cold tickling her legs and arms and back—in fact, everywhere but the parts of her stuck to hot male—was less easy to discount.

Her perch shifted unsteadily, jolting from side to side, moving in spurts and halts. The unpredictable rhythm set off bursts of delight in her fluttering core that were topped by a final sudden drop of orgastic proportions.

When Rory managed to pry her eyes open, she saw that Damon had somehow gotten them to the cot. A man of marvelous coordination, her Adonis. In the meager illumination from her penlight, she watched as he spread over its dingy surface, first, the oversize shawl he’d given her, then a survival blanket he must have taken from his bag. Finally, he lay down with a satisfied groan, looking like a living sculpture of a dissolute satyr.

Separating their bodies reluctantly, Rory settled against his side, pulling the blanket over them. Now that the fury of their passion was spent, her fatigue began to creep back, a reminder of what they’d gone through to get to this point.

Damon stretched, his joints cracking as he exhaled in a sudden sigh. “Damn, I love it when you do that.” A muscular arm curved over her back, pulling her against his side.

Her sensitized nerves stirred at the friction, her heart skipping at his choice of words. “Do what?”

“Jump my bones without warning.”

Relieved by his explanation, she laughed, allowing the haze of sensual euphoria that had blanketed her senses to enfold her once more. “I’d have thought you’d gotten used to it by now.”

The answering grunt Damon gave her sounded distinctly negative, but he didn’t expand on it.

Funny
. She would have thought the novelty of the experience had worn thin, after all the time they’d spent together; then again, it hadn’t for her.

Rory ruffled his chest hair idly, delighting in the featherlight contact. There was something supremely decadent about being wrapped in hot, hard male when the heavens were carrying on like a dissonant orchestra led by a maniacal conductor.

“What are you going to do after we turn in that thing?” After weeks of referring to the nuke only indirectly, not naming it outright had become second nature; even though there no longer was any risk someone would overhear them, she didn’t bother trying to break the habit. After all, her commission would soon be completed; then it wouldn’t matter one way or another.

Her Adonis sighed softly. “I suppose I’ll be given another mission. That’s the usual reward for a job well done.” The reluctance in his voice implied that he didn’t look forward to it . . . or to leaving her?

“More terrorists?” A pang of disappointment pierced her lassitude. Of course he’d be given another mission . . . one that would take him away from her as surely as another woman. How silly of her not to have expected that.

“It’s the only game in town these days.” Damon caught her wandering hand, his cock stirring against her thigh. “And you? What are you going to do with all those millions?”

“Park it somewhere to earn more millions, probably.”

He chuckled, the quaking of his chest bobbling her pleasantly. “That’s it?”

“Another job.” Rory shrugged, tempted toward indiscretion despite Felix’s training. She and her Adonis had been through so much together, it actually felt unnatural to withhold information. “You probably can guess how it goes.” To distract him from his line of questioning, she feathered her fingers along his ribs, making him jerk away.

“No, you wouldn’t do that to a man while he’s down, would you?” he protested—rather unconvincingly, given his hard-on.

Evading his grab, Rory cupped his thick cock with her free hand. “Oh, is that what you call it?” She traced his erect member with teasing fingers. “It doesn’t feel down to me.” Stroking its swelling length, she was once again struck by his size. “Nuh-uh, that doesn’t feel down at all.”

“Minx.” Damon wrestled her under him, his legs tangling with hers. “Just ignore it. It will subside. I’m too spent to do you any justice.”

Her belly cramped at his refusal. Was this it? The beginning of the end, now that she’d stolen the nuke?

It shouldn’t have mattered. Though Damon was a fantastic lover and a tolerable partner, Rory had proposed their arrangement knowing it would be temporary.
He’s a Fed and you’re a diScipio with everything that heritage means.
But the thought of their affair ending so soon still hurt.

“What is it?” He raised himself on an elbow to look down at her, her penlight casting his deep-set eyes in shadow.

She cursed his incubus power that made him so attuned to her emotions. “Nothing, just hungry.” And she was, she realized. Now that she was paying attention to her stomach, it felt like a bloody hole had been gouged to her spine.

“You wouldn’t happen to have some food in there, would you?” Rory pointed her chin at his bulging bag leaning on the nuke. All she’d had was a day-old piece of
burek
, but the meat pie probably hadn’t survived their trek intact.

Though Damon gave her a long look, he didn’t call her on her diversionary tactic. “Actually, I do.” Sitting up, he tucked the blanket around her. A hard loaf of bread was laid on her lap, on top of the blanket, and was soon joined by sausages, which he cut up, and a round of cheese.

The last item surprised Rory since it was one she liked and he was indifferent to. Its presence had to be deliberate since she knew there had been other cheeses available in the market nearest the hostel. Perhaps she was reading too much into it, but it warmed her heart.

Aurora diScipio, make up your mind! Is he ending it early or does he care?
All this second-guessing Damon was giving her mental whiplash, and she didn’t like her atypical indecision.

Shoving her confusion to the back of her mind, she tore a hunk from the loaf, then balanced bits of cheese on top. “How much did you bring?”

“Enough for a few days, if we ration it out.” He set a plastic bottle of water between them.

About to take a bite, Rory froze in midmotion. “Should we?”

Taking a healthy mouthful of his own hunk of bread, Damon shook his head. “Best keep our strength up,” he added, after swallowing. “Once we’re across the border, we can buy food and call for pickup.” His logic made sense, since they would make better speed that way; even on foot, it was only two days at most to Macedonia, though she didn’t look forward to the hike.

Her stomach growled at the scent of food unfairly withheld, sounding louder than a distant roll of thunder. Cheeks hot, she bit into the bread, the simple meal tasting better than an eight-course dinner with her favorite dishes at the Four Seasons. Whoever had said that hunger was the best condiment was right; certainly it distracted her from her thoughts.

Damon, on the other hand, ate with his usual efficiency, the look on his face distant, his mind obviously elsewhere. For once, he lounged naked, an indication of his distraction, since he usually preferred to be dressed, in case he had to move quickly. Unfortunately, his nudity provided evidence of the veracity of his earlier statement—ignored, his hard-on had subsided—to her great disappointment. “Did you say you blew up over three million euros of Karadzic’s holdings?”

Chasing crumbs on the blanket, Rory blinked, taken unawares by his question. He was back to that?