Into the Mist (22 page)

Eli kissed her forehead tenderly then slid his lips down to kiss each eyelid as they fluttered underneath his mouth.

“I think you saved him as well,” he said softly.

She closed her eyes and leaned until her forehead touched his. “I can't lose him, Eli.”

“I know, sugar. And you won't. We'll find a way.”

Such simple words, and yet they lifted her up, filled her with such comfort. She wasn't alone. Not anymore. Eli was helping her.

“You need to eat, and then I need to clean you up,” he said. “I'm beginning to think you're using your face as a battering ram.”

She smiled and to her surprise got teary-eyed again. He smudged the moisture with his thumb then kissed the spot just below her eye.

“You managed to salvage the food?” she asked.

“Uh huh. Not much gets between me and my food.”

Relief, warm and liquid, pooled in her soul. He wasn't disgusted by her raw account of her childhood. He wasn't horrified by all she'd done and by all that had been done to her. For the first time in her life, she wondered if there was room for one more person in her heart.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Eli watched Tyana nibble at an empanada and was at a loss as to how to react to all she'd told him. He couldn't sit there and say it didn't matter, nor could he ignore the enormity of the fact that she'd shared such intimate details of her past with him.

What did he do? It didn't feel right to take her to bed and make long, sweet love to her, though it was precisely what he wanted. He wanted to make her forget, to let her know that it didn't matter to him, that only she mattered. But at the same time, how could he be sure that he wouldn't shatter her already fragile emotions? Wouldn't bring back those terrible memories of another man in another place?

And if he did ignore the urge, what kind of message was he sending? What would his reluctance to touch her say to her? That he was disgusted? That he no longer wanted her?

It was a hell of a hard spot to be in, and there weren't handbooks for this sort of thing. Make the wrong decision and he risked losing her completely.

That was the rub. Did he want to keep her?
Could
he keep her? She was his perfect match in a world where he never thought to find one. What woman could possibly understand his life, the things he'd done, the way he lived? Only a woman who shared those same experiences. Tyana.

He hadn't been honest with her, though. She clung to the hope that he could somehow provide help for Damiano, and he couldn't. His ability to shift wasn't something born of a freak science experiment gone bad. How could he tell her that and destroy her faith that somehow Damiano could be cured?

The small radio transmitter sitting on the floor beside the couch beeped, and he reached down to pick it up.

“Eli.” Gabe's voice filtered through the static.

“Go ahead.”

“We're in town. Number two house.”

“Lay low. I'll be in touch when we move out again,” Eli said before putting the radio aside.

He had calls to make, favors to call in, but until they knew where they were going, his only option was to sit tight and hope this Tits guy came through for Tyana.

Her haunted stare found his. “So we stay here?”

He nodded. “I'll make arrangements for us to fly out as soon as we have a location on Esteban.”

She frowned, and lines of fatigue rippled across her forehead. “What then? What's our objective? Is it revenge or simply a fact-finding mission?”

He moved closer to her, wanting to be near yet so afraid she'd pull away. When she didn't, he settled beside her, their shoulders touching.

“Honestly? I want to kill the bastard. But that helps no one. I say we take him alive and make him talk. He doesn't want to die. He's too absorbed in his whole power trip. After we extract what information we can from him, we can decide whether he's worth more to us alive or if we kill him then.”

She nodded. “I agree. If there is a way to help Damiano…and Ian and Braden…” She glanced up at him, questions burning in her eyes. “What about you, Eli? Are you happy with your abilities? You and Gabe aren't like the others. What if we find a way to make it all go away? Are you going to want that?”

He sat there frozen. It was only a matter of time, but he hadn't wanted it to be now. He didn't want to face her disappointment. He didn't want to hurt her.

“Eli? Did I say something wrong?”

He turned to face her, pulling one knee up on the couch. “Tyana, I'm not like the others.”

She nodded. “I know. We just went over that.”

He sighed. “No, I mean the chemical agent didn't do anything to me.”

Her eyebrows drew together in puzzlement, and she put the empanada down on her lap.

“You've been looking to the wrong guy for answers. I don't have them because I was able to shift long before the accident in Adharji. I was…born with the ability. Some freak accident of nature.”

Her mouth fell open, and her pupils dilated in shock. “But…that's impossible. It's not logical. People aren't born that way.”

He put his hand over hers, but she snatched it away. She stood abruptly and whirled around, her face a mass of confusion.

“You're serious, aren't you?”

“Yeah, Tyana. I'm serious. The whole reason we were able to get out of that damn prison camp before they started any experimenting was because I was able to shift. It's a secret I've carried since birth, but after the others…it became easier to hide. I mean, I no longer had to hide it. It could be explained by the chemical agent.”

She closed her eyes and her shoulders slumped forward. “Then…then there really is no way to help Damiano, is there?”

He flinched at the grief in her voice, thick, so heavy it seemed to blanket the room. He'd expected anger, not resignation. But then he suspected she was at the end of her rope.

He stood and put his hands on her shoulders. When she wouldn't look at him, he moved a hand to her chin and gently prodded it upward.

“Listen to me, sugar. We'll find a way. Esteban started this and we're going to finish it. If he has information that can help us, we'll find it. I need you to believe that.”

She leaned in close, laying her forehead against his chest. Her hands gripped his waist, balling the fabric of his shirt in her fists.

He put his arms around her and went with his instincts.

“Let me love you,” he whispered. “Tonight is ours.”

Her head came up, her eyes flashing a brilliant green. “You said you wouldn't sleep with a woman who didn't trust you.”

He cupped her chin and ducked his head. His lips hovered a mere inch over hers. “You trust me, sugar. You would've never told me everything you did if you didn't trust me.”

Vulnerability shadowed her beautiful eyes. She swallowed then loosened her hold on his shirt. She let her hands fall to her sides.

“I do trust you,” she whispered, and he realized how very hard those words had been for her to say.

He slid his hands down her lithe form, to the hem of her shirt, delved underneath then let his hands glide upward again, taking her shirt with them.

“This isn't sex, Tyana. I'm not going to fuck you.”

Her breath escaped in a jerky wave.

“I'm going to make love to you.”

Her lips parted in invitation, but he had to hear the words from those lips.

“Say it,” he murmured. “I want to hear you say it.”

She trembled against his fingers as he coaxed the shirt higher.

“Make love to me.”

It was said so quiet he had to lean in to hear. Her breath blew softly against his cheek and sent a shiver down his spine.

“Kiss me,” he said.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and slid her lips across his, soft as a butterfly's wings. He ran his hands under her arms, around to her back and pulled her close. Her shirt bunched between them as he deepened the kiss, as he explored her mouth.

He took a step forward, forcing her to take a step back. Slowly he moved them toward the bedroom, their lips fused tight. He tugged at her clothing, releasing her mouth long enough to yank the shirt over her head and toss it aside.

He lowered her to the bed, his mouth working down her jaw, to her neck and to the hollow at her throat. He kissed a line between her breasts as his fingers fumbled with her jeans.

The fly parted, and he pulled at the material, easing it over her hips and down her thighs. As the denim gathered at her knees, he bent and pressed a kiss to the soft cotton-covered vee.

When the jeans were removed, he stood staring down at her nearly naked body. Only her panties remained, a small scrap covering the softness of her womanhood.

He leaned down once more and spanned her small waist with his hands then dipped his fingers into the thin elastic band of her underwear. Tiny little goose bumps dotted her abdomen as he slowly started to lower the panties.

The silky, dark curls between her legs came into view, tempting him as he removed the last of her clothing. She lay naked in front of him, vulnerable, and yet there was such trust in her actions.

No tension, no wariness in her eyes. No suspicion.

He began to take off his own clothing, moving slow, wanting to prolong the moment. There was no rush, no race to orgasm this time. It wasn't about a quick fuck. It was about the delicious savoring of bodies, of their connection. It was about respecting the trust she'd offered him.

He lowered his body to hers, flesh on flesh, the warm sensation of skin sliding together.

“Are you on something, sugar?”

She stared up at him, their gazes colliding with hot intensity. Confusion flickered for a moment.

“I don't have a condom with me, and the last thing we need is to make a baby. I'm hoping you're on birth control.”

She relaxed and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him further against her.

“I've been on birth control since Jonah dragged me to a clinic in Prague all those years ago.”

“Are you okay with me not using a condom?”

She stared back at him, and he could see the same desire in her eyes. This was something they both wanted, but he wouldn't do anything that would put her at risk, that would destroy the fledgling trust between them.

“I don't…” She briefly looked away and when she looked back, the faint light of shame reflected in her eyes. “I don't have sex often. I've done things I'm not proud of. They were jobs…means of gaining information—” She broke off, her expression stricken.

“Like I was at first?”

She nodded and started to speak again, but he held a finger to her lips. “You don't have to explain yourself to me, sugar.”

“What I'm trying to say is that I haven't had sex, before you, in a long time. Never unprotected, and routine physicals are mandatory for all Falcon members.”

Relief tightened his chest. They were okay.

“What about you?” she asked quietly.

He kissed her, plucking at her bottom lip with his teeth. “Not in a while, sugar. A long while. And never without a condom. When you walked into that bar in Singapore, all thoughts of celibacy fled.”

She smiled. “Then make love to me, Eli.”

“You trust me?” he asked again. He wanted to make sure she believed him. A man would say damn near anything when it came to sex. He hadn't been above it in the past. But not when it mattered.

She hesitated only a fraction of a second before nodding.

“Do you trust me?” she asked. “I could be lying. You know of the things I've done…”

Again he silenced her with a finger. “I guess we'll have to trust each other, sugar. As we've stated many times before, we've had ample opportunity to kill each other. Now if this part of the conversation is over, I'd like to move on to other things.”

His mouth closed around one pink-tipped breast. She arched into him, bowing her back off the bed with a moan. He loved how easily she fit against him. Neither of them were soft people and yet they cradled one another perfectly.

He traced the outline of a scar over her left breast, one he'd missed before, but then he'd been hurried, rushing to completion, lost in the pleasure she gave him.

He went exploring, looking for other battle scars. He found a crescent-shaped ridge on her right hip and a three-inch-long puckered line on the inside of her thigh. Even her feet weren't unscathed. He feathered over an old wound on the top of her right foot.

She jerked and laughed softly.

“Ticklish?” he asked.

“Very, and don't you dare use it against me.”

He chuckled. “I bet you have a story for each of your scars. They'd probably stand my hair up on end, but I bet they're not dull.”

“Maybe I'll tell you about them sometime,” she said. “But right now I don't really feel like talking.”

He slid back up her body, his sac rubbing against the inside of her leg. His cock was stiff and distended, and he ached to bury himself deep in her heat.

With one knee, he opened her wider. The soft hair of her pussy brushed his skin. He wanted his fingers there. He wanted his cock there. He wanted all of her all at once.

With tentative fingers, he touched the tuft of hair over her mound, delving between the warm folds of her femininity. He reached her damp core. Hot, so hot.

“Take me,” she whispered.

His body shuddered at the erotic command. The words appealed to the primal male buried inside. It was a call to claim his woman, to mark her, to make her his. It was a call he couldn't ignore.

He reached down and grasped his cock. It was hard and pulsing in his hand. He stroked up and down, enjoying the sensation as he guided himself toward her opening.

He rubbed the head over her wetness before lodging himself just inside her velvet rim. He leaned forward, lowering himself over her body.