Читать книгу Shannon McKenna Bundle: Ultimate Weapon, Extreme Danger, Behind Closed Doors, Hot Night, & Return to Me - Shannon McKenna - Страница 22

Sleep was impossible despite how exhausted he was. He felt buzzed, wired. Proximity to that woman acted on his brain like a powerful chemical stimulant.

If he kept her close enough, he might never need to sleep again.

Tamar and Rachel were still asleep. Tamar cuddled Rachel, the child’s back tight to her belly, her arms wrapped tightly around her. Rachel’s curly black head was tucked under her chin and Tamar looked like a little girl clutching a doll that she feared would be taken from her.

Not by him, he vowed silently. Not by him. He would die first.

His phone vibrated in his pocket. He plucked it out, and opened the text message from Donatella. It was terse and to the point.

meeting with la santarini 10:30 Tuesday dreaming of Paris baci e abbraci, D

Relief almost brought tears into his eyes. He drew in a huge breath. One point of agonizing dread and tension eased, though there were plenty more of them vibrating inside him to choose from.

He noticed Rachel’s pink fuzzy blanket draped over the chair. It gave him an idea. He fished in his jacket for the case of miniature spyware he’d been carrying everywhere he went, picking the same type he’d put into Tamar’s jewelry case, but he fished out the slightly larger size, for the sake of the longer battery life.

Three days, guaranteed, the catalog had boasted. Maybe more.

They weren’t the PSS-sanctioned transmitters that he usually used. When he’d researched the McClouds and Seth Mackey, he’d been intrigued with the merchandise in the SafeGuard online catalog. He had ordered an array of products to test and been agreeably surprised. Their software was better than that of PSS, and he liked the sleek, easy-to-use designs. The beacon burrs, as the catalog called them, were miniature X-Ray Specs GPS tracers, the smallest of them as slender as a wild grass seed. A pointed needle tip made for easy placement, no unstitching necessary. The tiny electronic parts and supercondensed battery were packed into a narrow plastic capsule. One slid it into a hem or fabric lining, and the thing was done.

He stared at Tamar for a moment to see if she was still asleep. She would read his gesture as threatening if she saw it, but if they should ever need the tracers, she would be grateful for them.

Swift, discreet action. He inserted one into Rachel’s stuffed bear, another into the upholstery of her new stroller, a third into her ski jacket. Overkill, but he didn’t care. He was the one who had put this child at risk. He wanted options should anything happen to her while they were in Europe. He only wished the batteries lasted longer.

He resumed the kung fu he’d been practicing for several silent hours. He’d tried meditating on the matrix, but he was buzzing at too high a frequency to have any hopes of centering himself.

He had to keep his wits about him—not so much against the enemies massed against them, but against Tamar herself. It took constant, careful attention to have anything to do with the woman. She was so sharp, so prickly and contentious. And so fucking beautiful.

She scrambled his circuits like an electrical storm.

He felt her eyes on the back of his neck as he sank down into a tiger crouch. His gaze flicked over her as he spun. Tamar was propped on her elbow, looking at him with squint-eyed, sleepy suspicion.

He continued without acknowledging her and silently finished the movement.

When he was done, she was on her feet with her back to him, punching a number into her cell phone. She spoke in a hushed voice, in Portuguese. “Rosalia? Yes, it’s Tam…yes, I just called to find out how your…oh, really? Wonderful, Rosalia, thank God. I’m so glad you got it all straightened out so quickly…no, actually Rachel and I are out of town right now…yes, for a few days, yet. I’m not sure how many. You just take a vacation and relax, and I’ll call you when I get back. OK. Thanks to you, too. Take care, Rosalia. Good-bye.”

She clicked her phone shut, and glared at him. He gave her an I-told-you-so shrug.

“Well, and so what?” she snapped. “Don’t give me that smug look. It was a shitty thing to do in the first place. You scared the poor woman to death. To say nothing of how her sons felt. You should pay them monetary damages for lost sleep and mental anguish. Embarrassing them at their place of work just to mess with me. It was unforgivable.”

He shrugged. “I will pay them damages, if you like, when all this is over. But it’s fine, now. I have arranged for an introduction to Ana Santarini. We have an appointment with her in two days.”

She frowned. “So long from now? Do we have to waste an entire—”

“She is in Italy,” he reminded her patiently. “We lose a day traveling, and when we arrive in Rome, we still have hours of driving to do. Do you have enough jewelry with you to show to a client without going home to get more? I suspect going back would be dangerous.”

“I have everything I showed you at Shibumi, and then some,” she said. “All unarmed, of course, but I have the means to arm some packed in my case.”

“Good. We should get on our way,” he said.

“Val,” she said sweetly. “You’ve forgotten one small but very important detail. You killed my passport. I have others, but I expect you’ve killed them, too. Am I right?”

“I have a passport for you,” he said, neatly sidestepping her landmine of a question. “Today, you are Anita Borg. Belgian.”

“I don’t want to use anything that PSS has in their files,” she said.

“They do not know about this one,” he told her. “I had one made secretly, weeks ago, at my expense. I like to have options. Always.”

Her mouth tightened as she glanced back at Rachel’s sleeping form on the bed. “We can’t go anywhere near Sea-Tac.”

“This is true. We will leave from Portland, which means we have a two hour drive ahead of us, minimum, to add to our travel time. Therefore, we must move. Soon.” He glanced pointedly at Rachel.

Tamar’s face darkened. “She needs her sleep,” she said rebelliously. “She went to bed late last night. She’s wiped out.”

Val felt his jaw twitch. “I’ll go get my laptop from the car and book the flights,” he said grimly. “When I return, you must be ready.”

“For breakfast,” Tam specified. “With Erin and Connor and Kev and Sveti to soften the blow. I can’t just dump the kid and disappear with no buildup, Janos, so take that into account when you book your flights.”

“Call me Val,” he said through clenched teeth. She didn’t.

He sprinted through the bracing cold in the forest, soaring on that wild, jagged high. His feet barely touched the ground. He could not identify the source of the euphoria. The aftereffects of that intense sexual encounter, no doubt. He had not filmed it, not this last time. That, at least, was theirs. Secret and private. He should have filmed it to be sure he had another installment for Imre, but he couldn’t bear to.

Another time. Because there would be another time, and another, and another. If he was anywhere near that woman, he would be trying to seduce her. The urge to assail her defenses was out of his control.

Oddly enough, he was getting used to being out of control.

It was inadvisable to get so excited. The woman would drug, stun, or shoot him at the slightest provocation, after all. But what they had done last night was burned into his sense memory. Every word, every gesture. Every succulent, dangerous, deadly detail of her.

He slid into the cold SUV, forcing warmth and circulation into numb fingers, logged on, and found an afternoon flight for Rome via Atlanta. Though the way she was dragging her feet, so reluctant to leave her child, it was doubtful they would actually catch it. He stowed his pistol in the case beneath the seat. He regretted leaving it behind, but even in checked baggage, a pistol attracted attention.

He was gratified when he got back to see that Tamar had moved briskly once he was not there to see it. Rachel was bathed, dressed, and stuffed into her coat, and Tamar was gathering the odds and ends of yesterday’s spending spree, shoving items into shopping bags. She was casually dressed: designer jeans, a loose, nubbly beige sweater.

“I can’t climb on a plane with my lingerie and toiletries falling out of a paper shopping bag,” she bitched.

“I anticipated this problem, which is why I ordered you a suitcase yesterday,” was his smooth rejoinder.

“Hmmph.” She tossed her things into the suitcase he had hauled back from the SUV without any thanks and shrugged on her coat.

She scooped Rachel up, but the little girl leaned out of her arms and reached for Val. He swept her up, placed her on his shoulders, and set a brisk pace toward the main hotel, Tamar trailing sullenly behind.

Breakfast was a tense affair, though they had a lot of company. Val sipped coffee and stared grimly at the minutes ticking by on his watch. Sveti tried to persuade Rachel to consume scrambled eggs and pancakes, but the little girl had realized that her mother’s departure was imminent, and she was cranky. Tamar’s friends, gathered at the table, were all giving him cold-eyed looks that seemed to say, although Tamar had not told them exactly where she was going or why, they suspected it—and him.

Tamar, on the other hand, was overwhelming Erin and her husband with a long list scrawled on hotel stationery of the pediatrician’s recommendations for Rachel’s diet, allergies, and food intolerances. Then the nightly physical therapy exercises, the massages for ankles and hip, the asthma medications, cortisone drops for croup, ear drops, and so on. Minutes ticked by. Twenty. Thirty.

Connor McCloud’s eyes glazed over halfway through, and Erin had long since passed her own child over to one of her sisters-in-law, frowning anxiously as she took careful little notes on the margin of the list. Words poured out of Tamar like water from a fire hose. Her fists were clenched, jaw tight, eyes red.

She cared, terribly. It hurt her to leave. He hated hurting her.

He pushed guilt away with a series of rationalizations. If they succeeded, the quality of Rachel and Tamar’s life would be immensely improved. His offer was probably their only hope of continued survival.

If Hegel had come in Val’s stead or sent any other operative, Tamar would already be in Georg’s hands, and Rachel would be locked up alone, in a terrifying limbo. And if Novak should come to know of the child…

His mind shied away from the thought.

Then again, if Tamar and Rachel had managed to flee the day before, they might have had a fighting chance alone, somewhere in the world, under a new name. Anyone’s guess.

And Imre would have been doomed to a slow and horrible death.

He took a swallow of the strong, black coffee. Bitter as poison. There was no point thinking about it. He had made his choice and set it all in motion. What was done was done.

“Three drops, did you write that down? Two milliliters of distilled water in the aerosol machine, and make sure she’s watching Elmo or Pooh while you do it, or nothing doing. Did you get that?”

Rachel began to wail.

“Got that,” Erin said distractedly, scribbling. “Three drops, two milliliters—Elmo, Pooh.”

“I’ll give you some cash for the medicines.” Tamar dug into her purse. Her voice vibrated with tension, pitched loudly enough to be heard over Rachel’s wailing.

Erin rolled her eyes. “Get real.”

“I mean it,” Tamar insisted. “This stuff costs big bucks at the pharmacy. I can’t let you—”

“Screw you, Tam,” Connor said brusquely. “Don’t insult us. Now go and hug that kid, for God’s sake, before we all get thrown out of this place for disturbing the peace. Don’t you have a plane to catch?”

Tamar made a harsh, wordless sound and grabbed the screaming child, pulling her onto her lap. She buried her face against Rachel’s hair and murmured to her between ear-splitting shrieks.

Val strategically fled the dining hall at this point, as many others were choosing to do with him, but he couldn’t get away from the anguished sounds without leaving the building entirely. It was terrible.

Final good-byes, loading of cars, transferring of car seats, final admonitions, and still more final good-byes ensued. A teeth-grinding interval later, they were finally pulling onto the interstate in blessed silence. Tamar’s hands were clenched, her back stiff. Her stony silence had an accusing weight that got heavier with each mile that passed.

By the time they were halfway to Portland, he could stand it no longer. “Would you stop it?” he blurted. “I am sorry your daughter is unhappy, but it is not forever. We have to work fast so—”

“If we survive at all,” Tamar pointed out. “Or if I survive, rather. Let’s be honest. I’m the one whose head is on the block.”

He blew out a harsh breath. “I have tried in every way to make this risk worth your while,” he said urgently. “For Rachel, too. She will survive without you for a few—”

“Look, you don’t know how it feels, OK? So why don’t you just fuck off and let me sulk?”

He turned away, stung into silence. It was true enough. He did not know how it felt. Nor would he ever want to learn.

They speeded down the highway in a hostile silence for over an hour. By the time they reached signs for Highway 205 and the Portland Airport, he was contemplating an odd, unexpected thought.

He glanced over at her set face, her red eyes. Whatever Tamar might lack in manners or maternal softness, one thing was certain. A child of hers would never have to wonder if her mother cared.

Tam cared so much, it looked like she was about to explode.

Whatever she had done in the past, she was ready to defend her young with fang and claw. He thought of his own childhood. His conclusion was glaringly obvious.

Rachel was fortunate. And the child knew it. With her experience, she knew in her bones that the monsters under the bed were all too real. The mother she’d handpicked was perfect for battling monsters.

He waited for a few more miles and blurted it out.

“You are a good mother,” he said.

Tamar gave him an incredulous look. “And how could someone like you make a judgment like that?”

He was affronted. “What do you mean, someone like me? Why not me? I am entitled to my opinions, like anyone else.”

She made a derisive sound. “You’re not like anyone else, Janos,” she said. “And besides, the poor kid could have been kidnapped or murdered yesterday, remember? Thanks to you, I might add.”

He bristled. “Ah, sì? Forgive me for trying to keep you from getting abducted or slaughtered—”

“Adopting Rachel at all was an irresponsible act, considering who and what I am,” she continued grimly. “It’s just like you said in Shibumi. I’m using her. I’m a crazy, selfish bitch.” She paused and swallowed. “And this stunt I’m pulling now has got to be the craziest, most selfish thing I’ve ever done. Forget the slick reasons why. Let’s be brutally honest, OK? I’m in this for the revenge. No other reason.” She looked out her window. “If I get snuffed, she’ll probably be better off with Erin and Connor anyhow.”

Against his will, memories flashed into Val’s mind. The day he’d found his mother dead on the bathroom floor. Giulietta, the Italian girl from Palermo, another whore in Kustler’s stable, who had shared their apartment for a while. Her baby girl had died in her crib one icy cold winter day, right next to an open window, while Giulietta floated on the bed nearby in a heroin daze.

He could still see Giulietta in his mind’s eye, when she came down from her high. Staring into the crib with her hands on her face. Eyes staring out of her head. Screaming.

She’d screamed for hours, or so it had seemed to him at the time. Those screams still echoed distantly through his mind. He pushed the memory away. It still made his gut feel hollow.

“You are wrong,” he said stubbornly. “She would not be better off without you. You’re a good mother. And I know. Trust me. I have seen some bad ones.”

She shot him a piercing glance, opened her mouth to speak…and shut it again. Something in his voice or face had blocked whatever cutting thing she’d been poised to say. Just as well. His nerves were more raw than usual today. He stared straight out the windshield and concentrated on driving. Willing her not to ask questions.

Reminiscences from his grim childhood were not calculated to lighten anybody’s mood.

Things went with blessed smoothness at the airport. In short order, they were stretched out in big, soft reclining seats in the first-class section of the jumbo airliner, both of them pretending to sleep.

He couldn’t stop stealing glances at her hand, where it rested on her shapely, jeans-clad thigh. It looked so strong and capable, and yet delicate, the slenderness of her fingers accentuated by the heavy, savage-looking thumb ring she wore, made of contrasting bands of colored gold. He wondered what defense applications the ring had, and decided that an airplane would be an indiscreet place to ask.

He liked her French manicure. He liked the fading, gummy shadow of a child’s fake tattoo on her slender wrist, some cartoon character that populated an American three-year-old’s fantasy world. A tender, secret detail that made him smile. He liked the way her sweater cuff draped over her forearm. So graceful, every curve, every line of her.

She infuriated him; she fascinated him. He was obsessed. He accepted that fact, let it sink in without resisting it. Made it part of the matrix so that he would take it into account while making decisions.

He was going to seduce her again at the first opportunity. This fact had the weight and inevitability of natural law, the kind that governed the turning of the planets, the movement of the stars.

Not just to save Imre, though. Not anymore. God help him, he had just tripled his problems and responsibilities. Imre, Tamar, Rachel.

At this point, the only way to save himself was by somehow saving them all.

Never again. Tam established it in her head, a constant drone beneath the frantic chatter of all the other thoughts and fears and feelings. The man was inside her head, invading her thoughts, her senses. Compromising her powers of reasoning. She could not afford to be so distracted on the eve of the riskiest stunt of her entire career.

If it was just about sex, that would have been bad enough, but it wasn’t. These flashes of emotional connection shook her, disarmed her, left her speechless and stammering. Buzzing with feelings.

She was curious about him, fascinated by him, interested in him, like a teenage girl crushed out on a rock star. Robot Bitch had gone to pieces. Rachel had started the disintegration process, and Val Janos was the killing blow. Life was so much simpler back in the good old days when Robot Bitch ruled.

She was unsteady all the time. Bowled over by his scent. How did a guy with the massive dose of male hormones necessary to render him that potent and dangerous still manage to smell so good? It was against the basic laws of nature.

She kept sneaking peeks at him. Checking out the length of his legs, the broad, hard shape of his chest, the outrageous breadth of his shoulders. Mmmm, how she liked big, thick, cut shoulders that she couldn’t quite get her fingers around. And his somber, beautiful face. His beard stubble was starting to get soft, not scratchy. She had no whisker burn, even after last night’s mad nuzzling.

She wanted to explore him, to set off into the uncharted wilderness of his fascinating self and never come back. She wanted to open his pants and play with his big, beautiful cock like a toy. To study the patterns his body hair made on his skin. To memorize every scar. To hear all of the scar stories. And tell him hers, too. If he was interested.

She wanted to shock him, rock him, make him crazy with lust.

And laugh with him. Of all things. Stupid fantasy. Dream on.

Her only recourse was to keep her mouth shut, her eyes averted, and ignore him as much as possible. She kept her eyes fixed on the moonlit clouds outside the oval window. They had dimmed the lights in the forward cabin, and the curtain was pulled for privacy.

It would have been far better if it wasn’t. That drawn curtain gave her some very, very dangerous ideas.

She unfolded the blanket the airline had provided and swathed herself from neck to toe, determined to feign sleep. She had no intention at all of giving into it with so much to occupy her mind, but her tired body betrayed her.

She tipped straight into an uneasy dream.

She was wearing the red chemise Stengl had dressed her in, and searching desperately for something to wear, anything but that hateful scrap of limp red silk. She could find nothing. Even being naked would be better, but the chemise wouldn’t come off. The red silk stuck to her like a stain. She tore at her body until it was bleeding, and then suddenly, her body was no longer a woman’s body—it was a doll, brittle and fragile. Crack, she held a stiff leg with no joint, a high-heeled foot with painted red toenails like a storefront mannequin. Then the other leg broke off. She shattered from within, exploding in a shower of dusty shards.

Even broken into pieces, you are beautiful.

She knew that velvet voice. She recognized the strong hand sifting through broken shards, shreds of red silk until he found it. Her heart.

It looked like a cheap toy or a pincushion. Made of puffy red satin stuffed with fluff, trimmed with lace and tiny bows. He dusted it off and cradled it in his big hand. It transformed, glowing. Light shone right through his hands. It beat, it shone, it blazed through his fingers. Alive.

Heat glowed in her body, a deep, yearning throb, and she came back to consciousness very slowly and carefully, as if something inside her knew she’d be cheated of her prize if she rushed it. She drifted with majestic slowness, letting waves of pleasure intensify, rocking her higher until the crest broke and pulsed in long breaking waves.

Her eyes opened, amazed, to see the darkened cabin of the plane, the drawn curtain, the blanket under her chin. And Val, leaning over her, his eyes gleaming in the dimness. His hand, down the front of her jeans.

Oh. She’d bought the next jeans size up, since Rachel’s you-take-a-bite-and-then-I-take-a-bite game had put a little extra layer of meat on her ass, but she hadn’t filled out the new size entirely. There was plenty of room for his hand. His fingers rested on either side of her throbbing clit, catching it in a gentle, patient clasp…waiting to see what she thought of the situation now that she was awake.

She licked her lips, cleared her throat. What the hell did she think of it? She knew how her body felt about it, but that was not relevant. Her body had no vote in this. Her head had to prevail. She gathered her strength to be bitchy, shove him away. It was a tremendous effort.

“You sneaky bastard,” she whispered. “Is this your usual move? Wait until the woman is drugged or asleep, and then you make your move? You should be ashamed.”

He looked completely unembarrassed. “No, Tamar. Only with you. I must use every dirty trick I can devise, or I will get nowhere.”

“You’re a snake.” Her voice quivered, like her thighs.

“Sì, certo. I would do anything to feel you come again. Any desperate, wrong, immoral thing and feel no shame at all. Be warned.”

The low rasp of his voice caressed her, his coffee-scented breath tickled her ear. Her face glowed, hot as a coal. It made her think of the heart in her dream. Magically transformed.

The decision was making itself, the yearning heat in her body drowning out the fear, the doubts, the never again.

Oh, fuck it. Why never? Why not? Life was hard and short, and getting harder and shorter every day. And she wasn’t very talented at yielding to pleasure anyway, even if she was inclined to seek it out, which she wasn’t. It was now, or it was probably never again.

After all, she was trapped in a plane. She had nothing better to do. It wasn’t as if she was wasting precious time she could be using to solve her and Rachel’s problems. So why not?

Let the man multitask. He was so talented at it.

He teased her mound, caressing her with his fingertips without penetrating her. “If we had privacy and a bed, I’d strip off those jeans and put you on top of me,” he muttered into her ear. “I’d pull you down very slowly, letting your pussy accept me, a long, slow, tight glide, like a glove on my cazzo. Then I’d grab your hips and fuck you from below while I stared up at your breasts, bouncing above. Every inch of you flushed and hot with desire. Making all the noise you like.”

She licked her dry lips. “Were you aware that position is for the woman to control? That’s the whole point of it. Guess it never occurred to a prehistoric lunk like you.”

“You want control, Tamar?” His smile flashed in the dim light. “Fight me for it. I love the way you come around me when you lose.”

She had to struggle hard to muster her defenses. Particularly with his clever finger stroking tenderly just above the hood of her clit. A touch she could barely feel, and yet…oh. She could feel nothing else.

“I hate you,” she said distractedly. “You need a lesson.”

“You will be too tired to give me one when I am finished,” he said. “You’ll be so exhausted, you won’t even struggle when I tie you down, to lick your clit and tongue-fuck you into another orgasm. Then I’ll take you again. Watching every detail. The way my cazzo slides into you, those slick pink pussy lips kissing my whole length as I pull out…and push in, again and again, ah. The way you take all of me, every last centimeter, until the head of my cazzo is rammed up inside you, against the core of you, so tight, rocking and throbbing—”

“Stop it,” she whispered. “No more talk.”

“No?”

She held his gaze as she popped open the buttons on her jeans, and wiggled lower in the seat to give him more scope. She parted her legs, letting him deeper, and shoved his hand inside her jeans. “Get to work,” she said. “And make it good. Or you’ll pay for your teasing.”

He took her up on the invitation, sliding two fingers into her cleft. She was so, so juicy and swollen. She moved against him almost frantically, it felt so good, clamping her thighs around him.

Val curved his fingers into a gentle hook, circling tenderly over the glowing places inside her that were flushed with expectant pleasure while his thumb took care of her clit, doing a perfect little tremolo…ah, God, talk about multitasking.

He slapped the seat divider up and covered her mouth with his.

He was as talented with his mouth as he was with his hands, but it wasn’t his skill that stirred her. It was the look in his eyes. Not triumphant, or smug, or pleased with himself. Just quietly desperate.

She closed her eyes, and saw that dream heart glowing in the gentle cradle of his hand. Light shining through his fingers.

Don’t get squishy about dreams. Dreams will betray you, said a scolding inner voice.

Don’t ruin this for me, she told it. A little pleasure, for God’s sake. A little bit of pleasure, once in a blue moon.

She knew the choreography of kisses, just as she knew every other sexual technique, but she’d never felt the raw, driving desire behind a kiss before. The whole point of a kiss. As if there was a precious elixir to be had from the mouth of the other, something they would both die without and only pleading passion could bring it forth.

She squeezed and writhed, breathless in the dark. He was so good. Perfect. The only thing she would have gladly changed about this moment was that she wanted the thrusting prong of his fingers to be that thick, meaty cock. She wanted to twine her naked legs around him and take him to the hilt, to feel his strength jarring into her with that wild, pounding rhythm that took her breath. She wanted all the room and softness of a big bed to do justice to his outrageous bounty.

No time to be dissatisfied, though. She was coming apart, tightening around him with every tiny muscle inside herself. Sensations, emotions, welling up together.

They overflowed, swirling, rushing. Carrying her gently away.

He lifted his head slowly afterward. There was no need to say anything. The tension in his hand still clamped over her mound, the bulge in his jeans, his dark, burning eyes said it all.

He fell heavily back into his chair as she got his jeans open. There was a glow of pink on the bottom of the window shade, signifying that dawn was at hand—which meant that a flight attendant could pull aside the curtain and offer them coffee and pastry at any moment.

She did not care. She wrenched down the stretchy black fabric of his briefs and took his thick, throbbing shaft into her hand with a sigh. Beautiful. Stone hard and broad and swollen, longer than any cock had practical reason to be, thick enough to be a bit of a problem. Overkill.

She squeezed her thighs around the juicy glow of lingering pleasure as she licked up glistening drops of pre-come. He gasped for air.

She sucked him into her mouth, relishing the salty taste, the hardness of his flesh, the silky skin, the deep throb of his heartbeat pulsing against her tongue.

Last night, she’d wanted to assault him with her skill. Now, she just wanted to be so close his pleasure would be her own, every stroke, every moan. She craved that closeness. She’d been alone so long.

She needed both hands to perform a proper blow job on this man. It was hard just to get his cockhead into her mouth, let alone the rest of it, but with the skillful addition of bold, twisting handwork and a generous amount of slippery spit, that was no problem at all.

It was perfect, feeling his response, the trembling dig of his fingers into her scalp, the hot, rich male smell of him, the tension in his muscular frame as he bent over her as he built up to it—and a volcanic explosion in her mouth. He spurted an outrageous amount of come into her mouth in complete and utter silence. Such self-control.

She kept him nestled inside the warm well of her mouth until the rhythmic spurts finally slowed down and eased off. She pulled her head away and admired the gleaming length of him, milking the last few creamy drops of come and licking them up, with tender, teasing flicks of her tongue. The sound he made was almost a whimper. His hands tightened in her hair. They were both damp with sweat.

She sat up, wiggling back down into her own seat and buttoning her jeans. She pulled her sweater down and her blanket back up. Val tucked his cock into his pants, adjusted his clothes, and fished a bottle of mineral water out of the seat pocket. He presented it to her.

Nice touch. The least he could do. She drank deeply and pulled her blanket back up to her chin. As if it were any kind of protection from his seductive power.

“Proud of yourself?” She forced some sharpness into her tone.

He shook his head. “Humbled,” he said softly. “And destroyed.”

She was getting embarrassed now, which always made her irritable. “I need a bath in the worst way,” she whispered. “And we have hours of travel time to go. Nor do I have clean clothes to spare.”

“Sorry, Tamar.” The sympathy on his face was fake. “When we get to Italy, we will buy you more clothing. And the hotel room I have booked in San Vito has a magnificent bathroom. A deep tub, with hydromassage. A beautiful marble shower, for two.”

“Why are you calling me that?” she demanded. “Nobody calls me that. It’s Tam, if you please.”

“I like it that nobody calls you that,” he said quietly. “And I like it that it is your real name.”

“Real.” She snorted. “What’s real?”

He reached out, slowly drew his fingertip over her upper lip. Then the tender inner part of it. Her mouth trembled in response. His finger smelled of her.

“This was real,” he said softly. “No comfort zone. I loved it.”

She blushed idiotically. “Hmph. Whatever. I want that shower. Your gooey gigolo sweet talk won’t help me with that. The bathroom in San Vito is still five thousand kilometers away. And you still trust me with your credit card?”

“Fuck, no,” he said, with feeling. “This time, I choose what you buy.”

She startled herself by giggling. He took advantage of the unshielded moment to grab her hand.

She stiffened. Her first instinct was to yank it back, as if she’d been burned. She stopped herself, by force of will, her nerves on edge.

Their hands were both a bit sticky, but it wasn’t as if either one of them had cause to complain. She had never actually held a man’s hand in her life. Other parts of a man, yes. But not hands.

It was uncomfortably, weirdly intimate. Almost, well…nice. In a way that was dangerously different from sex.

But then again, what did it matter if she indulged in a silly lovey-dovey fantasy? Even if it blew up in her face. Who would it hurt?

You, she told herself. It’ll hurt you. You’re letting the man literally fuck your brains out, and the end result will not be pretty.

She acknowledged that brutal truth, she accepted it, she swallowed it down…but she did not let go of his hand.