Kate Cross - Touch of Steel

He held her like that, for a moment, until she opened her eyes and met his gaze. Only then did he lean forward, supporting his weight first on his hands, then his elbows, so that they were pressed together from chest to foot. His pelvis pressed against hers, every rolling thrust stroking not only the sensitive recesses of her body but the aching, greedy knot that his tongue had sweetly tortured just minutes before.

His breath fanned her cheek, warm and moist, as his stormy gaze locked with hers. No man had ever looked at her with such unabashed longing or sexual confidence. He knew exactly what he did to her body and how much she liked it, just as she knew the effect she had on him. The muscles in his back trembled beneath her hands as she dug her fingers into his flesh, urging him deeper inside her. He teased them both with slow, measured thrusts that slowly drove the tension between them higher and higher. And all the while, he looked into her eyes and let her see everything he felt.thiinto How much of her emotions could he see?

How could he have brought her to this? She had no shame, no pride where he was concerned. She didn’t even know his middle name or his favorite color. Hell, she didn’t even know if he had siblings, and here she was offering her heart on a platter. She would kill for him. She would die for him.

She came then—a great shudder of pleasure that took her by surprise. He just kept moving inside her as every nerve in her body lit up at once. She thought he might have gasped, or said something, but she didn’t hear the words. And when the last of the sparks subsided, she opened her eyes to find him still watching. She wrapped her legs around his hips and arched up, forcing him as deep as he could go.

His pace quickened then. Claire gasped as her sensitive flesh ignited once more. He made her climax a second time before his own body stiffened, his groans of release mingling with her own cries.

For a while they stayed as they were, reluctant to break apart. Eventually he left her long enough to lie down on the bed, then pulled her close. Claire stroked the strong curve of his shoulder.

“Why are you here, Alastair?”

“I couldn’t go without seeing you any longer.”

Her heart swelled at his words, even as it ached. “You shouldn’t have come. This is just going to make it harder to say good-bye.” She started to rise, but couldn’t break free of his grip.

“I’ve no intention of saying good-bye.”

The lines around his eyes and mouth were deeper than she remembered—that was her fault. “There’s no future for us. What are you going to do? Move into this cell with me?”

“Let me worry about that.”

“No.” She pushed against his chest, wriggling so that they were eye to eye. “You can’t do that to me. I won’t let you give me false hope, because I’ll cling to it. Life will go on for you and you’ll move on, but I’ll still be here, hoping for something I can never have.”

His gaze never wavered. “I’m not going to just let you go.”

“You have to.”

“No. I don’t. And neither do you. You have to have faith.”

She laughed humorlessly. She would have never thought him capable of being so cruel. “In what? In you? I have faith in you, but even you can’t fix this. I am an enemy of your government.”

“Do you care about me?”

She stared at him. “How can you even ask me that?”

“Tell me.”

“Yes. I care for you.” She couldn’t help but add, “More than I should.”

“I care about you, too. It doesn’t make sense, and yes, it’s inconvenient as hell, but I’m not just going to sit back and let you go, not after you saved my life.”

“What you feel is gratitude.”

“You’re not stupid, Claire. Don’t pretend to be now.”

She came up on her elbow. “If not gratitude, then what, Alastair? Love?” She held her breath.

“Maybe,” he replied. “It could be.”

Claire sighed. Her heart seemed to crack. “You’re not stupid, Alastair,” she said, throwing his words back at him.

He turned his back to her and sat up, reaching for his discarded clothing. He grabbed his trousers and stood up, pulling them on with quick, jerky movements. Claire watched as he did so, unembarrassed by her nudity and wishing she could enjoy his.

“Don’t leave like this,” she entreated.

He pulled his shirt over his head and jammed the tails into his trousers. “How would you have me leave, Claire? You obviously wanted to piss me off, push me away. Now that you’ve succeeded, you wish to take it back?”

“I . . .” She didn’t know what the hell to say. He was right, and she felt like a damn idiot for it. “I don’t know. I don’t want you to be angry with me, but surely you can see that this situation will only lead to heartache—for both of us.”

Alastair tugged on his boots. “I’m not going to give up that easily.”

Hell’s bells, he broke her heart. “What can you do? They’re not going to let me go, Alastair. And even if they did, it wouldn’t be long before the Company sent an assassin after me. You have to let me go.”

He turned to face her, dropping to a crouch in front of where she sat on the side of the bed so that they were eye to eye. She was chilled, but she didn’t move—she was pinned by that thundercloud gaze of his.

“If the Wardens did let you go, would you want to be with me?”

She shook her head. He was a stubborn fool. “Alastair . . .”

He caught her face in his hands, forcing her to meet his gaze. “I don’t care if you think it’s a lost cause, or foolish. I don’t care that we’ve spent only a handful of days in each other’s company. Tell me honestly. If you were free, would you choose to be with me?”

“Yes,” she whispered, her throat so tight she could scarcely draw breath. She had to be insane to admit it, but God help her, she couldn’t lie. And what harm was the truth when it could never be? “Yes, I would choose to be with you.”

The smile that lit his face was so bright, it hurt to look upon, and it changed him from a weary man to an exuberant boy in a split second. Claire’s eyes burned at the sight of it. He kissed her then, hard and relentless—a branding of his lips upon hers.

“I will see you tomorrow,” he informed her when he lifted his head.

Claire stared at him, dazed, as he rose to his feet and snatched his greatcoat from the footboard. She pulled the quilt up around her shoulders. “Tomorrow?” He was going to come back? What point did that serve but to torture them both?

He pounded on the door for ttheto comehe guard. “I’m a stubborn man, Claire, especially when I want something. And make no mistake, I want you.”

The door opened, and he swept through it, flashing her a triumphant grin over his shoulder. She could only stare at him, a sharp pain under her breastbone. It was hope, and it hurt like hell.

Alastair made good on his promise. He did come back the next day—just in time for lunch. He brought her chocolate-dipped cherries and fed them to her as they played cards on the bed. As they played, he told her stories about his childhood and asked about hers. She told him the happy memories she had, and about her mother. She did not speak of Robert or her father.

On the second day he came in the afternoon, and he had tea brought in. They had tiny little sandwiches with no crusts and scones with strawberry preserves and clotted cream. He told her about how he met Luke and about becoming a Warden. She told him about her and Robert’s being recruited by the Company after their parents’ death when a high-ranking agent saw them both in a tiny stage production. It was a story few people knew. And he was certainly one of the few people who knew how poor she and Robert had been, sharing a room above a seamstress’s shop.