18. Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Eighteen
The music ended with a soft click. The needle of the record player automatically moved back to a resting place.
Finn watched as the record spun, inertia finally grinding it to a halt. He wanted to hear it again, to experience it again, but Kathleen had fallen asleep on the couch.
Her elbow was propped on the arm of the couch, her head resting on it, the rest of her body pulled into a loose curve. He wasn’t worried she was feigning; he could hear the even, slow beat of her heart. Looking at her became easier when her eyes were closed. Her dark brown hair fell loosely around her face, her tanned skin smoothed of all creases. He wondered if the skin of her face was as soft as it looked.
Finn sat up—but the cat halted him with a meow. The look it—he, according to Kathleen—was giving him was hard for him to interpret. The claw in his leg suggested the cat might not have been happy at being displaced.
“Sorry, cat,” he whispered.
The cat gave him an indecipherable look, flicked his tail, and leaped off the couch.
He stood, his gaze falling to Kathleen again. Her dark hair had fallen over her forehead, and his fingers twitched. He caught himself before he indulged in the urge. He could move her now, get her to a safe house he had nearby. If he was careful, she wouldn’t even wake.
Weakness, the Handler whispered in his mind, but softer than before. It was easier to ignore thoughts of the Handler around her, and he liked that.
Finn slid his hands behind Kathleen’s back and knees. She was weightless to him, and while he tensed for her to wake and protest, she instead let out a sigh and curled into his shoulder, her fingers loosely grasping the collar of his jacket.
His heart squeezed again. Defective, the Handler suggested, but he barely heard him as he carried her into the bedroom. He had learned to be exceptionally careful with his strength; he had vague memories of snapping limbs unintentionally—and sometimes intentionally—during training. He couldn’t risk that with her.
Finn laid her carefully on the bed, and he started to pull away, stopped by the faint resistance he felt. Her fingers were still curled into the collar of his jacket. He froze. Was she awake?
The quiet hush of her even breathing told him otherwise. It wasn’t a claw in his leg, but the significance wasn’t lost on him, even if it was unconscious on her part. Yet he could only conclude how unlikely it was that someone like Kathleen—vibrant and strong and beautiful—could want to be close to a broken creature like him.
You are a predator. It is your right. The Handler’s words surfaced, and Finn steadfastly ignored them, like all the rest of the whisperings.
Even so, he felt weak as he reached out and trailed his fingers over her forehead and into her hair, pushing the coil away from her face. Her hair was amazingly soft, different in texture from the cat’s, but no less compelling. The urge to curl his fingers through the strands was so intense that Finn was frozen in indecision, his fingers hovering in place.
Eventually, logic won out. She wouldn’t welcome him patting her like a cat.
Finn took the blanket from the end of the bed and spread it over her, forcing himself to retreat. He stalked to the door, rechecking the locks, then to the window. He shut it, knowing the cat was still inside. He could hear the fast heartbeat somewhere to the left of him, but he let the animal be. He returned to the bedroom, resisting the urge to look at her, instead gazing out the window. His training allowed him to identify a score of potential sniper positions with excellent sight lines into the room. He stood still, watching for ten minutes, until he was sure none of them contained a hidden assassin.
He drew the curtains, plunging the room into darkness.
A high-backed chair was positioned next to the window. Finn sank onto the soft cushions, noting that the press of the pistols at his hips and the knife at his back wasn’t uncomfortable like he was used to. During the day, this spot would get plenty of light. He wondered what she did when she sat here. Did she listen to music? Read? Maybe she read the newspaper and laughed at the comics.
His eyes found their way to her coiled form on the bed. It was dark, with the curtains closed, but he could easily see her with his enhanced sight.
Finn liked her laugh. It had startled him at first, but with her, it was never a prelude to a lesson or punishment. She did it because she felt like it. He liked it because warmth spilled out of her. It was fascinating, terrifying, and compelling all at once. He wanted more.
He knew it was defective behavior. He knew he needed to return to the Handler. But none of that mattered. He wanted her to look at him and smile again. He wanted her to touch his face again. He wanted her.
More than anything, he needed to keep her safe. She was his mission.
Finn didn’t sleep as he kept watch. He heard the cat enter the bedroom, paws nearly soundless on the carpet before it leaped onto his lap. His fingers curled reflexively into the fur, and the tightness in his gut eased a little as the cat began to purr.
The cat fell asleep as easily as Kathleen had. He was also quick to wake at the first mumbled noise from the woman on the bed two hours later. By the time Finn stood, the cat was already leaping nimbly away.
“No,” she mumbled.
Finn was at her side a second later. He could tell she was still asleep. Her heartbeat had risen, though, and her fingers were twitching.
He recognized this feeling, and seeing it in her tightened his gut. Should he wake her? Would it frighten her more to be wakened by him? He hovered in indecision as her fingers twitched again, then she mumbled something incomprehensible but with a note he was all too familiar with.
Finn recognized fear, after all.
Easing his weight onto the bed next to her, he let his hand trail over the silk of her hair. She didn’t wake, so he repeated the gesture. It was intended to be soothing for her. He hadn’t anticipated that it would be comforting for him as well. Warmth spread through him, his muscles relaxing. Lulled into the moment, he couldn’t guess at how much time had passed or how long she had been awake, gazing at him when he noticed the gleam of her eyes.
He stilled, his fingers still coiled in her hair.
“Hi,” she said, her voice rough with sleep.
“You were… I was…” the words caught in his throat. Weakness, whispered the Handler.
Yet Finn didn’t feel that way when he looked down at her. Her gaze was steady, and she was quiet, giving him space to figure out what he wanted to say. “I have nightmares too,” he admitted. “But I deserve them. I dream of people I don’t remember but whose lives I took to protect the country.”
Kathleen’s brow creased. “Is that why you don’t sleep?”
“Yes. But they also changed us, so we don’t need as much of it.”
Her face displayed a complicated expression. Her mouth thinned, and her brow creased, and it continued to change. The anger Finn recognized, the rest he didn’t. A breath rattled through her throat, and she pushed up with one elbow, dislodging his hand where it was still tangled in her hair.
Completely unsure of her intentions, he held himself still.
Kathleen’s hand lifted, and the warmth of her fingertips traced a line that started on his cheek and glided downward. Everywhere she touched, his nerves felt alive. He wanted more, and he leaned into her touch, making a little noise at the back of his throat. It made her laugh, the quiet warmth evident in her gaze as her hand slid behind his neck. Her fingers pressed into his skin, the pressure increasing but not hurting him. The fleeting twitch of her lips clued him into the fact that he had missed some hint, but that thought didn’t last long.
Finn was wholly attuned to her. She braced her hand beneath herself, pushing up. The whole time, her eyes flickered from his eyes to his mouth, moving slowly closer, like she was waiting to see whether he would protest or pull back.
He did neither.
Her lips brushed against his, butterfly-soft. The heat of her breath flowed over his skin as her warm lips parted to press soft kisses against his. The want that had been at a steady burn ignited into something stronger in his belly, then traveled further down his body.
Then she stopped. Her eyes were on his as she drew back. “I’m sorry, I thought…”
Finn surged forward, reclaiming the contact she had broken. Their lips met again, this time with a surprised exhale on her part, followed by an encouraging noise. Her lips parted in permission, and old, forgotten memories surged as he pressed his tongue into the velvet softness of her mouth. Her tongue met his, teasing and fleeting, inflaming his need. He wanted to drown in her. He wanted anything she was willing to give. Everything else faded away, leaving a sharp awareness of all the points where they connected, the warmth of her skin and the pound of her heartbeat like music in his ears.
The moment she broke the kiss, an instant longing coiled in his stomach. He couldn’t read her expression. Was it regret? Uncertainty? He straightened, pulling away from her—or tried to.
Kathleen’s hand on the back of his neck moved to catch his fingers with her own. Her warm touch abated that longing instantly as they threaded through his own fingers.
“Lie down,” she said.
At that moment, Finn would have done anything she asked of him. He unlaced his boots and kicked them off one by one. Only then did he stretch onto his back beside her.
Kathleen’s hand guided his to one side, and she snuggled beside him, settling her head onto his shoulder, her hand resting on his chest. Instinctively, he curled his hand around her waist, settling at her hip. The slight quirk of her lips was approving.
The top of her head rested just beneath his chin, and he tilted slightly to press his mouth to the top of her head. Finn wanted to feel the softness of her hair on his lips, but as he did it, the scent of coconut filled his nostrils. It must have been her shampoo, mixed with the faint scent of gunpowder; it was intoxicatingly and perfectly her. Every breath twisted her deeper into his soul.
Finn didn’t dare move for fear he would lose it all.
Ten minutes later, the audible shift in her breathing pattern and heartbeat told him she was asleep.
He was wholly aware of the steady beat of his own heart… and the fact that it was beating precisely in time with hers. It felt good. More than that, it felt right. He knew it as something familiar, a steady warmth and heat that he didn’t remember a name for yet.
The Handler had stopped whispering in his ear. All he could feel was her. Her weight draped over him. The scent of her. Her steady heartbeat. All he could hope was that she wouldn’t send him away. He knew he belonged here, with her.