Chapter 33
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
The sounds of her moving around the bathroom was familiar by now, so Justin dismissed them. He sat cross-legged on the floor, spine straight, attention centered and focused. He needed it badly.
What exactly are you thinking?
He didn’t know. He only knew Rowan didn’t like Jilssen.
Had exactly the same reaction to Jilssen as she did to Sigs. She’d been paper-pale, her eyes huge; the same look she’d worn when he brought her in. Vibrating with terror, hanging on by a thread.
The urge to hold her had been overwhelming. And the thought that perhaps the Society had been infiltrated was chilling.
It’s not possible. She’s just high-strung, that’s all. Time for you to quit screwing around, Delgado.
He sought stillness, the calm center of himself that had never been broken. It was present, all right.
It was always there.
The trouble was, Rowan was there as well, even in the intensely private space of meditation. The room was dark; he hadn’t bothered to turn the light on and dusk had already crept through the corners.
Use your logic. She doesn’t like Jilssen, associates him with the same feeling as the Sigs. That doesn’t mean he’s anything other than a nasty old man who wants to shove her in a telem rig and take samples.
But if that was the case, why on earth would Rowan feel so afraid?
Terrified was the only word that applied.
She’d been unusually quiet during dinner, but that could have been because Cath and Zeke had descended on them, and Cath’s chattering damn near filled the air.
Then Yoshi had shown up, and Del had been absorbed in turning over the problem of Jilssen plus the sequences Yoshi had brought him.
A nice leisurely dinner with his angel, shot all to hell.
He heard her humming, tried to place the tune and couldn’t. The sound was too muffled.
He would start prowling, making little inquiries.
He’d have to be careful—if anyone suspected he was researching Jilssen, word might get to the man, spook him.
Besides, it wouldn’t look good if Henderson’s right hand started nosing around the doctor that had been with the Society almost from the beginning.
It would make trouble for the General, and trouble for her as well.
If Del got called onto the carpet for it, Rowan might be left unprotected.
She opened the bathroom door, flicking the light out. He sighed, opening his eyes. There was nothing but a bunch of suppositions. But those suppositions were based on Rowan’s talent and instinct—both things he had a healthy respect for.
“You sound happy,” he murmured.
She paused, the hand with the hairbrush poised over a long fall of pale hair. “I didn’t guess you were trying to concentrate.” Oddly enough, she didn’t bother to turn the overhead light on either, just stood in the gathering darkness. The image robbed him of breath.
He unfolded from the floor, wincing as a bruise on his left quad reminded him of his last sparring session with Henderson. The old man didn’t pull any strikes, that was for sure. “I like hearing you.” He watched her flush, visible even in the dimness.
Quit fucking around, the deep, cold voice told him. She’s in danger. You know she is. That feeling’s never let you down.
And that was the crux of it. He was uneasy, too. Something wasn’t right—some deep premonition of danger was beating like a drum inside his head. He should have moved to the next stage with her a long time ago.
He wondered if she would forgive him, if she’d ever guess what he was up to.
He crossed the room, stalking noiselessly. Her gaze fixed on him, extraordinary almost-glowing green depths. Eyes he could drown in.
That actually doesn’t sound so bad. If I drowned, would I forget everything else?
An unfamiliar pressure tugged at his mouth. How long would it take for a smile to feel normal again? “I’ll brush your hair, angel. Want to turn the light on?”
She studied him for a long moment, thoughts moving behind those lambent eyes and the tingling wash of her talent spilling down his back.
The others felt her like a pressure against their minds, but he felt her all along his skin—and all the way down to his bones.
Whether it was because of his own ability to push or simply because he was emotionally involved, he didn’t know.
Didn’t care either.
“I don’t think so,” she said finally, dropping the brush. It clattered against hardwood floor.
He didn’t have any time to react. Rowan stepped close, that prickling feeling running over his skin, the smell of her hair closing around him. He froze.
She ran her hand up his arm, her palm sliding over his sweater, past his shoulder. She had to reach tip-toe to cup her hand around the back of his neck.
“We have to talk,” she breathed. “Right?”
Oh, my God, he thought through a sudden haze, she’s seducing me.
His throat was desert-dry. “Um,” he managed, staring at her eyes. She doesn’t have any idea. Of course not. She can’t be serious.
“You know what your problem is, Justin? You think too goddamn much.”
“Must be genetic.” Don’t joke with her, you idiot. She might decide not to touch you.
Her smile widened briefly. Then she pulled his head down.
He hadn’t expected this. Hoped, wished, prayed for—but not expected.
Her mouth met his. Liquid fire slid down his spine.
She kissed him thoroughly, taking her time. His hands moved around her waist, spread against her back, and he did his best to pull her in.
It seemed to last forever. Her slenderness against him, the cleanness of her mind swallowing his. He disappeared into her, a raindrop in a river, her mouth warm and forgiving.
She finally took pity on him and broke free, but only halfway. Delgado kissed the corner of her mouth, her cheek, her temple under the mat of silken hair, buried his face in her hair and inhaled deeply, shuddering.
“We definitely have to discuss a few—” she said, breathlessly.
“Later.” His hands found their way under her sweater. Her skin was cool and smooth under his fingers. “Much later.”
She pushed him toward the bed. He was only too happy to comply, pulling at the sweater. Her hands were fiddling with his jeans, he was surprised into a bitter laugh.
“I suppose you’re not thinking about—” she began.
“Later,” he repeated into her hair, finally getting the damn sweater up over her head. She wasn’t wearing a bra, and he had to suppress a groan. The bed hit his calves, and they went down in a tangle of arms and legs, her elbow smacking a fresh bruise.
He inhaled sharply; she gasped a helpless apology that he trapped with his mouth, kissing her as if he was dying. In a way he was.
“No.” She sounded frightened. “Justin—no.”
He froze, tangled with her, her hair webbed over his face. Her breathing shuddered under his hand, ribs heaving, the delicate architecture of bones rising and falling. “All right,” he whispered harshly. “Sure.” I can stop. Sure I can.
Right.
“No, you idiot,” she said, her fingers still working at the button of his jeans. “Not later. Now.”
“Oh.” But he lay still for a moment, sliding his fingers over her ribs, the soft hot swell of one breast brushing his knuckles. She shivered, biting her lip and arching into his touch. Christ, I think she’s responding. How did I get this goddamn lucky? “Rowan…”
“Hmm?” She propped herself up on her elbow, the button finally popping free. He sucked in a breath. Had he forgotten to breathe? Maybe. “There it is. Look, I’m not a virgin.”
What? “Christ,” he said against her cheek, “do you think that matters?”
“I just—” Her breath came in quick, shallow gasps; she was actually blushing, her cheeks turning delicately red in the dim light. Her perfume had taken on a darker, musky tone.
“No.” He was having better luck with the zipper on her slacks. I feel like a goddamn caveman, all I want to do is drag her off by the hair. “Right now, kiss me.”
She did, and it was all he could do to restrain himself, to slow down. He had never in his life wanted to get inside a woman so badly, she laughed as she wriggled free of her panties and he caught her mouth, swallowing her laughter, breathing her in as his skin slid against hers.
He wanted to find out what would make her scream, wanted to pursue a particularly delicious line of inquiry about what it would be like to kiss in a straight line between the soft slopes of her breasts and the shallow curve of her belly, wanted to slide his fingers in and watch her face as she went over the edge.
But there was no time for foreplay, because he was going to embarrass himself if he tried to slow down.
She was on her back, silk scarves sliding underneath bare skin—God, I can’t even get her under the covers, can I?
That thought was lost when he managed to sink onto her at last, finding the entrance to her body, sliding in. At least she was wet and ready.
She gasped, probably not expecting this so soon, and Del muttered an apology into the curve of her throat, tasting the sudden salt of sweat and the spice of her.
Her fingers slid through his hair, pulled his mouth down on hers again, he was drowning in her, greedy with the taste of her as he was finally, finally home.
She was hot and impossibly tight, velvet closing around him; her back arched as she inhaled sharply. He couldn’t help himself. Sorry. I’m sorry. Christ, I should slow down. I can’t. I can’t.
A helpless thrust, he was too rough, a half-swallowed cry caught in her throat and guilt flooded him. Too fast. I’m sorry, Rowan, sorry. But as sorry as he was, his body wasn’t sorry at all. His hips jerked forward again, and he was buried inside her, impossibly deep.
And he wanted more.
Then her mind opened under his, the shock of her pleasure exploding against his nerves in a feedback loop, drowning him further.
He forgot everything but the taste of her, anticipating her next move.
Her fingernails drove sharp diamond points of pain into his back.
He gave another deep thrust, and then another.
Her mouth broke free and she whispered his name.
“Sorry,” he gasped against her throat.
“What the hell for?” And she actually giggled, her amusement sliding through him, wine-red, wine-dark, a curious comfort. Her fingers softened, and she made a slight beckoning movement with her hips that set off a most interesting chain reaction in the velvet grip of her muscles around him.
“I can’t—”
“And they think you’re so controlled.” Another husky laugh, another beckoning little movement, and he lost himself, slipping below the surface of her mind, pouring into her. He thrust again, a nice long stroke that cut her laughter off in mid-gasp. That was satisfying, so he repeated the action.
“I am controlled,” he managed through clenched teeth. I should have done this months ago. You have no idea how long I’ve waited for you.
Her breathing quickened, and he caught the rhythm, her pleasure spilling through him, turning his body into an instrument, something to be used for her. He was too close to the edge, straining to hold on. It wasn’t fair to go too fast. He wanted her to enjoy it, goddammit.
But she moved again, writhing suppleness under him, and he tipped over into the crisis of exploding novas.
His release triggered hers, their minds dissolving together into white heat.
For a single heated moment he merged completely with her, leaving his body behind and simply drowning in the dark silken depths of her talent and her body at the same time.
Time returned, invaded the world again. He collapsed against her, sweat mingling between their bodies. He buried his face against her throat, breathing in the musk of her arousal, and choked back tears.
“Shhh.” Her fingers trailed up his back, a touch that sparked fresh fire in the base of his belly.
Again. Dazed, propping himself on shaking elbows. As soon as I can, I want to do this again. And slower. Much slower.
“Amen to that,” she murmured, catching the thought. She smoothed his hair. “Relax. We’ve got time.”
No, he didn’t. He was a dying man, and he wanted her, just as soon as his body would cooperate.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “It should have been better.”
“Don’t worry. Here, move over. Talk to me a little bit.”
“Christ, you want to talk?” He hadn’t even managed to get her under the covers. Where was the control he had such a reputation for? If this ever gets out I’m going to be a laughingstock. Then again, so long as she’s here, I don’t fucking care.
“For a little while.” She sounded amused. Don’t worry, you have a chance to redeem yourself. Her voice whispered in the middle of his head, a connection solidifying. He could feel her thinking, the deep satisfied glow threading through her veins. “Then I’ve got other plans.”
“I’m yours.” Just because one part of him was a little exhausted didn’t mean he was without hope. He was, after all, used to thinking on his feet, and there was an extremely interesting set of ideas having to do with his mouth and a few delectable corners of her body. “Just tell me what to do.”