“More,” he commanded, grasping her at her waist, forcing the curve of her supple spine deeper. Her stomach fluttered in anticipation.
She relaxed into the bend, and he filled her, his clever fingers building her pleasure again. Her hands dropped to the headboard, gripped, and rode the mindless, erratic rhythm from the club with him. The music was near formless, held together by beat and voice, the sax a whine and bellow of wind, all topsy-turvy and endless. Custo wrapped his arms around her to pull her back, joined them hip to hip in his lap. She was protected and claimed, at the brink of something new and frightening, but not alone. He tensed, groaned, and sent an earthquake of dark bliss through her.
He held her when her body gave against him. She gulped for air, her head resting back against his shoulder. Solid, safe. His raw strength came in handy when he expertly adjusted their position, turning her to face him, stretching out on the bed, and tucking her against his chest, heart to heart, heat to heat.
“So are you going to tell me or what?” she said, and bit his earlobe for encouragement.
He grinned. “What? So you can be more of a pain in the ass?”
“You like my ass.”
He touched his forehead to hers. “Yes, I must admit I do.”
“So?”
“This can’t work,” he said, voice husky with emotion. “You and I.”
“Yeah, yeah. We’ve covered that.” But she kissed him quick on his lips, because the reality of their situation hurt her, too.
He lifted up a bit, so that their gazes joined. “I love you, woman.”
She laughed. “Woman? Oh you smooth talker, you.”
“My woman,” he corrected, tone now deadly serious.
“You’re mine, then, because I love you, too,” she said, daring him to contradict her.
He sighed heavily, definitively, the movement a deep, changing wave upon her, and answered, “Body and soul.”
Wolf gazed at the old woman sleeping on the bed. A false, cloying scent of flowers tainted her skin, near overriding the sour sweat that dampened her forehead. Her lids flickered and she strained restlessly against her nightmare.
Yes. Now. He growled low to rouse her.
When she gasped into wakefulness, he bared his teeth. Ready.
She had to see him first, had to break with fear, or the trap wouldn’t spring.
The woman pushed up to her elbows, breathing harshly. Blinking to clear her vision.
Wolf felt the weight of her gaze settle on him and grinned more deeply, lowering his head and bunching his great hulk to spring.
The woman screamed. Loud and cracked and perfect.
Courtesy of Jack, the Chinese food showed up not too long after, eight neat white takeout boxes lined up outside the apartment door, smelling like Heaven should but didn’t. Custo could always trust Jack. Chinese and a bottle of good wine.
Custo retrieved the food and they ate it mostly naked in bed. He’d found his briefs; she wore Adam’s tux shirt buttoned once, the cuffs rolled up to her elbows. Her sitting position in bed was a ballerina stretch, one leg long to the side, the other crossed in front of her for balance, and blocking his view. He wanted to see all of her again, but he’d get to that later.
“I have one question for you,” he said.
“Shoot,” she said, picking at her chicken and rice with chopsticks. The smell was sharp with soy and ginger. Her lips were shiny with it, tongue darting intriguingly.
“Your feet.” He lifted the one nearest him to examine her toes. They looked alien, knobby with calluses. With mock severity, he added, “Frankly, I’m concerned.”
She giggled and kicked him. “They’re supposed to be that way, or I wouldn’t last ten minutes en pointe. I’ve worked very hard for my ugly feet, and I won’t hear you say a word against them.”
“In that case,” he said. “I love them, too.” Guitar players got thick calluses on their fingers, so he could relate a bit.
It was amazing, peaceful, to be with her like this. Happy, naked, laughing at inconsequential things.
Annabella was animated as they talked, her eyes shining, denying whatever hell tomorrow might bring, and he let her. They finished eating and made the bed their world, like a white island of happiness away from everything else. Annabella, sex, Chinese food. Couldn’t be more perfect. He wanted these stolen hours to last forever, too, though the club had closed some time ago and once again he was faced with an unwelcome dawn.
Inevitably, Segue came up. Talia and Adam and the babies.
Annabella lounged on the pillows, an arm behind her head, gazing at him with sleepy eyes, though neither of them wanted to actually sleep. “I was too mad to ask before, but what was with all the soldiers in our room?”
Adam’s room. “I was questioning them, trying to get the truth about our failed mission out of them. One of them is responsible for the wraith attack.”