Worry for Parker gnawed at my belly. I hadn’t heard from him all day and couldn’t reach him on his cell. What had happened? Had Viktor been waiting in his apartment? Had he been ambushed the way I had? What if he hadn’t made it?
And Ryker. Now that I was alone, I could let the hurt and betrayal wash over me, and tears leaked from my eyes to stain the pillow. Why had he done it? To save himself? Should I condemn him for that? It was hard to demand someone give their life for yours, but I could still see him pointing that gun at me and feel the stark terror when his finger had moved on the trigger.
I fell into an uneasy sleep sometime after midnight, tossing and turning and watching the moonlit terrace outside my window for intruders. Even so, I missed it when someone did come in, and I suddenly woke with a start to see the outline of a man standing at the foot of my bed.
I drew in a breath to scream, but he moved fast, pressing a hand over my mouth.
“Shh, it’s okay. It’s me.”
Parker.
Oh God. Relief washed over me, not only because it wasn’t the same guy who’d tried to kill me today, but because it was Parker … and he was alive and safe.
Pulling his hand away from my mouth, I yanked him down toward me until I could fling my arms around his neck.
“Where the hell have you been?” I managed to ask. “I’ve been worried sick.”
“You’ve been worried,” he said, sitting down next to me and wrapping his arms around my waist to pull me closer. “I’ve been out of my mind, thinking you were dead.”
“A man came,” I said, “he had a gun. But McClane stopped him.”
His hold tightened. “God, Sage, when I saw the blood on the floor and realized you were gone …”
Parker’s voice was rough in my ear, and I could have let him go, but I didn’t. I’d tried not to contemplate the worst-case scenario all day but it had still been there, lurking in the back of my mind. The sweet relief I felt that he was here with me was overwhelming.
He pressed a kiss to my hair, then my forehead. I moved back slightly and his lips brushed my cheek. The touch sent a shiver through me and we both went still. The air between us grew thick and so heavy; it was hard to breathe.
I’d had a death grip around his neck, but my hold loosened. His shoulders were wide and muscled under my palms. My hand moved to the back of his neck. The thick softness of his hair tempted me and I slid my fingers into it.
His hands tightened on my hips. He’d stopped kissing me, but his lips were so near mine I could feel the warmth of his breath.
We didn’t move and I hardly breathed. My heart was racing so fast I thought for sure he could feel it. I wanted him to kiss me so badly, I thought I’d die if he didn’t. Yet I didn’t move. I wanted Parker to make the decision, not me. I didn’t want to be rejected again.
He breathed out, and I breathed in, his chest pushing against mine. Moving his head just slightly, his mouth brushed the corner of my lips—not in a kiss, just skin against skin. I held back a moan, my nails pressing into his nape.
I was breathing much too fast, but couldn’t slow it down. His cheek was slightly roughened with whiskers and I closed my eyes, savoring the moment of closeness.
“I should let you go,” he said, his lips moving against my skin. “I promised Ryker.”
A flash of Ryker pointing the gun at me went through my head. I wondered what he was doing now … and if he was in Branna’s bed.
“Ryker’s out of the picture,” I said, which was an understatement. But I didn’t think Parker would take very well to hearing that Ryker had nearly killed me today.
“Thank God,” he murmured, then his lips finally met mine.
It was pure pain and pleasure, the sweet culmination of such a strong desire, and I savored every moment, committing the taste and feel of him to memory.
Parker. The man I’d committed nearly every waking moment to for over a year. Kissing me the way I’d watched Ryker kiss Branna today, as though we’d been waiting our whole lives for this moment. And it felt like I had.
Lips and tongues and hands, breathing the same air, bodies touching and desperate passion fueling every kiss, every caress. This was the only moment that mattered.
Parker had touched me before—in New York, in my apartment—but he hadn’t kissed me before. The intimacy of it suddenly struck me, perhaps more intimate even than having sex. The feel of his lips coaxing mine, the gentle brush of his tongue, sending an electric current through me.
His hands moved to the hem of my tank, tugging it up over my head. My breasts ached for his touch and he didn’t make me wait, his palms cupping their weight as his thumbs brushed the hardened tips. I whimpered, wanting more, and impatiently yanked at his shirt until he relented, pulling back to tug it over his head.