Last Kiss Goodnight oa-1 Page 25

  “Fine.” Her cheeks bloomed a lovely pink. “X says he’s an Altilium and Dr. E is an Epoto, but I have no idea what either of those words mean.”

  “They are Latin for ‘a charger’ and ‘a drain,’ and they certainly fit.” And they’d certainly told her more than that.

  Mist billowed in front of her, creating a dreamlike haze. “So how is Dr. E a doctor?”

  “Well, for starters he earned a doctorate in annoying me.”

  She giggled as she said, “Make that two doctorates. I really like X, but I want to find a way to get rid of Dr. E.”

  Solo was the reason the being had been bothering her, but she threw no blame his way. He did not deserve this woman, but he wanted to. He wanted to do whatever was necessary to become the man she needed. “Are they with you now?”

  “No. You?”

  “No.” So where were they? “What else did they tell you? And you had better fess up. Otherwise I’ll be forced to utilize my world-famous interrogation technique.”

  Another giggle. She assumed he was kidding. But at least she’d stopped blushing. Solo didn’t want her embarrassed with him. He wanted her comfortable enough to confess anything.

  “Well, X said I’m supposed to stay with you.”

  And that’s why I like him best. He waited. She remained silent.

  “That’s all?” he insisted.

  “That’s the gist of it, yes, and all I’m willing to admit at the moment. Interrogation or not.”

  That wasn’t so bad.

  Then, she added, “Dr. E suggested I leave you behind to rot.”

  His hands fisted, and he could feel the drugs begin to drip into his bloodstream.

  He wanted to talk to both creatures right there, right then. He wanted to ask how and why, what else had been said, and command they leave his woman alone. She wasn’t to be bothered with their antics.

  “Let’s change the subject,” he said. Before the sedatives got the better of him.

  He stretched out beside her and she immediately snuggled against him, angling her head to watch his lips and sighing with what seemed to be satisfaction. He toyed with the ends of her hair, content.

  “You aren’t afraid of me, are you?” he asked.

  “No. Why?” Golden light danced over her, making her look as if she’d just stepped from some ancient painting of a magical land with fairies and pixies and a happily-ever-after.

  “I . . . hurt people today.”

  “In an effort to help others. Trust me,” she said with a yawn. “I’m beginning to understand the difference.”

  Thank the Lord. “Good.” He kissed her forehead. “Close your eyes now, sweetheart. You need to sleep.”

  “But I’m not tired.”

  She was, but she was fighting it. Too much adrenaline, perhaps. Too much concern for what the future held. “Want to play the question game again?”

  Her features brightened. “Yes, please.”

  “Good, because I’m wondering . . . what’s your favorite color?”

  “Blue,” she’d said, and then admitted softly, “the exact shade of your eyes. I’ve never seen anything so lovely.”

  He stilled, not even daring to breathe.

  “What’s your favorite color?” she asked.

  “Vika.”

  “Yes?”

  “No,” he said, fighting a grin, “that’s my favorite color.”

  Her brow furrowed with confusion, the same way it had done in the cage when he’d said something she couldn’t quite figure out. “But I’m not a color.”

  “Are you sure?”

  A pause. A second later, a laugh bubbled from her. A laugh that heated him far more thoroughly than the fire.

  “You know, that’s the most wonderful thing I’ve ever not heard,” she said, petting her fingers through his hair. “You’re the first man to ever truly compliment me, and I think I’m already addicted to it.”

  “I’m truly the first?”

  A beat of silence. “You will be,” she whispered, and they both knew she wasn’t just talking about the compliment.

  Instantly the tide of need he’d experienced for her all these many days flooded him, his body reacting to her on a primal level. He’d known she was a virgin, but here, now, the knowledge caused a sense of possessiveness to rise up—one stronger than before.

  This woman was to be his, and only his.

  “Forget the game. I want to kiss you,” he croaked. They were alone. No one was watching them, no one was listening. There was no better time.

  Her lips fell, the humor draining from her.

  “But I won’t,” he forced himself to add. Clearly, she wasn’t ready.

  Well, he would have to get her ready again.

  “Why not?” she said. Then, “Oh. That’s right. It’s my turn to kiss you.” She leaned over and licked her way into his mouth.

  Surprise hit him first, followed closely by intensified desire. Their tongues met, rolled together, and the sweetness of her taste arrested him. Heat blasted through his entire body, his cells coming alive, his nerve endings shooting out electric sparks, and he groaned as the absolute, utter devastation of his need consumed him. This woman . . . he had to have her, all of her, and soon.

  “Vika,” he said.

  “Solo.”

  He gave her sweet and he gave her tender . . . at first. The more they nipped at each other, the more concentrated his motions became. He played with the edges of her shirt, running his fingers along the hem, teasing the bare skin of her belly, trying to prepare her for a more intimate invasion.

  Soon she was moaning, following his every movement for more prolonged contact.

  “I want to touch you, sweetheart.”

  “You are,” she whispered.

  Such an innocent comment, reminding him to go slowly, to be careful—no matter how great his need. Her peace of mind was more important than any fleeting pleasure. “I know, but I want to go higher, to touch your breasts.”

  Out came the pretty pink tip of her tongue, swiping over her lips, leaving a delicate sheen of moisture.

  “I won’t touch anything else,” he told her. Not until she was ready.

  A moment passed. She gulped, nodded.

  Slowly he slid his hand under her top and cupped her, flesh to flesh, palm to female. Her skin was cool, but he quickly warmed her up. He grazed his thumb across the center peak, drawing a moan from her, this one straight from the deepest depths of her. All the while he watched her expression. Fear never registered. Only pleasure.

  And when she arched into his clasp, a silent request for stronger pressure, he fought the urge to bellow with sublime satisfaction.

  He would get her there.

  “Do you like this?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

  “Oh, yes.”

  “I want to replace my hands with my mouth, all right, and—” Solo’s ears twitched, and he stiffened.

  “What—”

  He withdrew his hand and placed his finger against her lips, silencing her. With his other hand, he doused the flames. Darkness descended.

  His eyes adjusted in seconds, and he watched as a fox pranced into and out of the clearing. No threat, then. Still. The intrusion served as a necessary reminder. He was Vika’s sole means of protection, and that had to come before anything else.

  Solo met her gaze. “I have to put a stop to our extracurricular activities. We can’t risk any kind of distraction, and besides that, we’ve got a big day ahead. Sleep.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.” He relaxed into the stump and pressed her head into the hollow of his neck.

  “Fine. Night, Solo,” she said with a bead of frustration, warm breath caressing his neck.

  “Night,” he replied, even knowing she couldn’t hear him.

  Only a few minutes later, she melted against him, signaling that she’d fallen asleep, as ordered. But just as he was about to rise to hunt the morning’s game, she began to toss and turn, before jolting upright, g
asping for breath.

  “I’m here,” he assured her. “Solo’s here.”

  “Solo,” she said, sighing and settling back against him. Once again she drifted off. This time, she remained motionless, quiet.

  She felt safe with him, trusted him, and he was glad—even though holding her was the sweetest and the worst sort of torture, her decadent scent in his nose, her soft curves pushed against the hardness of his body.

  But this was what he’d always wanted, wasn’t it? A woman in his arms, happy to be with him. And that the woman happened to be Vika . . .

  Despite everything else, Solo grinned.

  Twenty-five

  Awake, sleeper, and arise from the dead.

  —EPHESIANS 5:14

  L IGHT PIERCED THE DARKNESS in Vika’s mind, and she stretched, roused from the most peaceful sleep of her life. The smell of roasting meat filled her nose, and her mouth watered.

  She eased up, rubbed at her eyes. Right away, she noticed a few startling facts. She was warm, draped by a thick, furry blanket she hadn’t had last night, and except for the diamond choker locked around her neck, her jewelry had been removed.

  Solo crouched in front of a small fire, turning a skewer of meat he’d rigged across two sticks he’d planted in the ground. On her own, she probably would have starved. But Solo was beyond capable, beyond resourceful . . . and far more beautiful than her necklace as golden rays shone and danced over him, highlighting his strength, his utter masculinity.

  “Good morning,” she said.

  He turned toward her, looked her up and down, a heat every bit as fiery as the one in front of him blazing in those baby blues. “Morning.”

  Her heartbeat quickened as she recalled the sheer mastery of his kiss. And when he’d cupped her breast, oh, sweet mercy, the reaction he’d sparked had been unexpected, the sweetest sort of pleasure, the most agonizing sort of pain.

  She’d needed more. Wanted more, yes, that, too, but needed was the better word. When he’d stopped, she’d expected to die. She would have traded her next breath for one touch.

  And all right, okay, she’d understood his reasons, she had, but she’d still wanted to growl with dissatisfaction. She’d never experienced so much pleasure, and he’d just taken it away.

  You’re pouting, she thought, and sighed. Solo deserved better than a whiny female more concerned with lovemaking than safety—especially since that very same female had stopped him from continuing a time before.

  “Solo,” she said.

  “Yes. That’s me. What’s with the snotty tone?”

  Snotty tone! “I don’t have a—Fine, I do. I’m sorry.”

  “Still frustrated?” he asked her.

  “Maybe.” She glanced down at her hands; her fingers were wringing together. “I want you to know . . . feel like I should explain . . . why I wouldn’t let you do more than kiss me that time in the cage.”

  “You told me. You weren’t ready.”

  “And that was true. It’s just, when I was younger, just a girl, the things I witnessed in the shadows . . .” she said, and a shudder raked her. “Then I ran away and I was captured by a group of drunk boys and barely managed to wiggle my way free to hide. The things they did before I got away . . . they squeezed and it hurt, and I was so afraid, so happy when my father showed up and rescued me, and I’m rambling, I know, but that’s one of the reasons I stayed with him so long. He saved me from a terrible fate. At the circus, his name offered me some sort of protection.”

  Solo moved to crouch in front of her. “Vika—”

  “No, don’t say anything. It happened. I learned, and I grew. I’m okay. I just wanted you to know.”

  “You were a child,” he said. “A child who grew into a guarded woman, desperate for a way out, yet still taking care of those less fortunate than herself. I understand that now.” He sighed. “I threatened you during our first meeting, and I’m not proud of myself for that. I wish I could go back and do a thousand things differently.”

  She ran her fingers through the chilled locks of his hair, entranced by the softness. “Typical Solo, trying to make me feel better.”

  “Always.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Listen. I revved you up last night and failed to finish you because watching you climax would have pushed me over the edge. I know you don’t blame me for deciding to wait, but your body doesn’t get it, and that’s understandable. When we’re finally together, it will be in a bed and you’ll be safe. We can do whatever we want to each other.”

  “Yes, well . . .” Even talking about what they could and would do was revving her up again. She hurried to change the subject. “What’s that we’ll be dining on?”

  “Don’t ask, and I won’t tell.”

  “Well, how did you manage to kill this mystery meat?”

  “I stumbled upon a group of hunters, waiting in a blind, and confiscated their weapons.”

  She wouldn’t ask what he’d done with the hunters themselves.

  “Speaking of weapons . . .” He straightened and walked to the other side of their tree trunk bed, where he lifted two rifles. “Have you ever used one of these?”

  “A gun? Yes. Something that big? No.”

  “I’ll give you a mini lesson before we head out. And you don’t have to worry about using it and drawing Jecis to our location with the noise. See the ends? I created a special paste to muffle the boom.”

  “Oh, well, that’s great, but I already have a gun,” she said, and dug inside the bag until she found it. “It’s even loaded and everything.”

  He looked at the weapon, shook his head, then looked again, a strange light entering his eyes. “The safety is off,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “What safety?” She turned the barrel toward her face and—

  The weapon was swiped from her grip. Solo fiddled with it, and she heard a click. He checked . . . whatever it was called, the little round center that spun, before saying, “I’ve been carrying this thing around, Vika.”

  Now probably wasn’t time to say “duh.” “I know.”

  “I could have shot myself. Or you! And I thought you said you’d used a gun.”

  “I had. My father put one in my hand and forced me to squeeze the trigger. And guess what? I’ve got some good news for you. You didn’t shoot yourself, or me.”

  He ran his tongue over his teeth. “Let me guess. This is X’s doing?”

  “It was a suggestion of his, yes,” she said, not wanting to get the little guy into trouble when he’d only wished to help.

  “What else did he tell you to bring?”

  “I’ll show you.” She withdrew a fork, toothpaste, lipstick, a condom, and scented body spray. “He told me that each one of these things was a necessity.”

  “O-kay. So why the fork?” he asked.

  That was the first question he had? Really? “X says we aren’t savages, and we aren’t to act as if we are.”

  “And the lipstick?”

  “That, he didn’t say.”

  “No bottles of water? No food?”

  “No. But I’m guessing that’s because we can melt and drink the snow, and X knew you could catch”—she waved her hand toward the fire—“things.”

  “And the condom? The single condom?”

  Annnd there was the question she’d assumed he would ask at the start. “It’s not my fault,” she said, fighting a blush. “I’m embarrassed, too, but he said to grab it, so I grabbed it.”

  “Yeah, but we probably aren’t embarrassed for the same reasons,” he muttered.

  Why was he embarrassed, then?

  He took the fork and stomped back to the makeshift kitchen, where he placed juicy chunks of meat on a large, flat stone. “There’s a river a few yards north, and I’ve already cleaned the stone,” he said, handing it to her. “We aren’t savages, right, and I won’t have you eating off a dirty plate.”

  A beat of surprise as she absorbed his words. What a sweet, sweet man, considering her in all things, even the
little things. “Thank you,” she said with a bright smile.

  “Welcome. Now, here’s the fork.” He held out his hand.

  She shook her head. “No, thank you. That’s for you.”

  “I’m not going to use a fork while you’re stuck using your fingers. Take it.”

  “No.”

  He frowned but stuffed the utensil back into the bag. “Fine. We’ll both be savages.”

  “Fine.” After she’d taken a few bites of the most delicious meal of her life, she moaned and said, “Is there anything you can’t do?” And maybe she was a savage, because she wanted to continue stuffing her face while she was talking—and she wanted to chew what remained of the meat off the bone. “You have no need for a chef at your farm.”

  “And yet I still want one,” he muttered.

  Did that mean what she thought it meant? That he still wanted Vika there? “Sweet” barely scratched the surface, she realized. “I want you to know, while we’re on our journey, I’m not going to let you down or hold you back. I’ll keep up, I promise.”

  “Don’t push yourself too hard.”

  “I won’t,” she said, which was the truth. She planned to push herself way too hard. He’d only helped her. She wouldn’t hinder him.

  • • •

  Solo finished eating and stuffed all the “necessities” back into the bag, as well as the blanket he’d stolen, and hefted the stupid thing over his shoulder, then one rifle, then the other. He would have given Vika one of the weapons, but no, that was never going to happen now. Not even if his life depended on it.

  “I rigged a place for you to take care of any pressing needs you might have,” he said, and watched as color once again brightened her cheeks.

  “Thank you,” she replied, comprehending. “But, uh . . . where is it?”

  He pointed, enchanted by her unease for some reason. They’d spent six days together, trapped in a ten-by-ten cage. They’d gone over this type of thing. But his little Vika was prim and proper, he supposed—until he kissed her.

  Any time he remembered their kiss, a fire ignited in his blood, and a deep awareness bloomed where primal instinct seethed. It was wonderful. . . . It was terrible. . . . He wanted her, but he couldn’t have her. Not out here, in the open, where anyone else could stumble upon them.