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She wore something pretty for him. A little flowered dress with a button-down front that started low, showing her bosom, in a light turquoise with fuchsia and red flowers all over it. Herred toes were encrusted in sandals with a little heel, one red rhinestone on the strap.
He dropped his bags and ran to her. He picked her up when he swooped his right arm around her waist and held her in the air and then against him. She slid down the full front of his body, inching over him, her soft spots over his hard ones, some getting harder. He placed his hands at the sides of her face, leaned in, took a deep breath, and kissed her.
It all came back to him. He didn’t have to hold back anything, because he’d achieved what he’d only dreamed about doing for those past three years. He could let it all go as he tasted, inhaled, and lost himself in her scent, her hair, the fabric of her dress he was suddenly removing. She pulled his shirt up out of his pants and slowly slid her cool, tender hands and probing fingers along the flesh of his torso.
It was all so familiar. He’d played it over and over again in his mind, this moment, this miracle, the gift of rebirth, the solving of all his problems with the voids in his soul getting filled with the intensity and volume of emotional lust for each other. He’d been found. Her cries as he pleasured her, her tears he kissed away, the way her tiny rear was so light in his hands as he lifted her up so he could seat deep, hold himself there, then stop and kiss the tender nape of her neck while he slid to the side and brought her with him.
Her hair covered him. He wanted to drown in it. He squeezed her buttocks and ground her onto him, and much, much too quickly, he began to come.
“Oh, my God, Moira, I’m so sorry.”
“Shh, my love. It’s perfect,” she said as she undulated against him as he spurt hard inside her. She held him in place as she rolled to her back again, taking him with her this time, her fingers searching for his root and feeling the place of their joining.
He kissed her neck, suckled her lips, and ran his canines over her nipples, making her jump with pleasure, but he was spent and exhausted.
He lay his head against her chest and listened to evidence she was a living, breathing person. It was so perfect. Everything fit into place. Just where he wanted to be.
And then, she said it.
“Dimitri, I love you. I have always loved you. Don’t ever leave me again.”
He arched up, looking down at her, his thumbs caressing the soft hairs above her temples. “Never. Never going to leave you, Moira.”
He kissed the top of her thigh perched over his right shoulder, kissed the white flesh inside above her knee.
“I have loved you ever since I first saw you wandering the beach at Coronado. You’d come out to watch us train. And then again years later, at that bonfire. My world is black and white without you, Moira. You bring me life. It’s more than love, sweetheart. It’s way more than love.” He was getting choked up. Hot tears flowed down his cheeks.
She watched him and brushed them aside with her fingers.
“I hope I haven’t put you—” she started.
“Whatever it is, we’ll get through this. Whatever it is, it’s worth it. I had no right to ever let you go. I won’t make that same mistake again, Moira.”
“There’s so much we have to plan.”
“Tomorrow, sweetheart. Tonight, no matter what, belongs to us. It’s just you and me. No past. No concerns for the future. Just you and me tonight. Let’s make some magic.”
“Yes!” she said, squeezing him, laughing. “Let’s make that magic happen.”
Chapter Eleven
He knew itwas a dangerous and false illusion that this lazy afternoon would last forever. He’d planned on getting his fill of what he’d missed, and armed and fully charged up, he would be able to think his way out of the mess that had been created.
He tried to put it out of his mind each time he woke up.
In many ways, they were better together, physically, than they ever had been. The distance and time spent away had perhaps built in both of them the appreciation and fondness for what their needs were. Unashamed and relentless, the tussle of the sheets turned to just enough sleep to get ready to do it all over again. They abandoned whatever their lives were up to that day, put everything on pause to enjoy the love play, the wonder and satisfaction of being fully satisfied, giving everything they had.
It was a beautiful thing.
But toward evening, he knew he couldn’t ignore the questions he had. The danger was creeping in while they were mindlessly lost in the flesh.
He stood before the balcony window as night fell, naked, knuckles pressed against the plaster windowsill. He viewed the twinkling lights on the boats below in the harbor, the sounds of the little bars on the beach, music playing somewhere, and the stars above holding like a mirror projecting from the earth to the heavens.
The sounds of normal life.
Somewhere out there was a guy, because there was alwaysone guy. It always came down to one who, you take him out, and the problem is solved. Who was that guy? Where was the peg that the whole building would fall if he removed it?
First was to define the enemy. Then the plan of attack could be made. To rescue them now, without knowing who to trust and who was out there looking to eliminate the whole family, he’d just make a bloody mess. The bodies would continue to stack up. The deniability, the covering something up, who was bought and paid for and who was the unlikely hero, it was like one of those passion plays he’d seen once in Indonesia with the shadow puppets. There was always the good guy, the villain, the heroine, the innocent who got sacrificed, the bringer of war, and the champion for peace. All different sides of the character of men. Even the bad guys had a pecking order. And they usually would not cross one man.
