Ice Storm - Anne Stuart [29]
He put his hands between them, touching her, prolonging it, not moving as wave after wave swept over her, stars and darkness and a thousand pinpricks against her skin. When she was finally able to draw breath into her lungs, he began to move again, thrusting up, hard, over and over and over and over until he was trembling. She was shaking, needing more, ready for him, when he suddenly pushed her off him, and she felt the dampness across her thighs as she fell back against the seat, against him, breathless, weak, and his climax spilled over their bodies.
She wanted to weep. Weep because she wanted everything. Weep because at the last moment he’d protected her. Weep because she loved him and it was never going to work.
She felt his lips behind her ear. “You’re in love with me, princess. Fortunately, I’m in love with you. Now go to sleep, and as soon as it gets light we’ll find a hotel and do this again.”
“Again?” she whispered sleepily. He loved her. Astonishing, unbelievable, but true. He loved her.
“Again and again and again,” he said.
And before she could come up with another word, she fell asleep in his arms in the cramped front seat of the Citroën.
He’d almost blown it, big time, Killian thought, shifting a little beneath his soft burden. He’d forgotten a condom, and the last thing in the world he needed was a pregnant mark. He had every intention of ditching her once he’d completed his assignment, but he was hoping to do it gently, without arousing any suspicions. Break her heart, maybe, but save her life.
If she got pregnant he’d have to kill her. He couldn’t afford to let anything make him appear vulnerable.
But that wasn’t going to happen. He had condoms in his backpack. Unfortunately, everything had happened too quickly for him to get to them…. He’d been meaning to wait until they reached a hotel, but whether he wanted to admit it or not, he’d been waiting for this moment since he’d seen another guy straddling her in the alley in Plymouth.
And it had only been a taste. Fast and hard and good, but it was going to be even better once he found a hotel. He had three days before he had to meet his man in Marseille, and he knew just how he planned to spend those days. Fucking his brains out with Mary Isobel Curwen.
She had perfect breasts. He’d known early on she was sensitive about them, even more than she was about her red hair and her curvy butt. Maybe if she’d worn a bra he could have waited until they got to a hotel room.
But in the end he’d gone with his instincts and his appetites. And she was now draped over him in a boneless little bundle of satisfaction, thinking she’d found her true love.
He still wasn’t sure of the least painful way to get rid of her. Simply disappear? Tell her he was going back to the imaginary Marie-Claire? Pick a fight with her? That had worked this time, to get between her legs, but in general she wasn’t easily riled. She loved him, which made her both tolerant and an idiot. He was a very dangerous man, though he went to great lengths to hide it. She was smart enough to have picked up on it if she’d used her brain.
But he’d done everything he could to keep her from doing just that. He’d kept her interested, aroused, frustrated for just long enough, and now he’d sealed the deal. She was his, body and soul, for as long as he needed her that way. When he was through, she’d be older and wiser. And he’d be long gone.
He wanted her again. Pulling out at the last minute had been the smart thing to do, and it had nearly killed him. When he got inside her again he was going to stay there a good long time. Until he’d had enough of her.
He just hoped three days would do it.
8
He’d left. Mary couldn’t quite believe