Killing Hour - Lisa Gardner [114]
A knock sounded on the door. Kimberly’s gaze came up slowly. She knew who had to be standing there. She should ignore him. She was already walking across the room.
She opened the door. Mac had obviously used the past thirty minutes to shower and shave.
“Hey,” he said softly, and strode into her room.
“Mac, I’m too tired—”
“I know. I am, too.” He took her arm and led her over to the bed. She followed only grudgingly. Maybe she did like the smell of his soap, but she also wished desperately to just be alone.
“Have I mentioned yet that I don’t sleep well in strange motel rooms?” he asked.
“No.”
“Have I mentioned that I think you look really good wearing just a T-shirt?”
“No.”
“Have I mentioned how good I look wearing nothing at all?”
“No.”
“Well, that’s a shame, because it’s all true. But you’re tired and I’m tired, so this is all we’re gonna do tonight.” He sat on the bed and tried to pull her down with him. She, however, dug in her heels.
“I can’t do this,” she whispered.
He didn’t force the issue. Instead, he reached up a large hand, and cradled her cheek. His blue eyes weren’t laughing anymore. Instead, he studied her intently, his eyes dark, his expression somber. When he looked at her like this, she could barely breathe.
“You scared me tonight,” he told her quietly. “When you were up on those rocks, surrounded by all those snakes, you scared me.”
“I scared me, too.”
“Do you think I’m toying with you, Kimberly?”
“I don’t know.”
“It bothers you, that I can flirt, that I can smile.”
“Sometimes.”
“Earnest Kimberly.” His thumb stroked her cheek. “You are honestly the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met, and I don’t know how to tell you that without you thinking it’s just some kind of line.”
She closed her eyes. “Don’t.”
“Would you like to hit me?” he murmured. “Would you like to yell and scream at the world, or maybe hurl your knife? I don’t mind it when you’re angry, honey. Anything’s better than seeing you sad.”
That did it. She sank down on the bed beside him, feeling something big and brittle give way in the middle of her chest. Was this weakening? Was this succumbing? She didn’t know anymore. She didn’t care. Suddenly, she wanted to press her head against the broad expanse of his chest. She wanted to wrap her arms tightly around his lean waist. She wanted his warmth all around her, his arms holding her close. She wanted his body above her body, demanding and taking and conquering. She wanted something fierce and fast, where she didn’t have to think and didn’t have to feel. She could simply be.
She would blame him for it all in the morning.
Her head came up. She brushed her lips over his, feeling his breath tickle her cheek and, being rewarded, his tremor. She kissed his jaw. Smooth. Square. She followed its line to his throat, where she could see his pulse pounding. His hands were on her waist, not moving. But she could feel his tension now, his body hard and tightly leashed with his effort at control.
She caught the fragrance of his soap again. Then the trace of the mint on his breath. The spicy tones of his aftershave on his freshly razored cheek. She faltered again. The elements were personal, powerful. Things he had done just for her that had no place in raw, meaningless sex.
She was going to cry again. Oh God, she hated this hard lump in her chest. She didn’t want to be this creature anymore. She wanted to return to cold, logical Kimberly. Anything had to be better than to be this weepy all the time. Anything had to be better than to feel this much pain.
Mac’s hands had moved. Now, they found her hair, gently feathering it back. Now his fingers ran from her temples all the way down to the taut lines of her neck.
“Shhh,” he murmured. “Shhh,” though she wasn’t aware she’d ever made a sound.
“I don’t know who I am anymore.”
“You just need sleep, honey. It’ll be better in the morning. Everything’s better in the morning.”
Mac pulled