She laughed a little, put her arms around him. There, she thought as he did, we’re okay. Somehow we’re okay. “It’s nearly time to get up.”
“We didn’t get much sleep.”
“No, not much.” She eased back, met his eyes. “And still.”
“And still,” he said before their lips met.
The need was like breath, simply there. Quiet as a whisper, soft as the light just eking through the windows. Comfort now, he thought, for both of them. Solace and an understanding no one else could give. She tamed the ferocious, tearing rage that reared inside him, channeled it to tenderness. For the moment.
For their moment.
He stroked her now, amazed, humbled, she would welcome him after the horror she’d known. Grateful if he couldn’t stop the horror, he could bring her peace and pleasure.
With each long, dreamy kiss, that horror faded.
Taking care, they touched each other—gentle hands to soothe and stir. His lips roamed her face—pale, he thought, so pale—soft brushes along her cheeks, that endearing dent in her chin, the strong line of her jaw. And beneath to the delicate skin of her throat where her pulse beat for him.
She heard him murmur to her, a mix of English and Irish that so lifted her heart. The words, the sound of his voice, moved her beyond passion, beyond need and held her in the open arms of love.
She’d hurt him, more, so much more than the ugly scratches. She’d seen his face, the shattered look in his eyes when she’d come back to herself. He suffered, she knew, when she went to that place. Those wounds needed tending, too. Helping him heal, feeling him take what she could give, closed her own wounds again.
For the moment.
She sighed under him, and her skin warmed under his hands. Now she trembled, not from cold but the slow and steady rise of heat. When her breath caught, it snagged on the bright edge of sensation. He carried her over it, delicately, as he would a fragile and precious jewel.
Her arms drew him closer, closer as she rose to him, joined with him. Here was beauty after the monstrous, the joy after the grief.
Wrapped in it, in him, in them, she found his lips with hers and poured into him what flooded her.
“Stay with me,” she whispered. “Go with me. I love you, I love you.” She caught his face in her hands, let it fill her vision, let herself fall into the wild blue of his eyes. “I love you.”
He went with her, up, over. And held her as they took the long, sweet glide down.
“Sleep awhile,” he said when she curled against him.
“I can’t. I’m all right.” She tipped her head back as she spoke. “I’m better. I need to work now. Work’s . . . I guess it’s a kind of first aid.”
“All right. But you’ll eat. For me.”
“I could eat for me, too. A shower, coffee, food, work. Routine. That’s what gets the job done.” She pushed to sitting. “Maybe coffee first.”
>
“I’ll get it. Have it in bed. It’s early yet,” he added. “I’ll grab a shower. There are some things I have to see to, then I’ll check on the search I programmed for you.”
“Okay. Roarke,” she said as he got out of bed, “don’t contact Mira. I’m all right, and I’d rather she work with Peabody and the New York team. Getting Melinda and the girl back, getting McQueen and his partner, that’s what we all need.”
He got the coffee, brought it to her. “Will you talk to her when we get back home?”
“When this is done, yeah.”
“All right, then. Drink your coffee. I won’t be long, then we’ll have breakfast and get to work.”
After he’d showered and dressed, he gave her time alone, heading to the office to check in with Caro, and with Summerset. Nothing urgent from either, he thought, and that was a blessing. A few details to deal with later in the day, more yet when he returned. But for now, he could leave those aspects of his world in the capable hands of his admin and Summerset.
He started to call for the search results when the house ’link signaled.
“Roarke.”