Tied Up in Knots (Marshals 3)

“Miro,” he gasped as I bumped his cheek with mine, turning into him, nuzzling, catching his jaw with my teeth before my mouth was on his and I was parting his lips with my tongue.

I took what I wanted, one kiss after another, each melting him a little more, rendering him boneless and willing, building ache and hungry, desperate, cloying need.

He bucked into my grip when I shoved my hand down the front of his sweats. He coiled his arms around my neck, clutching tight as he ground his mouth over mine, sucking, tasting, returning every bit of the delicious building heat that blazed between us.

“Jesus, I missed you,” I barely managed to get out, my voice gravelly and ragged, already leaving me as I watched Ian tremble in my hands. “And I have to change that.”

He pushed me back so he could see my face. “What?”

I fought to get my body under control and not jump him.

“Miro,” he demanded, his temper flaring.

That was some impressive compartmentalizing, that he could simply turn off sex and turn on his logical, questioning brain. Apparently I wasn’t as irresistible to him as I thought.

“What’re you changing?”

Raking my fingers through my wet hair, I tried to think of what I wanted to say through my tired, and now horny, brain.

“Miro?” He husked out my name, and I heard the twitch of fear in his voice then.

I shook my head and then bent over to take off my boots and socks, picking up the wet dress shirt he’d peeled off me while we kissed.

“Talk to me.”

I took a breath. “I’m missing you too much when you go, and it’s making me careless with people and in situations,” I said thoughtfully.

“What does that mean?” He questioned, because he had to know I was talking about the job. “Is that how you got cut? Is that why Barrett’s chasing you across the lawn, talking me down?”

“It’s just how it’s going,” I said, walking around him, heading toward the laundry room.

He got in front of me, and I had to stop or plow into him, and when I did, he grabbed everything away, let my boots and shirt fall to the floor, and took my face in his hands. “I don’t want you not to miss me.”

“Yeah, but you can’t be everything. It’s not fair to either of us.”

“What in the hell are you talking about?” He slid his hands to both sides of my neck, and I fought the urge to lean into him and just breathe.

“I can’t use you as a touchstone if you’re not here because I end up feeling disjointed and like I don’t give a shit about anything since you’re not there to talk to and sleep with and laugh at me when I do something stupid.” I sighed, forcing a smile. “It’s not working.”

“I don’t understand,” he said softly, coaxing, his right hand flat on my chest, pressed to my heart, the other mapping my abdomen and lower. “Make me understand.”

“Somewhere along the way, I forgot how to be me without you,” I said matter-of-factly. “I’m not sure when, but now I’m different, and I have to change back.”

“But I don’t want you to do that.”

I sighed dejectedly. “Yeah, but you don’t get a say, just like I don’t get one with you being in the military.”

“Now wait.”

“It’s okay,” I soothed, easing free of his hands, trembling in the cold air. “I’m gonna take a shower. Can you throw my shirt in the washer and put my boots by the sink? I’ve gotta find some newspaper to stuff down inside of them.”

“’Course,” he replied before I turned and bolted upstairs.

It wasn’t the best shower I ever took, but it was right up there. By the time I got out, the walls were dripping with condensation and the mirror was all steamed up. As I wiped a clear spot on it, I realized how beat up and shitty I looked before I brushed my teeth.

I had blue bruises and yellow ones, red splotches along my jaw under two days’ worth of stubble, and dark black circles under my eyes. My color was off; I looked pasty, sickly, and my eyes themselves looked flat and lifeless. I had no idea what Ian or anyone else could have seen in me.

Once I was out, changed into flannel pajama bottoms and a T-shirt, and finally warm, I was surprised to find him sitting on the bed. He had a steaming cup of tea in his hand.

“Man, that looks good. I think I’m gonna go get one.”

“This is yours, idiot,” he groused. “I don’t drink this oolong crap.”

I walked over, took the cup from him, and then sat down carefully beside him so I didn’t spill it. “Thank you,” I said, leaning sideways to kiss his cheek.

He turned into me, catching my mouth and kissing me softly, slowly. Even the nibble he took before he pulled back was tender.