Signs of the life he lived were still on his body—bruises, scrapes, faded burn marks. The sound of his tortured cries echoed in her mind—and she found herself wanting somehow to erase that pain, to give him pleasure.
She let her fingers have their way with him, following an irresistible line of hair down his belly to his groin. Then, she took him in hand and began to stroke the soft length of him, gently moving her hand down to the base, then back up again to the tip.
He groaned in his sleep, his hips shifting as his penis began to fill, growing thick and firm in her hand. She stroked him harder now, excited by the feel of him, a little bead of moisture pearling at the tip. Then he gasped, his abdominal muscles jerking, and she glanced up to find him looking down at her, an expression of astonishment on his handsome face, his gray eyes smoky with arousal.
“Jesus!”He reached down, closed a hand over hers to guide her, increasing the pressure, his hips rocking so that he thrust smoothly into her fist.
She kissed his chest, ran her tongue over a tight, flat nipple, then nibbled him, her heart racing. It felt right to give him pleasure. After all he’d suffered . . .
His rhythm quickened until his hips bucked wildly, his fingers clenched in her hair, his body strung tight, muscles straining. She increased the pressure slightly and felt him stiffen. Then he arched and shuddered, a deep groan tearing itself from his throat as he came in her hand.
It was she who went for the hot washcloth this time, his gaze following her as she climbed back into bed and carefully wiped him clean, the friction and heat of the washcloth making the muscles of his belly jerk. Then she snuggled up against him, his arm going around her, holding her close.
He made a contented sound deep in his throat, his fingertips stroking lazy lines down the skin of her back. “That’s one hell of a way to wake a man up, angel. I thought all you Cajun girls were good little Catholics.”
She laughed, then gave him her most innocent smile. “Why, yes, we are. But you’re forgetting—we’re French.”
“Ah. In that case . . .” He bit the tip of his tongue, then drew it back into his mouth, slowly pushing her onto her back, a grin on his face, his eyes full of mischief, a playfulness about him she’d never seen before.
She felt a hard flutter in her belly, pretty certain she knew what he meant to do.
He rolled on top of her, then slowly slid down her body. “I want to taste—”
Thumpthumpthump!
Someone beat on the door.
In an instant, Zach was out of bed, gun in his hand. He hissed at her in a whisper. “Get to the bathroom!”
Thumpthumpthump!
Heart thudding, Natalie jumped out of bed, ran to the bathroom, and stepped into the tub, drawing the shower curtain into place, suddenly feeling very naked. If she had to deal with those Zeta bastards again, she’d rather do it with her clothes on.
Thumpthumpthump!
“¡Servicio de mucama!” A woman’s voice. The housekeeper?
“Por favor no me molestes. No necesito servicio de limpieza.Quiero dormir tranquilo.”
Natalie understood most of that. Zach had just asked the woman not to disturb him and said he wanted to sleep in peace. The rest of it had gotten by her.
“Sí, señor.Gracias.”
“You can come out. It’s just the maid.”
Natalie heaved a sigh of relief and stepped out of the shower. But the interruption had broken the fragile bubble that had surrounded them since last night. Reality had intruded.
Zach glanced at the clock, the playfulness gone. “It’s noon already?Shit.”
“You needed the sleep.” Natalie sat on the bed, covering herself with the sheet.
“We’ve got a big day ahead of us.” He walked toward the bathroom, small gun in one hand, AK-47 in the other, clearly in military mode again. “I’m going to take a quick shower, grab us some breakfast, and then we need to talk. If anyone knocks at the door, come straight into the bathroom. Don’t respond in any way.”
She watched, puzzled. “You’re going to take a shower—with your guns?”
“I’m not actually going to take them into the shower. I just want them close by.” Then he turned, a grin on his face, some of the playfulness returning. “You know, if you’re going to hang with me, you need to learn the correct terminology.”
He held up the AK-47, the muscles of his arm bunching against the weight. “This is an assault rifle.”