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No matter how loudly common sense screamed that she should run far and fast.
He tasted of strength and raw determination, a bone-deep ferocity that thrilled on a fundamental level.
He tasted of sorrow and hope. He tasted of need and urgency. He tasted of everything she'd ever
wanted but had never thought to find in the arms of a man who'd robbed her of fundamental liberties.
He tasted of freedom. Pure, raw, soul-shattering freedom.
There in his arms, body to body, seeking mouth to seeking mouth, hands groping desperately, she didn't
let herself analyze why. She didn't let herself analyze, period. She simply kissed him with the same
relentless hunger he kissed her. She let her mind shut down, her senses hum. She loved the feel of his
mouth moving roughly against hers, his teeth against her lips, his tongue sliding with hers. She loved the
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feel of his whiskers scraping her jaw, his hands tangled deep in her hair.
She lovedhim.
It was as simple, as absurd, as impossible as that.
The realization should have stopped her cold. It didn't. Nothing could, not even the fact she'd run from
him. Because she hadn't, not really. She, champion of going with the flow and living life to the fullest, of
tossing protocol to the wind and making her own decisions, her own judgments, had run from herself.
From the fact that even during the darkest moments back in the bedroom of the safe house, when she'd
bit and hit and shouted, all she'd really wanted was for him to crush her in his arms and hold her. Love
her.
That's why she ran. And every step of the way, a fundamental piece of her had silently prayed he would
come after her. Find her. Prevent her from escaping him.
Because she knew,she knew, the second she tasted so-called freedom, she would never see him again.
And that reality made her hurt in ways she'd never imagined possible. It was a ragged, tearing hurt,
bone-deep, a chill that could permanently freeze everything inside her.
They had no future. Theycould have no future.
But Miranda had never constrained herself by logic, rules or plans. That was her sister's realm. Miranda
was the dreamer.
And she knew no matter what else went down, when she dreamed from this day forward, she would
dream of eyes like chips of midnight ice, a poet's mouth that kissed with soul-shattering intensity, a
commando who carried an assault rifle in his briefcase and a carved statue of his childhood dog in his
pocket.
She refused to think beyond that. She refused to think at all. She was safe. She knew that. Sandro had
risked his life to save hers, not to reclaim a prize. She'd seen the violent, unchained emotion in his eyes. It
had touched her, changed her.
For now, that was enough.
More than enough.
His hands were all over her, rough, but gentle at the same time. It was as though he was inventorying her
body, cataloging the feel of her, making sure she was really safe and whole. And she knew that as long as
she lived, she would never forget the sight of him standing in the abandoned old church, dripping wet,
wrists cuffed in front of him, lightning illuminating the hard glitter in his eyes. The image was indelibly
etched into her soul. Where she could keep it safe.
Just like he'd kept her safe.
She clung to him now, this man who had somehow swam a swollen river to find her, kissed him, loved
him, knowing she'd never get close enough, not even if she crawled inside his skin.
Lightning brightened the church, thunder booming within seconds. Sandro pulled back abruptly, again
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took her face in his hands. His breathing was hard, labored, his mouth swollen, his eyes hot. "We've got
to get out of here."
No. That's what she wanted to tell him. She wanted to stay, right there behind the old altar on the cold
damp stone floor, sprawled between his legs. "I know," she whispered.
But he didn't move, just kept touching her, the longing and sorrow in her heart reflected in the steady
burn of his gaze.
She tried to breathe, feared she might cry instead. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I "
"Shh." The moisture was back in his eyes, making the dark oddly bright. "I left you no choice."
"I & I didn't expect Petros to be waiting."Didn't realize I loved you.
Sandro let out a rough breath, frowned. "He probably put some kind of tracking device on the car," he
said, and though he spoke gently, regret twisted through the words. "That's why we ditched it. I was
going to get us new wheels in the morning." He paused, his jaw tightened. "I should have told you that."
She couldn't stand the self-recrimination in his voice. "It's not your fault. You're here now. We're
together."
He squeezed his eyes shut, opened them a moment later. "I'm glad you didn't have to pull that trigger."
So was she. "I would have," she said. "I would have done anything to keep him from touching me."
From touching what belonged to Sandro.
His hand was on her face again, gently stroking. "Killing another person is not a stain I want on your
soul,bella. You deserve better than that."
There was a note in his voice she didn't understand, but that spoke to her anyway. Spoke to her deep.
Her chest tightened. Emotion burned her throat. Slowly, she lifted a hand to his neck, skimmed a finger
along the nasty, faded gash. "What of yours, Sandro?"
He glanced to the side of the altar, where Petros lay unmoving. "It's a little late to be worrying about my
soul."
"You might as well ask me to stop breathing," she said through the hurt in her heart, determined not to let
the tears break through. She tried to smile, knew she failed.
He stood abruptly, reached for her hand. "A man does what he has to do,bella. It's as simple as that."
She put her palm to his, rose to her feet. "So does a woman."
Even when doing so defied the very freedom she'd spent her entire life craving.
* * *
They drove south. They drove fast. They drove despite the driving rain and relentless lightning, the
pounding thunder. They drove until sunrise chased the squalor away, the dark of the night giving way to
an eerily beautiful storm-washed morning. The glare brightened the blue of the sky and the white of the
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clouds, the green of the grass, the red and orange and yellow flowers tumbling wildly alongside the
narrow, single-lane road.
Sandro bit back a stream of virulent frustration. The vivid beauty contrasted sharply the dark, ugly edges
inside him. The edges that continued to cut and slice even hours after he'd found Miranda crouched [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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