Eye of the Beholder

He clasped her cheeks. He started to ease her head away.

She made a low sound in her throat and thrust her tongue into his mouth.

Rafe shuddered. Instead of pushing her away, he slid his fingers into her hair and returned the kiss. One hour, forty-one minutes, he thought. Then they had to stop. Then they had to move.

In the meantime, he was enough of a bastard to give her what she wanted.

Chapter 4

It was what she wanted, Glenna thought. His kiss was like the beauty of his eyes or the silkiness of his hair, an unexpected glimpse of the man beneath the scars. Strong. Sensitive. Fascinating.

He kissed the same way as he talked, straight-ahead and to the point. His lips were firm, moving over hers in a sensuous exploration as he rubbed and tasted, making her head spin. And yet he was gentle when he slipped his tongue into her mouth. He probed slowly, as if he were giving her a chance to change her mind.

But Glenna had no second thoughts. No, she didn’t think of anything other than how good it felt to have Rafe’s mouth on hers and his fingers in her hair. She needed this contact with him to push away the horror that was waiting, crouching in the corners of their prison like the rats that scurried in the shadows…

She squeezed her eyes shut so tightly she saw bursts of red behind her lids. No, she wouldn’t let the fear win. She wouldn’t remember the feel of Leonardo Juarez’s hand on her skin or the blank stare from his reptile eyes. She’d block out the sensation of the pilot’s blood on her cheek and the bullets that had whined past her head. She wouldn’t dwell on the death that threatened them. She would focus on Rafe, her rescuer, her rock. She opened her mouth, urging him wordlessly to give her more.

He understood. He gave her more. His fingers tunneled into her hair, cupping her head as he leaned over her. He held her steady as his exploration turned to conquest. His tongue plunged alongside hers in a rhythm that sent echoes through her body.

She trembled. It was only a kiss. Just a kiss. But heat pooled between her legs so swiftly it was painful.

The blatantly carnal response might have shocked her if she’d allowed herself to think. Her experience with sex consisted of tame, pleasant lovemaking on clean sheets, but that life was too far away to matter. And what she felt was more urgent than sex, more primitive than desire. It was the mindless urge to mate.

It was madness to feel this here, to feel it now. But she had faced her own death this afternoon. There was a good possibility that she would die tomorrow. The old concepts of right and wrong didn’t apply. She was alive. She was following her instincts. This was keeping the fear at bay. She didn’t even feel the pain of her scraped knees rasping over the cement floor as she hiked up her skirt, flung her leg over Rafe’s and straddled his lap.

He was hard. Everywhere. She put her hands on his chest, spreading her fingers over the tight weave of his jumpsuit, tracing the ridges of his muscles with her thumbs. This time he didn’t stop her. He pressed his back against the wall, grasped her hips and tugged her closer.

Dimly she realized he had repositioned her in order to ease her thigh away from his bullet wound. He’d taken that bullet while he’d tried to save her. He’d risked his life for her. The thought didn’t check her spiraling arousal, it only shifted it to a more elemental level.

She leaned into him, brushing her breasts across his chest. It felt good, oh, so good, but it wasn’t enough. She pulled up her blouse, then reached behind her and fumbled to undo her bra, her fingers shaking in her eagerness. The closure parted with a soft snap.

He pulled back his head, breaking the kiss. “Glenna.”

She recognized the caution in his tone, but she didn’t listen. She only heard the undertone of need that echoed her own. She grasped his wrists, trying to move his hands from her hips to her bare breasts but he didn’t budge.

“Glenna, we have to stop.”

“Rafe, touch me.”

“You’re reacting to the stress,” he said, his voice rough. “You’re on a high. You don’t really want—”

“I want you, Rafe.”

He expelled his breath on a short, muttered obscenity. But he didn’t move his hands. Instead, he curled forward and pressed his face between her breasts.

The beard stubble on his jaw scraped over her tender skin. His breath was hot on her chest. Then he turned his head and his breath whispered over her nipple.

Glenna gasped, her nipples swelling and hardening instantly. Her flesh was so sensitive the mere movement of air made her shudder. She bit her lip, some corner of her brain that still functioned telling her not to scream, but when he didn’t move, when he didn’t take what she’d bared for him, she was unable to stop the whimper of longing. She released his wrists and grasped his head, guiding herself toward him. “Rafe…please…”

As tenderly as a sunlit breeze, his lips traced the curve of her breast.

He understood. That didn’t surprise her. There was a bond between them. She’d sensed it from the first moment she’d looked into his eyes. “More,” she said.

“Glenna—”

“Now. I need…more.”

He rolled her nipple on his tongue, then drew it into his mouth and sucked.

She was panting now. She heard the soft noises she made and was helpless to stop. She grasped his shoulders and raised her body so she could rub against the long, firm bulge at his groin. She felt no shame. There wasn’t room for it.

Rafe tipped back his head and moved his hands to her waist. He lifted her up enough to stop her movements. “We can’t, Glenna.”

She trembled. Dammit, they could. They had to. This could be her last chance. It could be her final night on earth and she wasn’t going to waste it. She’d tiptoed through her life. She wanted to let go, to feel, to love, to lose control. “Rafe, please! Don’t stop. Don’t make me beg.”

He swore again. He lifted her off him completely, laying her on her back on the floor. Then he stretched out beside her, brought his mouth back to hers and slipped his hand under her skirt.

At the first touch of his fingers, she started to shake. She was so close to the edge. So close. When he moved his thumb, she cried into his mouth and let the passion take her. Release surged over her in wave after shuddering wave.

Yes. Yes! She sobbed, squeezing her thighs shut on his hand, holding him there, prolonging the moment. Yes, oh yes, oh yes. This was good. This was real. The rest wasn’t. The rest she wouldn’t think about. Only this man. Only Rafe with his battered face and his gentle gaze and his magic, magic touch.

The waves built and crested again, carrying her hips off the floor. Glenna flung out her arms and arched upward, holding her breath, her body tensing, shaking, straining…

She shattered suddenly. The tension drained, leaving her limp and sobbing. She was still sobbing as Rafe straightened her clothes and pulled her into his arms.

He stroked her hair, his large, strong hand cupping her head. “Shh,” he whispered. “It’ll be all right.”

She nuzzled into the hollow of his shoulder. He was still rigid. “Rafe, we can’t stop yet…you didn’t…”

“Go to sleep.”

“I can’t.” She lifted her hand to his chest. Her arm felt boneless, as if her strength had drained along with her tension. She tried to focus her thoughts, but it was as if the passion had shut down her mind.

And that’s what she’d really wanted.

Had he understood that, too? “Rafe…”

“Glenna, trust me. You can.”

Rafe checked the clock in his head. Only eight minutes left and the two hours would be up. He would have to wake her soon.

On the other hand, would it make that much difference whether they moved in eight minutes or eighteen? His timetable had been arbitrary. Their odds wouldn’t be much different if they waited a while longer. Glenna needed the rest.

And the truth was, Rafe wasn’t looking forward to waking her. As long as she was lying so soft and trusting in his arms, her hand riding his chest, her head nestled into the crook of his neck, he could delay the inevitable regrets.

What he had done was inexcusable. She had an excuse, he didn’t. He’d never intended to let things go so far. He’d taken advantage of her. Sure, she’d practically begged him, and yes, he’d given her more than one opportunity to stop, and okay, she’d benefited from the release of tension. She’d been pumping adrenaline, strung out with nerves, in no condition for an escape attempt, but now that she had caught some sleep, her mind and body would be better equipped to handle whatever might happen.

But he hadn’t been thinking about that when he’d touched her. No, he hadn’t kissed her because he figured that would help her relax. His motives had been purely selfish.