Fighting, drinking, fucking…he knew which one he wanted right now, and if he didn’t move, it would be prodding her right in the stomach.
He pulled away from her, and stepped to her side, keeping his arm around her small waist. To the left, a sideboard held a small but very nice collection of Irish whiskies. “Is that some of Ireland’s finest I see there on yer sideboard?” he asked in his best Cork accent.
“The very same.” Allegra gave a watery sniffle. “Would ye be wantin’ a wee drop for yerself, then?”
“Oh, I surely would,” Kowalski said fervently. A whiskey sounded just perfect right about now. Maybe it would numb his brain enough so he could keep his cock down.
She turned her head up to him and gave him a teary smile that weakened his knees. The blood rushed right back down and he nearly sighed.
“Here.” With a hand to her back, he guided her to the couch and sat her down. “You’ll be wanting some whiskey yourself, too.”
“I will?” She looked startled at the idea.
“Oh, yeah. Trust me on this one.”
Allegra settled down on the couch like a queen. Kowalski couldn’t figure it out, how someone so mussed-looking could still look so regal. Tangled hair, makeup gone, tears drying on pale cheeks, his jacket which could have gone twice around her and his old blanket around that. Yet she sat down primly, white slender hands folded in her lap, as if she were dressed in satin and gold with a diamond tiara, looking for all the world like fucking Queen Allegra, preparing to greet her subjects.
He found glasses, poured a finger for her, filled his own glass three-quarters full and sat next to her, frowning. There was something wrong with the picture. He put the glasses on the coffee table.
“Come here,” he murmured, lifting her up and settling her on his lap. Allegra turned into him, shifting until she was comfortable, ending up with her head on his right shoulder, soft hip right next to his hard cock. There. Perfect. “Give me your hand.”
Like before, she held it out to him without question, and he curled her fingers around the crystal glass. “Here you go.” He downed half his glass in one gulp, enjoying the fragrant peaty warmth as it slid down and settled in a warm ball in his stomach. Ah, nothing like Irish whiskey. Scotch whiskey couldn’t hold a candle to it, in his opinion. Allegra sipped hers, too.
Kowalski waited. The drink would warm her up, start breaking down her defenses. She didn’t want to cry in front of him, but the whiskey would shut down the part of her mind that wouldn’t let her do what she needed to do—shed tears.
Allegra emptied the glass and held it out to him with a trembling hand. He took the glass and put it down next to his own and took her hand. It shook inside his. He brought it to his mouth and kissed the back of it, marveling at her smooth satiny skin, at the delicacy of it.
“It’s okay to cry,” he said quietly, and her head turned faintly at the sound of his voice. She hadn’t quite figured out where his face was, but at those few words, her blind gaze honed in on him.
It occurred to him, in a flash of insight that penetrated even his thick skull, that she needed to hear his voice to orient herself. He hadn’t talked to her nearly enough.
He wasn’t a talker, with anyone, but especially not with women. The way he looked, he was never going to convince a woman to have sex with him by sweet talk. The women he bedded didn’t need or want talk. They wanted to be fucked and more often than not they made that clear without too much input from him. He didn’t need to talk them into it.
Beautiful women wouldn’t even give him the time of day. Kowalski had never really tried talking to a beautiful woman, with the exception of Suzanne.
But Allegra needed for him to talk. She needed to be able to anchor herself in the darkness of her world by means of his voice. The tremors were increasing, despite the fact that she was visibly trying to hold them back.
“If you want to cry, it’s probably the best thing for you.” Kowalski shifted his arm slightly so that it created a cradle for her back. “Crying releases a lot of stress hormones. You’ll feel better afterward.”
She nodded jerkily. “I don’t want to cry. Crying won’t help anything.”
Her voice was thick with tears. A little frown line appeared between her auburn eyebrows. Kowalski waited.
She suddenly buried her head in his shoulder. A shudder shook her entire body, and she broke into tears. Finally. It was what he had been waiting for. Allegra’s long, slim arms wound around his neck, she pressed her face harder against his shoulder and sobbed her heart out. At first they were harsh little whimpers as she tried to repress the tears, then one great sob broke out, unleashing the flood. Her narrow rib cage shook with the force of her weeping.
Kowalski understood very well that she was weeping from not only the stress of the evening, but also the stress of the loss of her world. He didn’t know what had happened to her—and now was no time to ask—but she’d lost a lot.
An accident, she’d said. Car accident? Had she slipped and fallen? Whatever, it must have been a bad accident to leave her blind. She must have been on her way to a fabulous career, with that voice, her skill with the harp and her incredible looks. He hadn’t heard of her but then he’d spent most of the past ten years abroad. So this beautiful and incredibly talented woman, who’d already recorded, had already gone on tour, had had her career and her life stopped short by an accident, leaving her blind.
Crying was the least she could do.
He held her quietly through it all, giving her the animal comfort and heat of his body. At last, she stilled, exhausted. Kowalski glanced down. Even after a storm of tears, she was so beautiful. He pushed aside a lock of hair that had fallen over her eyes. Her shiny hair was so fiery red he was constantly surprised it felt cool to the touch.
Her eyes were closed, thick auburn lashes lying against the white skin of her cheeks. He dried the last of her tears away with his thumb.
“I was so scared,” she whispered finally.
Of course she’d been scared. She’d heard flashbangs, machine gun fire, people screaming. All without being able to see what was going on. It must have been terrifying for her.
“I know, honey,” he said. “I’m really sorry. But it’s over. There isn’t anything to be scared of now. Just put it behind you. You’re safe.”
“I was so scared something had happened to you,” she continued, as if he hadn’t spoken. Kowalski’s jaw dropped in shock. “I couldn’t believe you went out there barehanded. And then I heard gunfire and—and screaming—” her voice wobbled and she stopped until it was back under control. “I thought you’d been shot and killed,” she whispered finally, voice thick with tears. “There were all these shots…and noise…and no one was coming for me. I just knew that you would be coming back for me, but you didn’t. It seemed like forever until I heard your voice. It was so horrible not knowing what was happening. I was imagining you lying in a pool of your own blood.” A shudder ran through her and Kowalski tightened his arms.
Good God. How much time had actually gone by while he’d talked with Midnight and Suzanne and Larry? Maybe fifteen minutes? Not that long to him, but to her it must have seemed an eternity.
She’d been worried about him.
Kowalski couldn’t remember a time someone had worried about him. Worrying about his men under fire was his job. Nobody worried about the Senior Chief. Everyone took it for granted that the Senior could look after himself.
“It was all under control,” he said finally. “Bud gave me an opening and I took it.”
“What happened?”
“There were five bad guys in the room. Bud took care of one of the thieves. John had knives and he threw them at two of the bad guys and they both went down. I grabbed a gun and took care of the other two. And Larry and the SWAT team took care of the outside guards. They never stood a chance—they didn’t even manage to get off a shot.”
She frowned. “What do you mean they didn’t get off a shot? Bud was hit.”
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“That happened before he broke into the main hall. So you didn’t have to worry about me.”
“Of course I did.” Her voice was soft, tentative. She loosened her hold on his neck, bringing one arm down. A long-fingered hand cupped his jaw. Thank God his scar was on the other side. It was as ugly to touch as it was to see. “I was praying you would make it.”
Kowalski just looked down at her. Jesus, she was so fucking beautiful. It never occurred to him that he could ever hold such an incredibly beautiful woman in his arms. She was looking at him in admiration, too, which was even more mind-blowing. Well, not looking looking. But still.
A little dimple appeared by the right side of her mouth when she smiled. It appeared now. “You’re very brave. I don’t think I know anyone who would go after armed men while unarmed.” A little line appeared between her eyebrows. “Well, maybe Suzanne’s husband, John. You worked together, right?”
“For going on twenty years, yeah. And we weren’t that brave.”
Allegra gave a very unladylike snort. “Yeah, right.”
“No, there was no question of the outcome.”
It was true. He and John had faced much, much worse in their time in the Teams. And Bud had been a Marine. Much as SEALS made fun of jarheads, there was mutual respect there. Marines did hard, dirty and dangerous grunt work and they did it superbly well. The three of them had faced pros in their time—men who trained day and night to kill, just like they did. In comparison, the thieves they’d taken down were fucking amateurs, out for quick dough, thinking they were tough guys because they were armed. The thieves never stood a chance against him and Midnight and Bud.
What had terrified Midnight had been the guy holding the machine gun muzzle to Suzanne’s head. That was the kind of potential goatfuck Murphy’s Law was invented for. The guy could have squeezed the trigger by mistake, or tripped, or could have decided to celebrate his newfound wealth by blowing Suzanne’s brains out of her head. All it would have taken was a four-pound pressure pull. The same amount of energy it took to open a beer can, and the heart of Midnight’s world would have been ripped out.
That had been the only real danger, and it wasn’t even to them.
“I thought you were pretty brave yourself, tonight.”
“Me?” Her face went slack with surprise. “Good Lord, I didn’t do anything but cower and quiver. That’s not being brave.”
“I don’t know. There’s bravery and then there’s bravery. Going up on a stage and playing an instrument and singing in front of hundreds of people,” he gave an exaggerated shudder she was bound to feel, pleased to see her smile, “I’d have been scared shit—er, spitless.”
The smile widened. “You can say shit. I’ve heard the word before. Often.”
“Have you?” His voice turned husky. “That’s nice.”
God, when she smiled, it was devastating. He forgot what they were talking about. He shifted her in his arms until she was more fully turned to him and reached out with the finger of his free hand. He had to touch her, touch all that softness.
Gently, barely brushing the skin, he ran his finger over her cheekbone, down, down, outlining her lips.
He had rough hands, full of calluses. He was scared to death he’d scratch that incredibly delicate skin. She stopped smiling as he ran the tip of his index finger around her lips, face intent as she concentrated on the feel of his hand on her. She moved slightly and her hip slid right over his hard-on. He caught his breath as his cock surged.
“Can I ask you a personal question?” That soft voice sounded breathless.
“Sure.” The answer came out strangled. He hoped he could answer it. All the blood was draining from his head and he found it almost impossible to concentrate on anything other than the feel of her soft skin.
She shimmied a little over his hard-on and he bit his lips to keep from groaning.
“Is this,” her hip rolled over him, making him even harder, “is this, um, a permanent condition with you?”
His breath exploded in a laugh. “It seems to be. Around you anyway. Doesn’t seem to make any difference at all what else is going on—gunfire, danger…it just goes up when you’re near. Though to tell the truth, usually, it pretty much does what I tell it to. Except with you.”
“I’m…flattered.” The dimple appeared. “I think.”
“Um…”
Shit man, say something!
What wanted to come out of his mouth wasn’t anything he could say to her. Jesus, how could he tell her he couldn’t ever imagine his cock going down if she was in the same room? The same house. Hell, the same city. He clamped his lips closed because the words wanted to just come tumbling out.
He really needed to be able to talk to her normally, without sounding strangled and without her realizing there was no blood in his head at all. She had to know that he wasn’t sex-crazed, though that was exactly what he felt like right now.
This was where Kowalski got to practice talking to a beautiful woman. He had tons of things to talk to her about. Her music, for one. He loved music, always had, but he’d never had the opportunity to actually speak with a musician. Certainly not with one as talented as she was. Or they could talk about the accident, how she’d become blind. What she liked to read, that was a good one. There were tons of books in the room, presumably from before the accident. All sorts of conversational gambits were possible.
This was probably his one shot in this lifetime at a conversation with someone like Allegra. Pity he couldn’t think of one word to say. He could barely remember his own name.
He bent his head as the arm holding her lifted her up to him. As he slowly brought her face to his, her smile faded and her eyes fluttered closed. When his mouth touched hers, she was ready. She opened immediately for him and it was like before, under the stage. Like plunging into a warm, perfumed tropical pool. He wanted to stay there forever, tongue tangling with hers. Her left arm tightened around his neck and he deepened the kiss, lingering over her mouth, tongue deep inside her. Her taste was sweet and heady, totally intoxicating.
No bad guys with guns stealing jewels, no gunfire, no outside distractions at all, just the two of them in the quiet of the snowy night, the only sound in the room her sighs and his groans. The wet sounds of their mouths meeting, the rustle of clothes as she shifted in his arms.
He lifted his mouth for a moment to look down at her, amazed all over again that Allegra was in his arms. Watching her felt almost like voyeurism. He looked away from beautiful women, always. And yet, deep down inside, a part of him no one had ever seen, or even suspected existed, loved beauty. No one would credit him with an aesthetic sense since he looked like a knuckle-dragger and he spent his days training hard men to kill. Not much beauty in that. But the truth was, beauty moved him.
He was moved now. She was beautiful but she was more than that. Allegra was more than a pretty face. There was humor and character and intelligence in her. Courage, too, if she hadn’t fallen apart over becoming blind.
He could look at her all he wanted, and his gaze roamed over the fine features, the delicate pearl-white skin, the grace of her. She must have sensed his rapt gaze because she smiled slightly and said, “What?”
“You are so fucking beautiful,” Kowalski whispered, then winced. Way to go, he thought. Very classy. “Sorry.”
Luckily, that smile didn’t falter. “I’ve heard that word, too. I’m not made of spun sugar. I won’t melt just because I hear a four-letter word.”
Maybe not, but she looked like she was made of spun sugar. Her skin was so pale and so fine. He watched, fascinated, as a light flush rose up where he touched her. He ran his finger experimentally over her skin, from high cheekbone down to her chin, tapping the shallow little cleft there, then down over the long slim neck, across the delicate collarbones. It was all equally fascinating, pure pleasure wherever he touched her.
Kowalski had no idea whatsoever if what they were doing was going to lead to sex. Just the thought of
it made his heart beat faster, but he had to get real here. What would someone like Allegra be doing in bed with him?
If she told him to stop, he would. He would, he would.
He hoped.
He had a hard-on that wouldn’t quit, but it wouldn’t quit even if they fucked. The way he was feeling, he could be in her for three days straight and still be hard.
And anyway, what he was doing now was almost as good as fucking.
Almost. Maybe.
Just the thought of being inside Allegra made his hard-on pulse and he shook, knowing he was weeping come in his pants. She nipped his bottom lip and his hips surged up against her in an uncontrollable movement.
She felt him and flushed.
He watched in fascination. The feelings tumbling through him were so intense it was almost like the slo-mo of battle. So many at once, all mind-blowing. The feel of her, the softest thing he’d ever touched. The colors, from the palest pearl of her shoulders and upper breasts to the faint pink of her cheeks and brighter pink of her lips. He bent to kiss her, biting her lips lightly, lifting his mouth for a better fit, then kissing her deeply again and again.
She fitted both arms around his neck, sighing softly. His right hand was clasping her waist. He opened his palm to run his open hand along her narrow rib cage, savoring the soft, delicate feel of her under the light cloth. She wasn’t shying away from him. If anything, her arms tightened around him.
His hand cupped her breast. It was small, perfect, fitting neatly into the palm of his big hand. He could feel her swell under his hand just like his cock was swelling. Suddenly the feel of her breast under the soft gauzy material wasn’t enough. He needed to feel her skin, needed to see what her nipples looked like. He was a real sucker for pale pink nipples, his favorite.
Kowalski reached around behind her and slowly unzipped the dress. The sound wasn’t loud but Allegra must have felt what he was doing, must have felt her gown loosen and the cooler air of the room against the suddenly bare skin of her back. If she wanted to protest, now was the time for it.