Reaper's Vow (26 page)

Her fingers circled his wrist, and her eyes sought his. There was passion in her touch, but there was also desperation, a mother's love for her daughter. Her belief that this could work. Her need for him to believe it, too.

“I've had my life.”

“Your life is just beginning.”

She shook her head and repeated, “I've had my life, and if my dying means that Wendy gets hers, then that's a choice we have to make.”

“Like hell.”

“Promise me.”

He couldn't promise that. “Fuck.”

“Promise me.”

“I can't make that promise.”

She didn't let go. Wouldn't let it go. Her nails dug into the back of his hand. “Promise me.”

He growled at her as the scent of his blood tinged the air. “I promise you I'll make sure she is safe.”

She growled right back. “Even if it means you leave me behind.”

“Fuck.” He didn't have any choice. She was right. He had to promise. If he was the only hope, he had to save Wendy. The words came out harsh and angry. “Even if it means I leave you behind, if there's no other choice, I'll save our daughter.”

But he would never allow it to come to that. He would never, ever let her make that choice.

Miranda rested her forehead against his chest. “Thank you.”

They weren't done. With a finger under her chin he lifted her face to his. “Now you make a promise to me.”

She nodded.

“It's my choice to stay human, or whatever the hell I am now, no matter what.”

She nodded.

“If I'm down and I can't speak for myself, I want you to make me a promise. No matter what, you don't change me.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and she blinked. “I won't.”

He wanted her to understand he understood. “Blade went into deep detail to explain to me the difference between Reapers and humans. He's a persuasive S.O.B., but I've thought this through.”

“I promise. I won't let anyone take your humanity from you.”

“Thank you.”

He slid his fingers across her cheek, hooking them behind her head, pulling her closer.

“Where's Wendy?” he asked.

“She's with Addy.”

“They're going to start thinking she's theirs.”

“You know Addy loves kids.”

“I know.”

“And having Wendy around makes her smile.”

“I know.”

Cole pulled Miranda closer, until her toes touched his and her breasts grazed his chest. “And having you in my arms makes me smile.”

He ran his finger down her throat, chuckling when she swallowed hard.

“What makes you smile, china doll?”

Her hands locked behind his neck. “You.”

“Good answer.” With his thumb he tipped her chin up. When he lowered his head, she was ready for him, her lips parting, her breath mingling with his. She accepted his dominance and his desire with a shuddering sigh, taking his next breath as hers.

“It drives me crazy when you do that,” he told her.

“Do what?” she whispered against his lips.

“Go all soft and compliant in my arms. You give me that silent permission to do anything I want to you.”

“I'm your mate.”

“That just makes it sweeter.” He looked over to the fire. “How long has that stew got to cook?”

“About an hour.”

“More than enough time.”

She shook her head with a smile. “You made love to me this morning.”

“That was this morning. I find I'm hungry all over again.”

“You'll create a scandal.” Despite the words she was rubbing her hips across his.

“Don't tell anybody.”

“But how will I brag if I don't tell?”

He stopped midkiss. “You brag on me?”

She smiled softly. “Just a little.”

He decided he liked that.

“What do you go telling the women?”

“I just let them judge how happy you make me by the width of my smile.”

“That's why you've been grinning ear to ear?”

She nodded. “That and because I've been happy.”

He stroked his fingers from her temple to her chin. She was smiling at him now, lips slightly swollen from his kiss. His china doll, all happy and soft and warm and teasing. Such a big change from the woman he'd met just a few days before, the one who'd looked at him with fear and trepidation.

As natural as breathing, his hands went to the buttons on her dress, and as they slid free, one by one, he followed his fingers with little kisses, until the depth of her cleavage was displayed in a sultry invitation. In a moment of silliness, he buried his face between and blew a raspberry. He felt stupid as soon as he did it. She laughed and clutched his head, and when he looked up, he realized stupid was the right thing to do. Because now she looked as carefree as he wanted her to feel. Like the girl he wished he had had a chance to know before life had scarred her.

He could give her peace, he could give her tenderness, and he could give her freedom from the worries that plagued them. Not forever but for the next ten minutes, and sometimes ten minutes could carry you into forever if you played it right. If you remembered it right.

The memory of his mother's last smile flashed before him. She'd waved him off from the window of their home. It was the last time he'd seen her in a recognizable state. Before the Comancheros had wiped out everything, changed everything, taught him about impermanence. The next time he'd seen her, he'd been burying the charred remains of her body and wondering what the hell he was supposed to do now.

Blade's words came back to haunt him.
Do you want her to live without you?

No. He didn't want that for Miranda. This time her fingers touched his cheek. He looked up.

“What is it?”

He shook his head. “Just a ghost skipping across my grave.”

“I've always hated that expression.”

“Then I won't use it again.”

She shook her head and opened her mouth. He shut her up by picking her up in his arms.

“Hold that thought.”

She frowned at him as he dropped her on the bed. “For how long?”

“Until it doesn't matter anymore.”

He didn't want that part of his life touching her.

He came down over her, pinning her with his weight, pressing her hands beside her head in the way he knew she liked, tucking his feet around hers, using his knees to edge hers apart.

“I can't give you forever, Miranda, but we've got now, and I can make now pretty damn good. Will you let me?”

She nodded, and her softly whispered “Yes” stoked his desire as he realized she really would let him do anything he wanted with her, and there were a lot of things he wanted to do. More than anything, he wanted a lifetime in which to do them, too. A Reaper's lifetime. But he was a Cameron; he'd been born that way, and he'd die that way. Human. At least in his heart. So his lifetime maybe wasn't going to equal hers, and she was going to have to go on without him eventually, but he'd send her off rich with memories of them to carry her until she found someone new. The thought of someone new ripped a snarl from his throat.

Another whispered “What is it?” and another shake of his head.

“Just come here, china doll.” He bent down, and she leaned up. As always, her thoughts were in sync with his, her energy stroking along his, her passion fueling his. Her lips bit at his. He slid his hand behind her head, holding her still, gentling the kiss, easing her back. The passion always took them so hard. It was wild and wonderful, but it wasn't what he wanted this time.

He remembered Wendy on the swing, her hair flying around her as she looked at him uncertainly over her shoulder and the joy on her face when he told her he was staying. She believed he could work miracles. He wanted to work miracles for Miranda, too.

Her tongue licked across his lips, and he smiled. “Impatient?”

She nodded.

“Get used to it.”

She raised her eyebrows at him. “Why should I?”

“Because I want you slow tonight.” He threaded his fingers through hers. Raising her hands, he pinned them to the mattress above her head, stretching his torso along hers, giving her a bit of his weight, catching her gasp in his kiss as his cock snuggled against her pussy through all the layers of clothes.

“What's wrong with hot?”

“Not a damn thing, but tender's better.” He pushed her legs farther apart with his. She moaned. A flex of his hip and his cock slid up along her pussy, and even through clothes, the shock was electric. He did it again and again, a slow, easy seduction to a passion already roaring out of control. It was bittersweet. It was good.

She tried to rush him, pressing her mouth harder against his, but he leaned back, keeping it slow and easy, nibbling along the edges of her lips from one corner to the other, from the top around to the bottom, stroking with his tongue. Her mouth opened immediately, and he took possession not with the hard thrust she was expecting but with a gentle glide, for once in his life letting his soft side out. She moaned, and her nails dug into the back of his hand.

“Easy.”

“I don't want easy,” she protested in a soft exhale.

“I do. Sweet, easy, and slow. A memory between us.”

Her eyes opened. This close it was hard to miss the darker flecks among the brown. Chocolate eyes, delicious eyes, eyes that could steal the soul, eyes that had stolen his the first second he'd seen them, eyes that watched his expression as he pushed her dress off her shoulders with one hand, as he slid his fingers down her arm and back up, as he dragged his hands over her shoulder until he could cup her breasts in his palms. The cool flesh heated immediately. The nipples hardened into points.

He smiled. “You've got the sweetest little breasts.”

Her thank-you was a bit off expulsion of sound. She didn't know what he was doing and was cautious. It didn't matter; he'd show her. Leaning down, he followed the path of his fingers with his lips, coasting over the soft white skin until he reached that pink tip, brushing it with his lips before kissing it a little harder, opening his mouth, bringing her nipple into the heat, rubbing the hardening nub with his tongue before flicking it. He knew he was doing it just right when her nails dug into the back of his neck and she tugged him to her.

He smiled down into her eyes. “Pay attention now. I want you to feel what I feel. Know what I know.”

He let his mind open a little, just a little. Letting her feel the passion, the desire, the want. He sucked a little harder on her nipple, experiencing the jerk that went through her, her energy wrapping around him, her lust taking hold of his, and just below that a softer emotion. She loved him. He heard the whisper in his head, felt the echo in her touch. Fuck, he wished he could say he loved her, too, but he didn't know what love was. So he cherished her with his mind, with his hands, with his mouth. It had to be enough.

Peeling the clothes from her body, revealing the perfection of her form, he moaned when she was fully naked. She was so beautiful to him. As usual her hands went to the scars on her face and her stomach. He moved them aside.

“You're beautiful, china doll. So fucking beautiful. You make me forget how to breathe.”

He meant what he said, Miranda realized. With his mind touching hers, there was no way she couldn't know the reality of his feelings. When this beautiful man looked at her, all he saw was beauty.

She took her hand away and put it on his shoulder, reveling in the muscle, letting his mood lift hers. As he'd done to her, she unbuttoned his shirt one button at a time, caressing the flesh as it was revealed, feeling his breath catch, his passion spike. She smiled, pushing the material off his shoulders. With a growl he stood, shrugging out of it while she dragged her nails down the muscles of his abdomen. Hooking her finger beneath the waistband of his pants, she gave a tug. Growling, he shoved her hands away.

“I do love your growl,” she whispered, watching him strip with brisk efficiency. She would have lingered a lot longer over the task, nipping and teasing. When his pants hit the floor, he stood back, hands on hips, his heavy cock straining forward. Cupping the thickness in her palm, she admired the man who was her husband. Broad shouldered and lean hipped with the well-developed muscles of a man in his prime, he had scars of his own. A knife wound on his shoulder, a bullet crease on his side. Other scars she couldn't so easily identify decorated the hard planes of his body, reinforcing his humanness and his frailty, but also that rock-hard core of toughness that was so much a part of him. More than he was human, he was Cole, and he was hers.

“Does it bother you?” he asked.

She must have been thinking too loudly “No, I wouldn't have you any other way.”

He came down over her, and she welcomed the heat of his body, wrapping her legs around his hips, her arms around his shoulders. She pulled him to her, and his arms were around her, holding her as tightly as she held him. For a moment they were Reaper and human, man and woman, lovers.

“It's going to be all right,” she told him.

He didn't respond, just held her tighter. Brushing his lips across her cheek, he found her mouth with his and kissed her with the soul-deep tenderness that was so beautiful it made her want to cry. Wiggling her hands free, she cupped his face between her palms and stroked her finger over his eyebrow, memorizing the lines of his face, the hint of crow's-feet at the corner of his eyes, the strength and the passion there. He was such a hard man she never expected him to display tenderness so blatantly, but he was now, and she had to wonder why.

Before that thought could form into words, he was kissing her again, stroking his hands down her sides, tugging her bloomers down, stealing the last of her control. He had such wonderful hands; rough yet tender, they drove her crazy as they glided over her skin and teased to life nerve endings she'd never known she had. When he patted her hip, she lifted, and he whisked her bloomers off and across the bed. His fingers brushed across her skin, stroked between her legs, and found the center of her passion. She braced herself for the onslaught that didn't come. With a butterfly touch he slid his finger across her clit, centering her attention. Her breath caught in her throat. Her pussy clenched. With the utmost delicacy he stroked, tempting her passion rather than driving it. The shiver started at her toes as his fingers just grazed, then just pressed, and then lightly, ever so lightly moving in a gentle rotation that coaxed her passion higher.