Page 46 of Danger Close (Mourningkill #3)

Pajamas

Cobra

I didn’t want to drive back to the Vasiliev house. Call me lazy, but it was a much longer drive than the short walk to the farmhouse. She didn’t push me away. In fact, we walked together, as if we’d done it our entire lives.

Was this what home felt like? Walking through a brisk evening to a familiar dwelling?

I could come home to her every day, for the rest of my life.

“If we could live anywhere, where would it be?” I asked idly.

She shrugged, her hands on the lapels of my jacket, closing it tight against the slight breeze that pulled the strands of her away from her pretty face.

“As close to Trinity as she’ll allow me?” It was a question, not a statement. But the desire was certainly there.

“Good.” A smile tugged on my lips. “That’s exactly where I’d want to be, too.”

Teri gasped when the crunch of footsteps pulled her attention from me. She was hypervigilant and frozen, her head turning to the sound like she was a deer in headlights.

“It’s the Secret Service,” I said, quietly, as an armed man in a suit came towards us, stepping into the lights that washed from the bulbs inside the farmhouse.

“Mr. Guerro,” the female agent nodded respectfully as she walked by on her route.

I nodded back, having no idea what her name was. To pull her from her fear, I caressed her cheek. “So, we’ll buy the house next to Trinity’s, then?”

She laughed, her eyes sparkling with humor. “She’d never let me that close to her.”

“We’ll have to convince her, then.” We reached the steps of the porch, and walked to the unlocked front door. Beau, the dog, was awake, stretching on the couch, completely uninterested in what was going on outside his house.

I should take lessons from him on retirement.

When we got to the guest room, there were pajamas laid out on the bed, probably courtesy of Charlotte. She and I might have had our professional differences, but she was a thoughtful woman, especially when she decided to adopt you the way she had Teri.

“Do you want to change?” I asked, busying myself with the fireplace which had fresh logs, and rolled up newspapers set aside to start the fire.

“Change?” she asked, her head tilting.

When the fire caught, I went to the door, hand on the doorknob.

“Into the pajamas.” Do you want me to let you dress in privacy? Can I stay, and help you, instead? Like a husband…

For agonizing minutes, I stood there, waiting for her answer.

“No, I don’t want to put on the pajamas.” Her voice was steady.

I swallowed.

“Do you want to sleep in the dress?”

“No.”

“Do you want me to leave?” Good God, don’t make me leave.

She didn’t answer for a long moment. I did what I could to fortify myself for her rejection. I’d respect it. I’d respect her.

“No.” Her answer almost made me jump.

She clasped her hands in front of her, statuesque, and perfect. The dramatic lighting suited her.

In thirty years of imaginings, I’d always seen her in elegant rooms with gold and art deco filigree.

I saw her in high society, wearing gowns so expensive, they could be sold to pay for a family home.

But here? In this humble farmhouse, with the quilted bed, and stained wooden beams overhead, she fit too.

There was nowhere in the world she did not fit, so long as she let me stay with her.

I flipped the latch, locking the door.

“Promise me…” Her voice broke before she cleared her throat with a swallow. “Promise me we’ll be okay.”

Her eyes shined with unshed tears, and I wanted to pry whatever thoughts were in her head out. I wanted to know, and understand, everything that crossed her mind.

“Make me believe it, Joe.” She smiled at her request. “Make me think that we can be a family. That we can be happy. Just for a moment.”

“We can, Princess.” I closed the distance between us, putting my hands around her waist until her chest was flush against mine.

My blazer fell from her shoulders, pooling around her feet.

It was good to feel her in my arms without resistance.

We belonged together. Whatever higher power existed wanted us here, right now, with each other. Just like my daughter occupied a part of my soul that had been missing for thirty years, Teri was here, molding and filling in the last cracks until I felt like a person again.

“You’re going to be alright, Princess,” I whispered. “We’re going to be alright.”

I swayed her back and forth, rocking her the way I had rocked her those first few days after she’d given birth. She was hit with post-partum depression. She didn’t know why she cried but the only thing that ever helped was slow dancing with our baby cradled between us.

It was what I wanted the rest of our lives to be.

“I remembered your scent,” I whispered, bringing my nose down to her hair. “You always smell like spring flowers, and spice.”

I nipped at her shoulder blade.

I unzipped her dress, and pulled away just enough to see her eyes.

If someone had really hurt her the way I suspected, she’d never say no.

She’d let whatever happened… happen. She might freeze and retreat into her mind the way she had dozens of times in our short time together, and I could not let that happen.

I had to search for consent. I had to be aware of every touch, every gesture, every flicker in her gorgeous eyes.

“When we were apart, I’d smell a bouquet of flowers, and think of you.

It was like feeling your ghost.” She was always on my mind, even if it was just a flicker of her name passing through my mind.

“I was reminded of you everywhere. The color of your eyes, when I looked at a cool, blue ocean. The sound of your voice in the whisper of the wind through the trees.”

That was no hardship for me. I loved to look into her eyes.

“We’re going to be fine, Mrs. Guerro.” The name Mrs. Teresa Guerro… Mrs. Joaquin Guerro… ran through my head like a silent prayer. “My wife.”

The words rumbled from my throat as I slipped the shoulders of her dress down her arms, peeling the garment from her body until gravity helped me, and the whole thing pooled around her feet.

I held my breath as I looked at her. Even with the bruises on her ribs, her arms, and the healing cuts, she was still a goddess. My keen eyes traced every curve and line of her body.

There were more scars on her I’d never seen before. They were faded white. I catalogued each one, knowing that I would inflict these same wounds on someone else. I’d take pleasure in it. I’d dance in their fucking blood in worship of my sweetheart.

“Say that again,” she whispered, her eyes pleading for more of me. More. More! And I would give it.

“My wife.” I devoured her mouth, holding her close until our bodies folded into each other.

“How can you forgive me?” She was crying again, and it broke my heart. “I should have waited for you.”

“Can you forgive me for leaving?”

Her desperate embrace pulled me to her, confirmation that she wanted me as much as I wanted her. “There’s nothing for me to forgive. I was wrong. I’ve always been wrong. I—”

I kissed her because the rest of her words would be pure malarkey.

I kissed her because none of that mattered.

I kissed her because no matter what, she’d still be my Teresa Louise Guerro.

“Do you still want me?” she murmured against my lips.

“How can you even ask that?” So many things were a mystery when it came to my sweet Teresa.

“Show me!” she begged. Her fingers brushed through my hair, tugging at the root to bring me closer. “Please, show me.”

I moaned, my hands wanting to grope, and grab at her. I wanted to pull her in, to squeeze her flesh until she molded into my hands so completely, they’d never be able to pry us apart again. No one would get between us. Not now, not ever!

“I don’t want to hurt you Princess!” I growled as I tugged off my blazer and tie.

“Fucking hurt me, Cobra Guerro. Hurt me. Show me how badly you want me. Just for a moment, make me believe it…” Her rough demand softened, as she added a breathless, “please.”

I’m just a man, made of flesh and bone. I have the same desires as anyone. When I’m hungry, I want food. When I’m thirsty, I want water. When I see Teresa Guerro naked, bare, and pleading, I want to dive between her thighs and carve myself into her soul.

But still, I had to hold back. I had to make sure that I saw every shift in her azure eyes.

I walked her to the bed, and laid her down, her hair in a halo around her head.

I took my time, looking at her naked body as she waited for me, lust clouding her eyes. I slipped off my shoes, socks, trousers, and boxers, never breaking eye contact. Her eyes lingered on my rock hard cock, her mouth open, her tongue darting out as if she wanted a taste.

I grabbed her ankle and tugged her until her ass was at the edge of the bed, holding her legs wide open for me.

The sight, the scent, the delicious anticipation made me lightheaded.

“How the fuck are you still this beautiful?” When we were apart, I’d hoped she’d lost some of her shine. I prayed that her magnetism had dimmed just a little with age, so that I wasn’t a fucking mess in her presence.

Someone had hurt her. Someone had tried to break her. But all they’d done was rub dirt on a diamond. All it would take was a light brushing to bring back the lustre I’d found so irresistible.

I just stared in absolute fucking awe at this second chance that lay on the bed before me.

“You’re hesitating,” she whispered, covering her breasts with her hands. “Perhaps this was… a… a bad idea.”

“Move your fucking hands.” She saw every action as a rejection, every gaze as judgment, and I was growing weary of it.

No one had any business looking down at my wife. Including the woman herself.

“What?” Her bright eyes stared at me, confused, and a little frightened.