Chapter Forty-Two

Maisa closed her eyes, inhaling the scent of Sam from his sweater. She knew he was perfectly sincere. That he really would do all he could to bring back Dyadya to her. Except that Beridze had shot Doc, and if it meant giving the diamonds to Beridze and letting him go, she wasn’t sure Sam would do that. He hadn’t said so explicitly, but she knew damned well that Sam wanted to avenge Doc. Avenge his town. And beyond that, Sam was on the side of law and order. He wasn’t going to let a murderer, a psychopathic gangster, go free. If it came right down to it, she was afraid that he’d choose capturing Beridze over rescuing Dyadya.

She took a breath, trying to calm her shaking. This was it: the event that would tear them apart. She’d known it was coming, she just hadn’t realized that it would arrive so quickly.

“Okay.” She raised her head, looking into his gorgeous blue eyes, and she was able, finally, now that it was too late, to acknowledge to herself that she loved him. Completely, utterly, and awfully, she loved Sam West, and she suspected she always would. “Okay, I’ll wait.”

The relief that swept his features eased the lines around his eyes and mouth. He was almost as tired as she from their trek and the events of the last few days. She wished she could comfort him, just spend a little time savoring this man.

“We’ll find your uncle,” he assured her, low.

“Yeah, we will,” Stu said. “Doug’s out, but we have Jim’s snowmobile and the three sleds still, plus me, Karl, and this guy here.” He jerked his head at Walkingtall, who looked suddenly alarmed.

“Us, too,” Becky spoke for both her and Haley Anne.

“And me,” Molly Jasper said quietly. Maisa remembered how the petite woman had given them all cover from the roof of the antique shop.

“Oh yeah, and me and Molly took out one of the SUVs,” Karl said, perking up.

Sam swung on him, intent. “What?”

Karl beamed. “Yup. Led them out on the ice on Lake Moosehead and over that spot where Gopher Creek lets on the lake. Ice’s thin there. They went right in. Coolest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Damn,” Stu said, admiration in his voice.

“That means they’re down to one SUV,” Sam said. “Did you see how many men were in the truck?”

Karl shrugged. “At least two.”

Sam nodded absently, his eyes narrowed. He was probably calculating odds and the number of enemy still left.

Maisa just felt tired. She needed some rest if she was going to accomplish what she needed to do. She looked down at the macaroni, ground beef, and cheese hot dish Becky had set on the table, and her stomach rolled. She placed her palm on Sam’s chest and pushed gently.

Immediately his arms tightened and his gaze focused on her.

“I need a shower,” she murmured.

He nodded and his arms opened, letting her go, though his eyes were speculative as he watched her. “Go on. I’ll be up in a bit after I check on Doc.”

She felt her cheeks heat. It seemed sort of ridiculous to be self-conscious now, but she was suddenly aware that everyone must know she was sleeping with Sam. She walked around the island, past Stu as he moved aside, and grabbed her suitcase—the right suitcase this time—from the kitchen closet.

“Let me take that,” Sam said, as she came back by him.

She shook her head. “It’s okay.”

He nodded, but his eyes narrowed as she turned away. She’d need to be careful if she was going to go through with her plan to rescue Dyadya and betray Sam.

Her Sam wasn’t stupid.

Otter trotted after her as she mounted the stairs to the loft above.

It was dim up here in Sam’s personal space, dark but cozy, with the warm air rising to fill the loft. She set her suitcase on a straight-backed chair next to his bureau, and for a moment just stood there, staring at nothing. It was nice to be alone. To have a minute to gather her thoughts apart from anyone else. Fine tremors were shaking her arms, and a part of her marveled at them in a detached way.

She frowned and bent to open her suitcase.

She picked out fresh underwear and the sleep pants and long-sleeved T she’d packed almost a week ago. They weren’t at all sexy, but they were all she had.

She’d noticed that first day that Sam’s bathroom was pretty small, but nice. He must’ve put it in himself, because the toilet and pedestal sink were newer, and the shower was lined in light terra-cotta tile. No bath, but the shower was roomy. She started the water as she stripped out of her clothes, then tested it before stepping under the spray. It was nice and hot, and she nearly moaned as the water hit her sore muscles. She’d never been snowshoeing, and the exercise had used muscles that she hadn’t known she possessed.

She closed her eyes, letting the water stream over her face, flattening her hair. She felt as if she needed to wash away more than sweat and grime.

The shower door opened behind her and she didn’t even look, because she’d been half-expecting him.

And anyway she was so very glad he’d come.

“Want me to wash your back?” he murmured in her ear. His smoky voice sent shivers down her neck, making her nipples peak even under the hot spray.

“Yes.”

He kneaded soapy hands down her back, his thumbs digging small circles on either side of her spine. She bowed her head and this time she did moan aloud, not caring if anyone else heard her in the house. He moved back up her spine and then over her shoulders, loosening her muscles, turning her to putty. He rinsed her back and she started to turn around, but he halted her with a touch.

“Don’t move.”

She waited, not even caring what he meant to do next, she was so relaxed, so tired emotionally and physically.

Then she felt the touch of his fingers in her hair, working shampoo in. He massaged gently over her temples and at the base of her head where she hadn’t even known the muscles were tight, and then he tipped her head back so that she rested against his shoulder. Carefully, cupping his hand against her forehead to prevent the soap from streaming in her eyes, he rinsed her hair.

She could feel the brush, now and again, of his erection as he moved behind her. It was a peripheral reminder, not urgent or rude, that he wanted her. Tears gathered in her eyes, surprising her with her defenses down. This was nice. This was actually wonderful… and she wouldn’t have it soon.

But she brushed aside the moisture, letting the salt mix with the hot running water, before he could notice. She wasn’t going to spoil tonight.

It would be their last.

He reached around her, and she could see him soap his hands up. He caught her hands with his, lacing their soapy fingers together. He stepped forward so that he stood against her back. She could feel his chest against her shoulders, his belly against the small of her back, his cock against the crease of her buttocks, and still there was no pressure. They were simply a man and a woman, standing nude together, the water hitting her chest.

He unlaced their fingers and trailed his fingertips up her arms, a marionette under the thrall of a puppet master.

“Lift,” he whispered in her ear, and she obeyed.

He soaped under her arms and let the running water rinse the bubbles away. She watched as he soaped again and then lifted his hands to her breasts.

She groaned and let her head fall to his shoulder when he touched her.

He circled her breasts with just his fingertips, the light, tantalizing touch in contrast to the heavy beat of the shower. When he at last circled in to her nipples, they were tight and aching. He pinched them between thumb and forefinger, both at once, and made her gasp. She felt the brush of his lips against the side of her neck, and she tilted her head to give him better access. His penis was hard and wedged into her bottom now, thrusting just slightly, hardly noticeable, really, but it made her knees weak.

His hands left her and she watched, hypnotized, her eyes half-lidded, her breath coming faster, as he soaped them for a third time. Now he laid them on her belly, making gentle, maddening circles around her navel as his hips thrust behind her.

Her hands had been hanging by her side, but now she broke, too impatient to wait for whatever he planned. She gripped his forearms and pushed down and she heard his chuckle in her ear as he let her guide his hands to her bush and below.

He threaded his fingers into her wet curls, gently exploring, and she widened her legs to encourage him. His other hand traced tickling patterns on the insides of her thighs. His middle finger found her clitoris and she arched into his hand, gasping, as he tapped it.

He twisted his right hand free suddenly and reached behind her as at the same time he bent his knees. And then she felt his cock pushing through her legs, rubbing against the wet of her folds.

“Close your thighs,” he said, hot and urgent in her ear, and she did, trapping his penis between them.

She rocked slightly, feeling the slide, so close to her center.

He wrapped his arms around her again, pushing against her, his breath hot on her neck. Then he twisted his right hand down, seeking out her clit while his left flicked at her nipples. It was so much, all the disparate sensations all at once, and she had to hold on to something. So she gripped his arm with both hands as he played with her. She felt swollen, engorged with heat and want, and her hips jerked helplessly. The head of his cock was shoving up against her clit from below while he pressed gently down with his finger from above. She mewled, arching back against him.

“Shh,” he murmured into her ear. “You’re so hot right now. If I had a condom, I’d put my prick in you and fuck you up against the shower wall. Fuck you until your legs gave out and you screamed for me, May, my May. Come. Come now, so I can feel your slick on my cock. I want to bathe in you. I want to suck the come from your pretty little pussy, tongue you until you go insane.”

She gasped at his words and he pressed hard, circling his finger. She saw stars, bursting behind her eyelids, her legs shaking uncontrollably as heat raced through her limbs.

She was still panting, her orgasm still sparking within her, when he slapped off the shower. He grabbed a towel, wrapped it around her, and picked her up, striding into his bedroom without bothering to dry off.

Her eyes widened when he put her on the bed.

She watched him impatiently fish a condom out from between the mattresses and curse steadily to himself as he rolled it on. Her mouth curved uncontrollably, a giggle bubbling at her lips at his swift movements.

But all desire to laugh left her when he climbed on the bed and on top of her. He looked her in the eye and thrust into her at the same time without preamble.

She gasped. The sensation—the pleasure—was so exquisitely sharp it was nearly painful. He forced his way into her swollen, sensitive flesh, burrowing, filling her. Claiming her—or so it felt. A complete possession, irrevocable and final. He held her gaze as he pushed into her without hesitation.

In command.

In command of her. Her eyes filled with tears with the thought. He was everything she wanted, though she’d been denying it for so long. And now… and now that it was too late she could at last admit it: He was her mate, her companion, her opposite, the man who should be by her side for the rest of their lives.

And he would not.

Not after what she would do to him.

He had no sympathy for her tears. If anything his face became sterner as he lay fully on her, making her accept his weight. She welcomed him, though, reaching up to wrap her arms and her legs around him.

She’d wrap her soul around him, too, if it were possible.

He withdrew and shoved back into her, hard. Hard and almost cruel. He was telling her something with this lovemaking. Making a point that she couldn’t miss—but that she had to ignore anyway.

When he bent to open her mouth beneath his, she let him. Because she doubted she could deny this man anything now. Well, anything but the one thing he wanted.

She sobbed and lifted against him, suddenly mad. It wasn’t fair. He shouldn’t expect the impossible from her, she told him from the very beginning that this wouldn’t work. That it could never last.

He raised his head and watched her as she struggled under him, her hips meeting his almost brutally. He was rubbing against her with each close thrust, driving her higher as she stared, defiant, angry, and bereaved beneath him. She was his match, God damn it, and if nothing else, he would remember her until the day he died.

She’d leave her mark on him, burn it into his very soul.

It hit her hard. Without warning or buildup. Her orgasm bent her spine in a bow of agonized sweetness. She gasped, her breath knocked from her body, black spots dancing in front of her eyes, and somewhere in the midst of her turmoil she heard him groan, loud and awful, and knew he was with her.

Together they died.

Together they lived.