Dirty Deeds(77)

I edged toward the door, wishing there was a peephole of some kind.

I waited, my head gently pressed against the wood, listening. I couldn’t hear anything.

“Derek,” she said softly.

Dalton, I thought but at that moment I didn’t care if she’d forgotten.

I unlocked the door and eased it open a crack, looking at Alana’s face.

She barely looked like herself. Her hair was sleek, shoulder-length and light brown, laced with shades of sand. She had lots of makeup on to cover up the bruises that Esteban had left on her but it was pretty seamless. She was wearing all black, even carrying herself a bit differently. But that smile – that gorgeous smile – that was all hers.

“You made it,” I told her, trying to contain myself.

She held her chin at a saucy angle. “I’m a better spy than you thought. I was in the lobby, hiding behind a newspaper, watching you.”

“Won’t you come in, then Anna,” I said, emphasis on her new name, and opening the door wider as I put my gun away.

“Right, Dalton,” she said, remembering her mistake from earlier. “I guess I’m not as good of a spy as I thought.”

She came inside and walked to the middle of the room, looking around. It took all that I had not to throw her on the bed and bury myself deep inside her, feeling that she was finally here with me, that she was real, that she was alive.

Alana was alive.

Everyone else thought she was dead.

We had escaped Mexico.

We were starting over.

She set the leather carry-all bag she had in her hand down on the ground. I locked the door and went straight up to her, wrapping one hand around her waist, the other at the back of her head.

“You’re like the sun returning to me,” I murmured, my grip tightening, so afraid to let go, so happy she was here.

“And you’re my big, powerful sky,” she said back, her golden eyes trailing to my lips.

I kissed her, so hard I thought I’d bring her pain. But her moan was melting into my mouth, wanting more.

I gave her more. I gave her everything I had.

I stripped away her clothes like a child on Christmas morning, feasting on her neck, her shoulders, her breasts, while she took off mine. The way she looked at me made me feel like she was seeing me for the first time.

Maybe this was the first time, for both of us. The first time born new. The first time at a second chance.

This time was forever.

I scooped her up in my arms and placed her on the bed, torn between wanting to take this slow, to feel every inch, to make the seconds stretch and needing to have her quickly and all at once, for this frenzy, these flames, to engulf the both of us.

We compromised. While she was naked beneath me, wet and willing, needy, greedy, I thrust into her. She was tight around me, so beautiful, I had to close my eyes to take it all in. While we skipped the foreplay, I wanted to make sure I could prolong our love-making for as long as possible.

I leaned on my elbows on both sides of her head, my fingers disappearing into her smooth hair, my eyes staring deep into hers as I slowly, tantalizingly pulled out. My breath hitched and I buried my face in the soft, warm crook of her neck. She smelled like flowers and fresh air.

“I was afraid I wouldn’t see you again,” she said, her voice whisper-sweet, caught between moans. “I was afraid …”

“You don’t have to be afraid anymore,” I told her. I pushed in again to the hilt and she breathed in sharply before letting out a strangled cry. I wanted her to believe it. We would always be cautious but we would never be afraid.

Esteban, Javier, everyone had to believe that Alana had died during the explosion, or she would never really be free.

“I love you,” she whispered to me just before she came. Her head went back, her eyes squeezed shut, her back arched, so vulnerable, as if she was offering herself to me.

I took her hungrily. Soon I was coming inside of her, and for once I felt like I wasn’t trying to fuck something out of me, I was trying to take something from her. Love. Her soul. Her everything. Whatever it was, it made me better.

It washed me clean.

I pulled out of her and gently pulled her into my arms, kissing the top of her head. Light from the city filtered in through the gauzy lace curtains, creating a kaleidoscope of shadows on the wall.

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” she asked, her voice hushed in the room. “Today. My … my funeral.”

I exhaled, kissing her again. “Do you really want to know?”

She nods against me. “Yes. Did you see Javier? Marguerite?”

“Your brother was there,” I told her. “Marguerite wasn’t. But I assume that was for her own safety.”

“Was he upset?”