Casimir carried her to the bed, sank down onto the mattress and cradled her on his lap. His hands framed her face. He didn’t speak, his eyes staring down into hers. He was wearing contacts. Hazel eyes this time, but she would know him anywhere. It didn’t matter what role he played, to her, he would always be Casimir.
His mouth came down on hers. Gently. So gently it brought tears to her eyes. His tongue flicked along the cut on her mouth. It was nearly completely gone now. The swelling was gone from her face, but she did have a lot of color here and there. His mouth wandered over the bruises, brushing little kisses over every single one of them. She didn’t have to tell him what happened in that room. He knew just by looking at her. She knew if she gave him details it would just make him crazy.
“I should never have let you go into that situation,” he whispered against her lips. His tongue dipped again, ran along the seam of her mouth.
He kissed her again and this time she opened her mouth to him. An invitation. He took her up on it and swept them both away. She could taste passion. There was always that explosive chemistry leaping between them, but this time, there was something so profound, so beautiful, she wanted to weep.
His arms were strong, almost steel surrounding her, yet he was gentle. His mouth was hot, commanding, yet tender. Loving. She felt that in his kiss and the way he held her, treating her like she was made of the most fragile glass in the world. She felt fragile. Sitting in that terrible room with three dead bodies, the air impossible to breathe, her arm excruciatingly painful, especially if she moved it, had been the thing of horror movies.
She had crawled back under the desk, listening to the creaking and groaning of the debris overhead. She thought she smelled gas at one point and feared that might kill her before the hotel collapsed in on itself right over top of her. She had had nightmares every single night since they had pulled her out of the rubble. Still, she held on to the fact that the Prakenskii brothers were free for the first time in their lives since Sorbacov had murdered their parents.
“You shouldn’t be here, Casimir,” she reprimanded. Holding him. Grateful he’d come. Knowing it was a terrible risk and yet so happy he was there.
“Did you think I could stay away when I finally have the chance to be alone with you? I know how to slip past a camera. We practiced in these very hotels. I’m very familiar with them.” He tipped her face up to him. “That bastard managed to do a lot of damage in the short time he had you.” Very gently he set her on her feet. “Take your clothes off, Giacinta. I want to look at you.”
She shook her head. Backed away from him. “I don’t think that’s such a good idea. Let’s just be grateful we’re both alive, we got the job done and we’re going home tomorrow.”
He reached out and curled his long fingers around her leg, preventing her from moving. He stood up and closed the distance between them in one long stride, standing in front of her. Close. Both hands went to the buttons of her blouse.
“It’s late. You need to be in bed. We’ve got a long plane ride ahead of us. Before I tuck you in, I want to see what that bastard did to you.”
“Honey, really, I don’t want you to.” Both hands went up to stop his.
He didn’t stop. Lissa sighed. Casimir was always sweet to her, but there was a side to him that was ruthless and dangerous. A side that she usually didn’t see because he never directed it toward her. He was right on the edge of that. Implacable. Letting her know without words she wasn’t getting her way on this, but she had to try.
“You’re already blaming yourself for something we both agreed to. It was our plan together, Casimir. I could tell at the hospital you were upset.”
He frowned, his jaw hard, stony. His eyes glittering with a smoldering fury. “Upset? Is that what you think I was? It was hours, Giacinta, hours before they pulled you out of there. I couldn’t get to you. I didn’t know if you were dead or alive.”
His voice was low, but it made her wince. It was a lash, a whip of sheer anger. She knew his anger was directed at himself. He had her blouse open and he peeled the soft material off one arm and then very gently pulled the other side down over her cast.
“You didn’t see yourself lying so still in that bed, malyshka. Your face so pale you looked like a ghost. Bruises and swelling. Your lip.” He touched the small, already healing cut. His gaze dropped to her chest, her breasts encased in the lacy bra. He closed his eyes and stepped away from her, swearing in his native language over and over.