Fire Bound (Sea Haven Sisters)(140)

Lissa watched him pace across the room. The temperature rose alarmingly. The room took on a reddish glow. She felt his anger, a tangible thing, a force of destruction, filling every bit of space around her. She knew what he saw. Uri had gotten in a few punches, as well as a kick or two. She still bore those bruises.



“It’s over,” she reminded.



He swung around, fingers curled into two tight fists. Then he was on her, his hands yanking at her jeans, dragging them down her hips. She was grateful she was barefoot because he all but picked her up, tossed her on the bed and pulled them off her legs. He would have taken her shoes right off had she been wearing any. Lissa tried to curl in on herself but his hand caught at her hip, stilling her.



“Don’t you fucking move, Giacinta,” he snapped, harsh this time.



She took a deep breath and tried to relax under his furious glare. There were more bruises on her body. Suffice to say, the beast wasn’t tamed. Scrapes on her knees and legs from being dragged across the rough pavers. A large bruise where Uri had kicked her hard.



“Turn over.”



“Casimir.” He would detest what he saw.



“Turn the fuck over.”



She winced. He rarely swore in English. It was almost always in Russian, but he was so close to tipping over the edge into a place she didn’t want to ever see him go. Reluctantly she turned onto her stomach, careful of her arm. She put her head down on the pillow and closed her eyes.



Lissa heard his sharply indrawn breath. He sank onto the bed beside her. His hand moved down her back, settled into the curve of her spine. He hesitated a moment and then his fingertips brushed along the terrible bruise on her hip and left cheek of her buttocks where Uri’s shoe had landed, driving her forward.



“Giacinta.” He breathed her name.



Oh God. He sounded like he was weeping. Her heart thudded. Wept with him. She tried to turn, but he kept one hand pressed between her shoulder blades, preventing her from turning over or really lifting her head high enough to see him. She felt his breath, warm and soothing over the bruise. His lips touched her. So gently, like a whisper against her skin.



He stayed like that for a long time, his head resting in the small of her back, one hand between her shoulder blades, one arm wrapped around her rib cage, palm cupping her breast. She didn’t talk. What was there to say? She loved him.



She would have given anything to take away those terrible hours when he didn’t know if she was dead or alive. She would have protected and spared him anything she could, because she loved him more than life itself. She couldn’t be sorry for their choice. She had known the risks going into it, and those risks were well worth the outcome. Her husband, the love of her life, was free.



“I don’t want you to sleep with clothes tonight. I know I can’t make love to you, but I don’t want anything between us.”



“Honey,” she murmured, “I’m not so battered that we can’t make love.”



He stood up and she was able to turn over. She watched as he took off his shirt. He shook his head. “No, I’m selfish, malyshka, but not that selfish.”



His hands dropped to the zipper of his slacks and her mouth watered. He might not be that selfish, but she wasn’t so certain she could say the same. Naked, all those wonderful muscles flowing enticingly, he slid next to her and drew up the covers. Turning, he circled her waist and pulled her in close to him, the way he always did. He liked close. Very close. Lissa was happy to oblige.



She had missed him. Missed the feel of his warmth. His hot skin. The way his body was so hard and solid, making her feel safe. She needed safe after enduring all those hours in that horrible room, praying the rescuers would find her soon. She’d never tell him. He was already angry, blaming himself. But she still needed him real and solid wrapped around her.



Lissa didn’t think she’d drift off to sleep so fast, but truthfully, she was still exhausted physically from the beating and the pain in her arm. With Casimir’s body tight against hers, his heat melding with hers, she felt cocooned in warmth.



She jerked awake two hours later, her heart pounding, his name on her lips, in her mouth. She’d used him as her talisman a hundred times under the desk while the rocks creaked and dirt kept falling. She lifted her head and looked at him.



She’d left the lamp across the room on low because she didn’t want to be in the dark, not after spending so many hours in the dark of that sadistic interrogation room. She could see Casimir’s face. He was on his back again, like usual. He always started on his side, but then, once fully asleep, he turned on his back, taking her with him. The way he slept was very familiar to her now. She liked that he was sprawled out on the bed, taking up space. A lot of space. He liked to pull her body over his so she was on top of him, her head pillowed on his chest. One arm was slung across her back. His other hand was on her butt.