Now You See Him(76)

He covered her hand with his, pressing her harder against him, and he made a low, guttural sound of need in the back of his throat.

She was struggling with the buttons, her hands shaking with arousal and frustration. Holding her hand still against him, he kissed her hard, pushing her back against the mattress, falling with her, half covering her. He fumbled with the buttons himself, finally shucking out of his pants, and then he pushed her up higher on the mattress, cradling her head with his arms as he lay beside her.

"Damn Charlie and his buttons," he said wryly, brushing his lips against hers.

"Who is Charlie?"

"No one. An illusion. A means to an end. He's not here."

"Who is? Who are you?"

He closed his eyes for a moment, wishing he could find an answer. Wishing he even knew. "The man who loves you," he said finally.

She smiled then, a radiant expression. "That's enough," she whispered. "For now."

She was awake this time, shiveringly, blindingly awake. Her flesh trembled with sensitized awareness as he ran his mouth across her stomach, and her nipples tightened fiercely when he suckled them. She was hot, damp, tight, when he sheathed himself in her, too soon and not soon enough, and she climaxed immediately, convulsing around him, her eyes wide with shock.

It took all his rapidly vanishing self-control to keep from following her. If this was his last time with her, possibly his last time on earth, he was going to make it last. He waited for the contractions to lessen, and then he surged against her, hard, fierce and hungry.

If he'd worried that he was too much for her, she immediately disabused him of the notion. She arched her hips up, pulling him in deeper, and her mouth was hungry, seeking, beneath his. He rocked against her slowly, wanting to bury himself in her tight, needful body, and the bed bounced beneath them, a gentle counterpoint.

And then it wasn't slow at all. It was fast and hard and furious, the bed pounding beneath them, her hands clawing at his back, her mouth full of anguished entreaties, and he wanted to give her more, more, give her everything she asked, everything she didn't ask. He wanted to give her his life, his soul, to pour everything into her and exist only in that moment. He waited, stretching out the moment until he could no longer bear it, waiting for the wave to hit her once more. She made a sound, part scream, part sob, as her body shattered once more, and this time he let himself go, shaking to pieces in her arms, disappearing to the kind of place only a man with no name could reach.

She reached for him when he finally pulled away, but he placated her with a gentle kiss on her damp brow, and she smiled, her eyes closed, foolishly trusting. He found a sheet somewhere and threw it over her sleeping body. He took an abstemious shower, leaving enough hot water for Francey, and went to the kitchen to make himself a cup of instant coffee before leaving.

He knew he was just prolonging the inevitable. He knew the longer he waited to get dressed the more likelihood there was of her waking up. But he couldn't make himself go. It was earlier than he'd thought, just after seven. He wasn't due to meet the others until after midnight. He had more than enough time to just sit and watch her while she slept.

But he wasn't going to do it. If he watched her, he would pull the sheet away from her and join her back on the bed, and every time he touched her it got harder and harder to leave her.

"You're going, aren't you?"

He hadn't even realized she was there. He turned in the dimly lit kitchen, his face carefully blank, even when he saw her.

She was wrapped in the sheet he'd thrown over her. Her sun-streaked hair was a tangle behind her pale face, her eyes large and beseeching, and he could see the marks he'd left on her only too clearly. The lovemarks on her neck and shoulders, and other places beneath the heavy white sheet. And the pain reflected in her eyes.

"I have a job to do," he said, deliberately calm and noncommittal.

"Were you going to say goodbye?" she asked. "Or were you just going to slink away in the night like the rat you are?"

It made him smile. Francey when she was calm and loving was a potent package indeed. Francey when she was angry was somehow reassuring. The truth was there in her eyes, that she loved him enough to be mad. Perhaps it might provide balm for his wounded soul during the long, empty years ahead. And perhaps it would be a torment all its own.

He wasn't going to tell her that. He was trying to pull the tattered remnants of Charlie back around him. "You were sleeping quite soundly. I didn't want to wake you."

"Like hell," she said, coming closer. "You keep leaving me, Michael, or whoever you are. And I keep turning up like a bad penny. When are you going to realize that we're meant to be together?"