suspicions held true, then it wasn’t her brother at all.
Weariness pulled at him, hopelessness beat a discordant note in his brain. It had been there in the cave
with those soldiers. An elusive scent nearly hidden by the stink of men of evil. He hadn’t noticed it at first,
and only later, after Merinus fell asleep in the jeep had it come to him. There had been the smell of
another, a man who wasn’t with the soldiers, a man Callan knew well. His chest tightened with that
knowledge, despite his need to deny it.
That sheltered cave was not used for a reason. It was barely known, even to the residents of that area of
the mountains. And none knew of the linking caverns, for Callan had closed them off years before. He
stripped quickly, adjusting the water and stepping beneath the spray. He wanted to wash away the
memories of horror and pain, but it wasn’t possible. He wanted to wash away the evil of his conception,
the stench of the crime against humanity that they had used him to commit, but once again, he could not.
All he could do was wash away the grime of yet another desperate flight to safety, and pray to God he
was wrong about his betrayer. Enough blood stained his hands and his soul, he didn’t want to compound
his past sins with the sin of killing one of the few people he loved.
“Callan.” He jerked in surprise as a silhouette appeared outside the glass door.
Shapely, small and fragile, Merinus stood outside the steamy chamber, her voice hesitant, beckoning. He
opened the door, sliding it across the tracks until he could see her. She was radiantly naked, hope and
need glistening in her eyes.
“Merinus,” he sighed, shaking his head.
“I need someone to wash my back.” She held up her washcloth, her expression hopeful, her body
aroused.
Would he ever be able to deny the scent of her need? Callan knew he couldn’t. He never would. It was
as intoxicating to him as his taste was to her. He stood beneath the water, feeling it caress his skin with its
heat, and knowing it was nothing compared to the heat to be found within her body.
“I’ll fuck you,” he groaned.
She smiled sadly, stepping into the cubicle with him, closing the door behind her.
“And I’ll love you,” she whispered.
Her hands went to his chest, smoothing over his skin, her fingertips testing the muscle beneath. Taking
the washrag from her, he dropped it carelessly on the small shower shelf beside him. He watched as her
eyes closed, the water cascading over her hair, her pale face. She luxuriated in the heat of the water,
moving her head to allow it to soak every strand.
“Let me wash you then, beauty,” he told her, his voice soft. Too soft for his own peace of mind. How he
wanted her. His body ached with his need, both physical and emotional.
Into his cupped palm he deposited a generous amount of shampoo and began to work it into her hair.
His fingertips caressed her scalp, drawing the wet silk through them, stroking the tender skin of her head.
She moaned in pleasure, her body brushing against his as she leaned into his chest, her tongue washing
over his flat male nipple with slow sensuality.
His body tightened, growing hotter by the second. He moved her beneath the spray once again,
watching as suds rinsed from her hair, rolled slowly over her shoulders, her full breasts. Caressing her as
he wanted to caress her. Kissing her skin with satin softness, hiding the hardness of her rosy nipples for
the briefest second. When the last of the suds had washed away, he retrieved the soap from the shelf. He
left the washrag. He wanted nothing but the smooth slide of suds between his hands and her flesh.
He worked the soap between his hands as he stared down at her. Her eyes were passion glazed, her
body trembling with weariness and passion.
“You’re eating before you go to sleep,” he told her softly, an involuntary smile edging his mouth.
The smile disappeared when he touched her. She gasped, arching against the hands that cupped her
breasts, the fingers that gripped her nipples. Slowly, inch-by-inch he covered her body with creamy
lather until he was kneeling at her feet, pressing her legs apart, his fingers running over the slick flesh of
her smooth pussy.
“I love the way you touch me,” she gasped as his fingers began to stroke her, wash her. Suds rolled
down her thighs, mixed with the heady scent of her feminine need.
Callan laid his head against her abdomen, one arm wrapping around her upper thighs as he held her
steady, the other parting her legs further. He had to taste her. He could wait no longer. His tongue
swiped through the satiny folds, then curled around her swollen clit.
She shuddered in his grasp. Her hands dug into his hair, holding onto him as he teased the little bud with