She sounded hoarse and listless, and he really didn’t like how she looked. “First, check out what’s in the bag,” he told her. “It’ll be a while before Justine starts to miss Anthony, and it won’t take you more than a minute to take a few bites of food and a drink.”
After a brief hesitation, she didn’t waste time arguing. He watched in approval as she dug in the bag, pulled out a paper-wrapped sandwich and bolted a few bites. After she sucked down half a bottle of water, she held it to his lips so he could drink the rest.
While he needed a strong infusion of blood more than a drink of water, the hydration did help him to feel better too. When he had rinsed out his mouth and drank the rest of the bottle, she threw the empty container into the bag, squared her shoulders and turned back to him.
“Now, climb up on my leg and stand,” he said. Bending one knee, he braced his foot on the inside of his other thigh and held steady for her to perch on him.
She squinted at his posture. “You can take my whole weight like that?”
“Yes. Use me to steady yourself.”
“The strength you undead lot have is something else.” Slipping off her delicate-looking flats, she stepped barefoot onto his thigh and held on to one of his arms as she straightened. Even though she clutched him in a tight grip, she still wobbled on her perch. “This isn’t going to work. I need both hands to pick the locks.”
“Don’t just hold on to my arm,” he said. “Use my torso as your support. Brace one foot at the top of my thigh and lean against me.”
After a quick glance down at his expression, she gingerly eased against the length of his body. Their positions were odd and strained, yet the full curves of her body felt so incredibly delicious, he couldn’t resist closing his eyes and turning his face into her warm, narrow abdomen.
She sucked in a breath and wobbled again, clutching at his shoulder to steady herself.
The whole maneuver had turned unexpectedly torturous.
She felt so good, smelled so fucking good. Her top had ridden up, baring her skin to his cheek. He wanted to lick her and bite — not to draw blood, but lightly, in sex play — and he tightened his jaw against the impulse. If he did nip at her, more likely than not, she would lose her balance entirely and fall off her perch, and until he was free, they were in no position to play games.
Clamping down on his self-control, he gritted, “Can you reach the manacles?”
“Yes, but they’re too high and they aren’t at the right angle.” Her voice shook.
She was showing all the signs of being near the end of her rope, and it brought his attention into focus like nothing else could have.
“You’re doing an amazing job,” he said gently against her soft skin. “I knew they were underestimating you, but not even I could see how much you could accomplish on your own. I want you to hold on tight to me now.”
“O-okay.” She wrapped an arm around one of his biceps and gripped him by the shoulder again. “Like this?”
“Yes.” As soon as he felt her weight stabilize, he flexed up as high as he could, gripped the chains and shook his hands so that the manacles slid down his wrists. There wasn’t much give. After only a few inches, they were stopped by the thickness of his muscled forearms. His voice muffled against her, he asked, “Is that enough?”
“It might be. At least now I can turn the lock toward me.” She twisted at the manacle, and he turned his wrist to help. “That’s it — hold still!”
Obediently, he froze while she worked.
The lock snicked open just as she slipped and started to fall. “Oh shit!”
Shaking his wrist free, he snaked his arm around her and clenched her to him. “It’s all right, sweetheart.” He hefted her up a few more inches, and gods, even just that small freedom, just the ability to put that one arm around her, felt like bliss. “Only one more to go. Now you don’t even need to balance.”
“Piece of cake, right?” she said breathlessly. “Mmn, what I wouldn’t give for a piece of cake right now.”
It surprised a chuckle out of him. Never mind all the gourmet foods she had generous access to — she always had been a fiend for chocolate cake made from a box mix, with sour cream frosting.
“When we get out of here, I’ll bake a cake for you, myself,” he promised. “One with a file in it.”
Her flat stomach flexed as she snorted. “Now, that I would have to see, although I don’t know about eating any of it. You don’t know the first thing about how to bake a cake, or for that matter, how to bake anything else.”
“Don’t be too sure,” he murmured. “Baking is just chemistry, and the directions are printed on the box, right? Besides, I watched you do it a couple of times.”
“Sure you did,” she retorted. “You watched me all of twenty years ago, and you never had a vested interest in the process.”
She was wrong. He’d had a vested interest in everything she did. What she wore, the way she moved, the things she loved. The times they had spent in the kitchen, as she fixed herself something to eat and he opened a bottle of wine for them to share, were some of his favorite memories of when they had been together.
He hadn’t let himself think of those times in years, but he did so now, immersing himself in the memories. The way she had thrown back her head to laugh. The time she had teased him into dancing while her pasta water boiled away, forgotten, and the pan had burned.
After they had put out the small kitchen fire, he had growled, “To hell with it.”
With one sweep of his arm, he had cleared the kitchen table and lifted her onto it. Laughing, she had lain back, her arms over her head, while he knelt between her legs to feast on her gorgeous, delicate flesh. When he had risen at last to sink his aching erection into her, she had clasped him tight in wholehearted welcome, with her arms and legs, body and soul.
As he thought of how she had hugged him, his eyes grew damp.
The last manacle fell from his wrist.
“There,” she whispered, her breath catching on another sob. “Oh thank God, there.”
Eight
Finally free, he wrapped both arms around her and sank to his knees, only loosening his hold just enough so that she could slide onto his lap. Then he clenched her against his chest again. Her arms slid around his neck, and she held him just as tightly.
“I’ve got you, Melisande,” he whispered.
Her quick, ragged breathing sounded in his ear. “I’ve been so, so scared.”
“I know. I’ve been scared too.” Without fully being aware of what he did, he sank one fist into the back of her curly, tangled hair and pulled her head back so that he could look deep into her eyes. He whispered, “Jesus, he was going to rape you, and I couldn’t have done anything to prevent it.”
“Don’t think like that,” she said, as she framed his face between her hands. “It didn’t happen. I didn’t let it happen. But oh God, Julian, when she was cutting you, I went half out of my mind. I thought it would never end — and when she let the ferals into your cell, I was so afraid they were going to kill you.”
“Stop it.” His voice turned harsh. “It was nothing, and it’s over with now. It’s all done.”
She opened her eyes very wide. “I. Can’t. Stop. This. And I’m not even going to try. I’ve been promising myself this meltdown for two damn hellish hellish HELLISH days, and nothing’s going to keep me from it now.”
He stared at her in utter perplexity. She looked terrible. She looked adorable.
She looked stripped down, totally raw, like she didn’t have a single barrier left between her and the world, and he couldn’t take it any longer.