Darkest Before Dawn (KGI series) (31 page)

“And by the way, you’re very welcome,” he whispered, leaning in to brush his lips over her brow.

CHAPTER 26

EVEN under the effects of the sedative, Honor was restless and agitated in sleep. Hancock never left her side. He lay on his side next to her, cradling her small body with his much larger frame. When she trembled and made small guttural sounds in her throat that reminded him of those made by a trapped animal, he seethed in silence and rubbed his hand up and down her back, stroking and massaging.

His touch seemed to quiet her. When she became upset, she would relax and rest easy once more when he stroked her skin.

To his surprise, she fully awakened just a few hours after Conrad had given her pain medication and a sedative, but then he and Conrad had discovered the drug-laden cloth that Bristow had forced into Honor’s mouth to force her compliance, and so Conrad had only administered a light dose, more to calm than to render her unconscious. Neither man wanted to be accused of doing the same to her as Bristow had done.

“Hancock?” she whispered, stirring against him.

His hold automatically tightened as he gathered her more fully into his arms.

“Yes, Honor, it’s me.”

She relaxed, seeming to wilt with relief. For a long
moment, her hand rested over his heart, her bandaged wrist reminding him of just how close to death she’d come. How desperately she must have fallen in those dark moments when Hancock hadn’t been there as he’d promised to be.

Just one more sin to add to his endless list.

She seemed to be pondering something. He sensed her hesitancy and . . . fear. As though she wanted to ask him something but wouldn’t. Or simply couldn’t.

He slid his hand between them to cup his palm over the top of her hand.

“What is it, Honor? Is there something you need? Are you hurting?”

She inhaled sharply. “I know I said I wouldn’t ask for anything more . . .”

“But,” Hancock prompted gently. He knew damn well he’d give her the moon if she asked. The only thing he couldn’t give her was what they
both
wanted most. Her freedom. Pain slashed in relentless waves through his heart for what he knew must be done. She was more accepting of her fate than he was, and that pissed him off all the more. She should hate him. She should be railing against him, calling him every vile name she could muster. He deserved them all.

She turned imploring eyes on him and he was lost. It was dangerous because if she asked it of him right now, he
would
let her walk away and fuck the mission and he’d never get another opportunity to take Maksimov down.

She lifted her free hand to her temple and massaged, but he didn’t sense she was in pain. Just grappling with something difficult for her to talk about. So he simply waited, giving her the time she needed, and he didn’t rush her.

His gaze brushed over her wrapped wrist, and helpless rage filled him all over again. For a woman like Honor, so valiant and courageous, never the coward she called herself, to have been so desperate as to attempt to kill herself, he knew it had been bad. God, what had that bastard done to her?

“He would have raped me,” she whispered. “He wanted to. He t-touched me. And it hurt.”

Hancock’s chest tightened and his teeth ground together as he fought to keep his composure. He stroked his hand
through her silky hair, gently massaging her scalp with soothing touches.

She glanced away, obviously embarrassed. Why? Because Bristow had attacked her? Because he would have raped her? Was she ashamed?

“I’m a virgin,” she blurted. “I’ve never had sex with anyone.”

Hancock went still, unsure of what to say. What to do. He was frozen to the bone, glad that she wasn’t looking at him at the moment. Because God help him, he was turning over a virgin to Maksimov, who would delight in the discovery and make her initiation that much worse. He’d thrive on just how much pain he could cause an innocent.

But then she turned those pained eyes on him, eyes that pleaded with him.

“I know what will happen to me,” she choked out. “I do. But I want to know if there is something you would do for me. It would mean . . .” She sucked in a deep breath. “It would mean
everything
to me.”

He cupped her chin and rubbed his thumb over the bruise Bristow had inflicted.

“Ask me, Honor,” he said quietly. “What is it you’re having such a hard time asking me?”

“Would you . . . Would you make love to me? Now? Before you have to give me to Maksimov? Will you show me just once what it
should
be like so that I’ll know? So that I’ll have that one memory of something beautiful, something that no one else can ever touch. That can never be tainted no matter what else is done to me. So that when another man . . . hurts me, I can retreat to this moment and hold on. Shut out everything but this one perfect night. Will you do this for me?”

Hancock’s heart threatened to burst out of his chest. He couldn’t breathe. His torment was a tangible ache that no amount of wishing could make go away. She was begging him. Every inflection of her tone was pleading.

“I’m sorry,” she said in a low, embarrassed voice. “I shouldn’t have asked. Please forgive me. I’ll never mention it again. I swear. You can go now. I’m okay.”

There must have been something of the terrible anguish
in his expression because her eyes became shadowed and ashamed, her gaze dropping away after her embarrassed apology. She pulled the covers up to her chin and then buried her face against her drawn-up knees, wrapping her arms around them as she rocked slightly in agitation. She drew away, huddling as far away from him as she could at his perceived rejection of such a precious gift.

A gift he in no way deserved.

But what about what she deserved?

He had no experience with virgins. Innocents. He didn’t partake in sex much. It was a distraction he couldn’t afford. He took care of his needs when necessary but sex, like so much else in his life, was mechanical. No feeling, no heart. Just physical release.

And he knew, he
knew
, that with Honor there would be no hiding behind his iron facade. She had a way of stripping away the layers until he was raw and vulnerable and completely bare, with none of the protection he always surrounded himself with.

“Honor.”

It was a whisper of a sound. He could barely form her name much less voice it aloud.

“Look at me,” he pleaded.

At first she refused, staring stoically ahead into nothingness. He recognized it immediately. She was becoming more adept at retreating deep into herself, steeling herself for what lay in store for her. Pain. Humiliation. Degradation and finally death.

But goddamn it, she didn’t need to retreat into herself with him. Never him.

“Honor,
please
look at me.”

Reluctantly, she swung her gaze to meet his, and the hurt in her eyes knotted his throat. He couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t massage away the pain in his chest. The kind so deep that nothing could take it away. It would be permanently etched into his heart for all time.

“I was not rejecting you, baby.
Never
you. I was stunned. Humbled. And I was afraid,” he admitted.

Her eyes widened in surprise. “Afraid? Why?” She was
clearly confused. She didn’t think he feared anything at all. That he was invincible. And for the most part she was right. But she had no idea that his one weakness lay before him asking him to do what every part of his heart, mind and body screamed to do. Touch her with tenderness. Make love to her when he’d never made love to another woman in his life. Sex was sex. But sex with Honor? It would be the first time he ever offered more than simply his dick and his mouth to pleasure a woman. With Honor, he’d share everything that he was and everything he wasn’t. And it scared the hell out of him.

“Because you deserve so much better than me,” he said honestly. “I don’t know if I can be what you need. You deserve to be treated gently, like the treasure you are. You deserve for that gift to be cherished and respected, and I’m not a good man. I’m selfish. I have no experience with virgins. And I would
hate
myself if I hurt you. I would despise myself. It would kill me if I hurt you, Honor.”

He closed his eyes at the absurdity of such a statement. He
had
hurt her. And he would hurt her again. He would give her to a man who would hurt her endlessly. Who would then give her to men who would degrade and torture her until she prayed with every painful breath for mercy and for death. Never had he hated himself more than he did in this moment. He despised who and what he was, when before he’d merely accepted it as a necessary evil in order to do his job. To try and make the world a better place. Sacrificing Honor in no way made anything goddamn better.

“You’re wrong,” she said, lifting her chin, daring him to defy her. “You wouldn’t hurt me. You would be gentle and sweet. And you’re also wrong about this being a gift from me. It would be a gift from you to me. This time, I’ll not ask for another thing from you. I swear it. I won’t make you feel even worse for what you must do when we both know you have no choice. But tonight . . . Tonight is ours to do what we want. No rules. No mission. No saving the world. That’s for another day. But tonight I want to feel something other than fear and hate and pain.”

Her eyes became haunted, as his surely must be.

“I don’t want to be alone tonight, Hancock,” she said, in
a low, embarrassed voice as though she hated revealing a weakness. That she needed someone to comfort her and touch her even for just one night.

“You will
not
beg me for anything,” he said harshly. “I would give you the world if I could, Honor. I swear I would. If only . . .”

He closed his eyes, slamming shut the wishes and
if only
s, knowing that path led only to unfathomable pain.

“Don’t,” she said, her voice filled with sorrow.

To emphasize her statement, she pushed a gentle finger to his lips. Unable to resist such temptation, he flicked his tongue out and sucked the tip of her finger into his mouth.

“No one is ever guaranteed a tomorrow,” she continued softly, tamping down the emotion, knowing it hurt him. And tonight she was determined they both forget their pain. Just for a few stolen hours.

“But we have tonight. Bristow is no threat. Your men will guard you well. Please, grant me this last request, Hancock. I would like to know how it’s
supposed
to be. I don’t want to die without ever knowing pleasure.”

“You’re so sure I’m capable of being this fantasy lover,” he said in a near growl.

She shook her head, her eyes flashing. “Fantasies are for people who can’t see or touch what it is they want. I don’t want a fantasy, Hancock. I only want
you
. And as I’ve never done this before, I’ll hardly know if you do it wrong,” she added ruefully.

“I won’t do it wrong,” he said gruffly. “I’d never touch you with anything but tenderness, as much as I’m capable of anyway. I’m not a gentle man. I’m rough and demanding. I don’t trust that I can be what you need right now. What I want would probably send you screaming and crawling under the bed.”

Her eyes widened, but not in fear or even shock. There was definite curiosity. And interest. Her face became flushed and her eyes took on a hazy glow that told him she was aroused by what he’d said, how he’d said it.

He hadn’t intended it to be arousing. He’d wanted to scare the holy hell out of her so she’d rethink this insanity. But
the selfish part derived great satisfaction that she’d responded as she had, her lips parted in silent invitation.

God, the things he’d like to do to her mouth.

He put a tight clamp on the coarse, base ideas running circles in his brain and making his dick so hard it felt as though the skin would simply split under the pressure.

She deserved a gentle initiation. Not down-and-dirty fucking. He closed his eyes, swearing at his choice of thoughts. The idea of other men holding her down, raping her like mindless animals made him sick. His erection lost its rigidity and bleakness entered his soul.

“Tonight,” she reminded him, as though she had reached right into his mind and plucked out his thoughts.

She rotated and rose up over him, leaning into his chest, bumping her nose into his in a charmingly clumsy manner. But damn it, she had no business putting any strain on her stitches or further aggravating her injuries.

As carefully as he could and making sure she didn’t take his gesture as rejection, he eased her over onto her back and arranged her to his liking, inspecting every angle to ensure that he would cause no hurt to her wounds.

“You will lie back just as I have you,” he said in a husky voice he didn’t recognize. “You will not hurt yourself, tear your stitches or otherwise worsen your injuries.”

She swallowed visibly, her eyes glowing brightly with excitement, her lips full, cheeks flushed with desire. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen in his dull, colorless existence.

“I will be as gentle, tender and patient as a man ever was in making love to a woman,” he vowed just as he lowered his body over hers, fitting his mouth to hers.

He was careful to keep his weight from her slender body, not wanting to hurt her in any way. He couldn’t offer her anything. He couldn’t grant what they both desired most. But he could give her this one gift she asked for. He would make love to her and show her what it was like between people who . . . cared. The word whispered insidiously inside his mind, forcing him to acknowledge that on some level he did care deeply for Honor Cambridge.

He admired the hell out of her. Respected her. Thought her a woman without equal. He couldn’t conceive of what he could have done right in his life to have this one night with her. Right before he delivered her into the hands of evil.

He took his time, studying and learning her body inch by delicious inch. He kissed every mark, every bruise or wound and then lapped gently at it to soothe any sting he might have caused.

Her hands cradled his head when she could reach it as he continued his thorough exploration of her body. When she was quivering, not in pain, but nearly shuddering with desire, he became more aggressive and demanding, but still mindful of her fragility.