WAR: Disruption (20 page)

Dropping her eyes and biting her lip, Emily crossed one arm over her chest so that her hand could cover the scars that extended from just under her chin to the ball of her shoulder.

“No. Shh…” It finally dawned on him what had happened to put that look of mortification on her face. She thought his silence meant he was turned off by her scars. “Don’t hide yourself.” He gently pulled her hand away so that he could see all of her. “You’re so gorgeous you turned me speechless.”

“I…” She shrugged, which caused a distracting little jiggle in her breasts. He wanted to reach up and take one in his mouth. But before he could act on that thought, she continued, “I know I’m not very well-endowed. I’m kinda skinny, too. And the scars…” Her lips twisted, as if she were fighting not to cry.

“No, Em, sweetheart, that’s not it at all. God, if only you knew what you do to me.” Unable to hold back any longer, he gently ran a fingertip from the start of her scars, down her neck and shoulder, then along the ivory slope of her breast. Her nipple tightened when he stroked it and his lips curled in satisfaction. Then he cupped her breast in his hand. “Your scars are simply a sign that you’re strong. A survivor. That makes them beautiful. And your breasts are perfect. Just the right size for my hand. For my mouth.”

As she watched his hand on her skin, her lips parted. Her breath caught.

Placing his other hand on her back, he urged her to lean forward until he could take her nipple into his mouth. At the first pull of his lips, she groaned and arched closer. God, he loved her responsiveness.

Taking her invitation, he suckled harder, working the tight little peak of her nipple with his tongue and teeth. Letting her sounds of pleasure tell him what she liked. His control slipped another notch. His erection pressed insistently against his pants. He needed to be inside her. Needed—

Emily reached out and braced her hands against his chest, inadvertently landing too close to his cracked ribs. He sucked in a sharp breath at the sudden pain.

“Max! Oh, God. I’m sorry.” She sat back.

He snagged her waist with his arm and pulled her flush to his chest, the pain already forgotten. “I’m not. I was on the brink of losing control. You deserve better for our first time. That’s if… Ah… I don’t want to make any assumptions here.” It might kill him, but he’d stop if she wanted him to. “This will only go as far as you want.”

She tugged on his t-shirt. “I want you, Max. I want to feel your bare skin against mine.”

His hips jerked because, damn, the thought of feeling those pert little nipples against his skin threatened to have him coming in his pants. He levered his upper body off the sleeping bag and helped her pull his t-shirt over his head.

Then Emily draped herself over his chest, rubbing her breasts against him almost shyly at first, peeking at him to see his reaction. He simply groaned and sent his hands on an exploration of her back and sides, then down over the curve of her butt. He loved molding her subtle curves with his palms, but even more he loved the growing flush of arousal on her skin as Emily slid and pressed against him, searching for the most pleasure.

Then, with a frustrated growl, she tunneled her fingers into his hair, lowered her head, and kissed him. This time her kiss was aggressive, leaving no doubt what she wanted. She took his mouth as if it belonged to her. He plunged his tongue into her, starting a fierce mating dance. Wanting to claim her as much as he wanted to be claimed by her.

When Emily slipped her fingers between them to tweak her own nipple, Max’s tenuous hold over his control broke. Yanking her closer, he flipped them over so she was on bottom and took the kiss deeper. Desperate to make her understand how precious she was to him. Wanting to make certain she’d never forget him.

Emily whimpered and moved restlessly beneath him. She widened her legs, welcoming him into the place he most wanted to be. But not with clothes between them.

“Off,” he demanded, tugging at her belt.

“Yours, too.”

Between kisses to her mouth, face, and neck, Max managed to shove his pants and boxers down and help Emily shimmy out of both her pants and her panties. He barely caught a glimpse of her slender body before she pulled him down for another kiss, trapping his erection between them.

His hips pushed against her. There was so much he still wanted to do to her. He wanted to taste every inch of her skin. Explore and tease and linger over the special place between her legs. But the pressure inside him was building too fast, his balls already drawing up.

He braced himself on his arms and…

Shit. Condom. With a groan, he reached over and opened the first aid kit.

“What?” Emily mumbled as she licked a line from the hollow at the base of his throat up to his chin, where she sucked so hard on the thin skin beneath his jaw he knew she’d leave a mark.

The thought almost made him come. “Need. Condom.”

“Umm…” She nipped at his chin.

Oh, God. Where was the damn condom? He desperately shoved aside items he didn’t want until he finally felt the corner of the little packet. “Ha!”

“Give me.” Emily snatched the condom. She tore it open, then, with a wicked gleam in her eyes, slowly rolled it down his length, stroking his balls as she came to the base.

“Enough!” Max pounced on her and crushed her mouth underneath his. For a split second he thought he’d done it again, scared her with his overwhelming need, because she hesitated. Then, thank God, she was kissing him back with equal ferocity. She spread her legs, dug her fingers into his buttocks, and guided him inside her.

So…damn…good. But even through the pleasure spiking his pulse he felt her tight muscles resist him. He reached deep for his last ounce of control and held still to give her time to adjust to his size. When she finally nodded, he pushed slowly forward until he was seated fully inside her. Keeping an eye on her reaction, he pulled out, then pushed back in again. She hummed in pleasure, her head arching back.

That was it. Primitive instincts took over, driving him toward the peak. Emily twisted and moaned beneath him. He’d never seen anything so erotic or so beautiful. Her fingers raked down his back. He pounded into her harder. Then harder still. Close. He was so…close. Emily spasmed around him and cried out in release. Max exploded a heartbeat later. For a perfect moment he held still, bracing himself above her, as his entire essence drained out of him. Then he collapsed on top of her.

No. Too heavy. He forced himself back up on his elbows and carefully withdrew, groaning as her muscles squeezed weakly in an attempt to hold him inside. After he disposed of the condom in their garbage baggie, he lay down beside Emily and pulled her into his arms.

She snuggled against him. “Mmm…amazing,” she murmured. She pressed a soft kiss to his chest, then slipped into sleep.

“Yeah, fucking amazing.” As he, too, drifted into sleep, he had the unsettling feeling that a previously cold, dark part of him had just been reborn.

NINETY MINUTES LATER, Emily was back behind the wheel of the Jeep. They’d both slept for about an hour after that mind blowing bout of sex, then hurried through eating breakfast. It hadn’t taken long before the jungle became too dense to drive through, so they’d again been forced onto the road.

Her whole body still tingled from the aftereffects of Max’s loving, and she couldn’t help the happiness that lifted the corners of her mouth. She didn’t know what mattered most to her about what they’d done. That Max—a rough, dangerous man unlike anyone she’d ever known—had given her such pleasure, or that he’d been so completely unfazed by her scars. Aside from visits to her doctor, no one had seen her naked since the attack. In fact, she’d carefully kept as much of the scar tissue hidden as possible, knowing that seeing it upset her family and friends.

Yet Max accepted it as part of her. He saw her as beautiful despite the uneven and discolored flesh. He insisted it was just another part of her. She wished she could find the words to tell him how much that meant.

“Hey, I thought we’d moved beyond your self-consciousness.” Max’s fingers gently moved her hand away from her neck and Emily frowned. She hadn’t even realized she’d been touching her scars.

“I—” Not knowing what to say, she just shook her head instead.

Max pressed a quick kiss to the palm of her hand, then let her go so she could hold the wheel with both hands as she steered around a pothole. “Will you tell me about it? How you got your scars?”

Emily sighed and chewed the inside of her cheek. She wasn’t surprised that he’d asked, yet she felt reluctant to bring that ugliness into the aftermath of their lovemaking. Still, Max deserved to know.

“I was a principal dancer with the Ballet of the Bay in San Francisco,” she said. “They’re a ballet company founded with the intent of having a culturally diverse group of dancers. Seven months ago, we were one night away from finishing a tour in Russia. But during the pre-performance warmup, one of the other dancers snapped. I still don’t know what set her off. I hadn’t knocked into her or stepped on her foot. I wasn’t even that close to her. So I didn’t see what happened. All I remember is coming out of a spin and hearing Agatha screaming. I didn’t realize she was angry at me until I felt liquid hit my neck and felt a terrible burning.”

She couldn’t help it, her hand rubbed her scars. “The pain was worse than anything I’d ever experienced. I swear I could feel the acid eating through my skin to my muscles to my nerves, until that section went numb. That was even scarier, because even through my pain I recognized that losing feeling meant serious damage.”

Her stomach churned and her breath hitched. “I don’t remember much of anything beyond the sounds of my own screams. It’s mostly a blur of darkness and pain. But…one of the dancers told me that they had to hold me still because I was thrashing about like a fish caught on a line.”

“Jesus.” Max took her hand and placed it back on the steering wheel, then began lightly stroking her scars.

The tenderness of his touch made her sniffle. Oh, no. She couldn’t afford to cry. How would she see the road through the tears? To distract herself, she continued, “According to the other dancers, Agatha had grabbed a bottle of drain cleaner off the janitor’s cart and thrown its contents at me. Luckily, the bottle was only partially full and I was still in motion as I finished my turn. So the acid didn’t hit as large an area as she’d intended. Thanks to quick thinking on the part of one of the female dancers, they got me down on the floor and emptied everyone’s water bottles over the affected area. Some of the dancers ran down to the bathrooms and returned with more water. By the time help arrived, most of the acid had been rinsed off.”

Max placed a gentle kiss on her scars, then settled back in his seat. “You were lucky.”

“Yeah. They rushed me to the nearest hospital.”

“Tell me someone from the dance group went with you to the hospital,” Max growled.

“No.” Feeling the stifling fear and loneliness rise up inside her as if she was back in that cold, frightening hospital, Emily steered the Jeep over to the side of the road and parked. She crossed her arms over her chest, fighting the shakes. “According to the other dancers, they were told there was no room for anyone else in the ambulance.”

“What? You had to endure the first few hours after the attack all alone?”

“Yeah. After being questioned by the authorities, the rest of the dancers flew home as planned. Except for Agatha, who’d been arrested. The remaining performances were, of course, cancelled.” She shrugged, but from this distance she found it hard not to judge her fellow dancers. Someone should have fought to go with her. Someone should have realized that she’d want to see a familiar face. “I drifted in and out of consciousness, despite the drugs they gave me.” She’d woken up a few times, scared and in pain and surrounded by strangers she didn’t understand. “Once I was stabilized, the U.S. embassy arranged for me to be airlifted to a hospital in Moscow, where the treatment facilities were better able to handle a case like mine. The embassy also called my family to let them know what had happened and where they could meet me.”

“So your colleagues left you alone, in pain, in a country where you didn’t speak the language. Did you at least have a translator?”

“Not at first. That was what made the situation so scary. I had no idea what was going on. How badly I was hurt. What they were doing to me.” Every time someone stepped into her room, she’d panicked. She put a hand to her chest, feeling once again the suffocating pressure and the spastic beat of her heart.

“Easy, Em. You’re safe now.”

Max’s words brought her back to the present. “There was some big political event going on, so all of the embassy’s usual translators were busy. They eventually found an available translator, but he wasn’t comfortable around the hospital. He would turn his back whenever the medical team checked my wounds. And I was never certain if he was telling me the truth, or just whatever came to mind in order to get away from me faster.” He’d made her feel like a freak. As if she’d been at fault for not understanding the language and for forcing him to be exposed to such unpleasantness.

A tear dripped down her cheek and Max wiped it away. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t have asked.” He pulled her across the console and onto his lap.

“Max,” she sniffled, “your leg.”

“Screw my leg. Just let me hold you.”

Giving in, she snuggled against him, searching for the warmth and comfort she hadn’t received after the attack.

“How long did it take your parents to reach you?”

“A couple of days. My father chartered a jet immediately upon the visas being approved. Once my parents and brother arrived at the hospital, one of them was by my bedside at all times.” She rubbed her cheek against Max’s t-shirt to dry her tears.

“I don’t think the doctors and hospital staff knew how to handle my father.” The memory of him giving orders to the shocked doctor brought a rueful smile to her lips. “He’s very soft spoken and polite, but he has a will of steel. He steamrolled over the staff and the hospital’s regulations without them quite realizing what he was doing. Plus, he immediately arranged for an expert translator with a stronger stomach to be present any time a staff person entered my room. As soon as it was safe to move me, my father made certain that I was transferred to the best burn care unit in the States.”