Page 41 of Silent Comrade
Behind the mental wall, his virus urged Redto cover her with his body and never let anyone hurt this woman,ever again. His arms strained with the need to wrap her up and pullher tightly to him. Every sense zoomed in on her, to the exclusionof his job.
Then, after another sigh and movement, theblankets shifted. He concentrated on her face. In the filteredstreetlight, her pale skin took on a bluish glow.
He swallowed again, a hard lump in histhroat. His body responded to her. She was satin over porcelainover steel. God help him, but Red wanted her. Needed her.
No.
That’s not why he was here.
As he tried to ease away, back to hiscorner, she hummed a soft note that tasted like summertimelemonade. She clamped her other hand over his wrist.
Damn it. What a mess. Every muscle in hisbody strained to surround her. Possess her.
His heart slammed against his chest. Aircoming in and out of his lungs burned. He went through hisbiofeedback techniques to push down the baser impulses. Breathe:in, out, in, out. Concentrate on the assignment. He grabbed thephone with his free hand, scrolling again through the securityimages. The mundane activity might calm him.
His restrained hand would stay there as longas Britt wished it.
He rested his head against the mattress, hishand held by both of hers as she drew it to her chest. The warmthfrom her body seemed to flow into him. His thighs cramped in thiskneeling position.
Red refused to move.
Chapter Nineteen
Britt’s phone alarm jolted her awake: 6:00AM.
Her muscles had locked up, mid-dream. Herarm wouldn’t move. It was clamped down hard, like how that mangrabbed her last night … right before he choked her out. Rightbefore mild-mannered, nerdy fashion student Al turned into astone-cold, counterattacking fighter. Her heart thudded against herribs. She sucked in a breath, and her sore back muscles ached withthe movement.
In the dark bedroom, reality shifted anddanced like smoke in the wind. She inhaled the scent of plain,clean soap, laced with a hint of pine. Even in her confusion, thatsimple smell calmed her. Anchored her.
I’m not in that store with those men,she reminded herself, despite her heart’s desperate flittering. Shestared at the normal, familiar apartment window.Not in thestore.
Tugging on her hand, she slid it from thewarm grip of…
Al.
He silently reached up from his spot on thefloor next to the bed, silenced the alarm, and flipped on thenightstand light, making his orange hair glint. Looking up from hisseated position with his face less than a foot from hers, heblinked. Lines of fatigue bracketed his frown.
“How long have you been there?” she said,touching the back of her wrist where his fingers had been. Shewanted to retain every bit of remaining warmth.
A shrug. “A while.” His morning-rough voicemade her insides quiver, as she banished her nightmare and woke upcompletely.
He was right here. In her bedroom. Not inthe store. She peered around the room. No one else waited for herin the shadows. Just Al. He wasn’t Al, the fashion student. Thisguy was Al, the secret, kind-of military guy. She knew nothing elseabout the person sitting inches away from her.
Sleep-confusion and lingering memories oflast night’s attack hit her all at once. A shudder ripped down herback. Her chest tightened. Air struggled to move in and out of herraw throat.
“Easy there, Britt.” He hadn’t moved but hisvoice soothed her, sure as if he had stroked her with his hands.“You’re okay.”
Flopping back on the pillow a few inchesfrom where he sat, she ran her hand down to the edge of themattress. Also warm. He must have rested his head there.
As swirling panic threatened to swamp her,she grounded herself.
Solid bed beneath her body. Her bed.
Lamp light. Familiar.
Scent of pine. Al.
The coo of a morning dove outside thewindow. Real.
