Chapter 821
He took a deep, shuddering breath near her temple, his lips brushing the edge of her hairline rather than her neck. He was drinking in her scent, the simple, clean smell of soap and sweat, as if it were the only thing keeping him anchored in a world of chaos and violence.
Slowly, he lifted his head.
The vulnerability in his gray eyes was gone, burned away by a new fire. It was a tidal wave of emotion, raw and overwhelming, that threatened to consume them both.
His hand did not come up to cup her face. There was no uninjured hand left for that. His right arm remained locked across his torso inside the heavy medical brace, and his left hand stayed trapped in the black splint beneath her palms. The need to touch her flickered across his face and died there, denied by metal, gauze, and bone-deep pain.
“You have no idea what you do to me, Caroline,” he rasped, his voice so thick with emotion it was barely recognizable.
She was the one who moved first. She rose a fraction on her toes, closing the last inch between them, giving him permission without a word.
And then his mouth was on hers.
It was unlike any kiss they had ever shared. There was no anger, no punishment, no battle for control.
It was pure, unadulterated worship.
It was the kiss of a man who had been starving and had just been offered a feast. It was filled with a desperate, drowning gratitude, a profound need to consume her, to merge with her, to make her a permanent part of himself so he could never lose her again.
The intensity of it buckled her knees. Her body went soft and pliant, and she steadied herself by gripping the front of his modified field jacket, careful of the rigid brace beneath it. He did not hold her up. He couldn’t. The only thing keeping her upright was her own stubborn balance and the fierce, trembling choice to stay close.
She kissed him back with an equal, answering fire, pouring all her forgiveness, all her understanding, all her fierce, complicated love into the embrace.
The air in the small room seemed to ignite. They were two pieces of white-hot metal, being forged together in the heat of a shared, violent world.
His arms did not tighten around her waist. He did not lift her. He did not crush her against the hard planes of his body. His hands stayed exactly where the brace and splint held them, and somehow the restraint made the kiss even more devastating. All that force, all that possession, had nowhere to go except into the pressure of his mouth and the ragged sound of his breathing.
His mouth left hers only briefly, brushing the corner of her jaw with a restraint so careful it almost hurt. He did not brand her skin. He could not trap her against him. He could only lower his head and let each controlled touch say what his body was no longer allowed to enforce.
When they finally broke apart, gasping for air, Caroline’s lips were throbbing, swollen, and exquisitely tender. She rested her forehead against the brace-distorted line of his chest, her legs shaking, her mind a blissful, empty haze.