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26. Wind
IT WAS HARD to tell if it was morning or night when I woke up. Grey clouds hid the sky. The wind hadn’t stopped blowing all night, splattering the rain in quick squalls and giving me a tormented sleep. I drew the curtains closed and turned towards the bed. Roy’s face was still deadly pale, even though his breathing was normal and the bleeding had stopped. I curled up again next to him, aware that I couldn’t let him sleep. We needed to get ready, but if he wasn’t already up, it meant he was too exhausted.
I kissed his shoulder and rubbed his arm where a tiny red pinprick marked the spot of the injection. With a light stroke of my tongue, the little wound disappeared. His hair was deliciously messy around his face, and I brushed it back from his sharp cheeks. He stirred, turning in my arms, his eyelids fluttering open.
“Is it time?” he asked, his voice raspy.
“Almost. How do you feel?” I touched his neck to feel his kicking pulse.
“Better than last night.”
No, he wasn’t going to be better. “The methapentin will damage your heart. You should stop taking it.” Although I wasn’t sure it caused the bleeding.
“I know.” He took my face and stared at me, as if he wanted to memorise my features. “Do you have second thoughts about today’s mission?”
“No. But maybe you should stay here and recover. I’ll stay with you if you want.”
He rubbed my cheeks with his thumbs. Colour returned to his skin as a slow, sexy smirk pulled up a corner of his mouth. “If we both stay here, I won’t sleep and recover, and you’ll be naked underneath me, with your lovely legs spread open or wrapped around my waist. Or my neck, while I eat your delicious, wet cunt.”
A series of emotions overlapped within me. Shock at his crude language; excitement and anticipation as his words conjured a very vivid, very interesting image in my mind; and a scorching, heated flush of desire. My mouth dropped open. “Roy.” Gosh, my face was flaming. My whole body was flaming.
He reclined his head and laughed, holding me against his chest. Kissing the top of my head, he pushed the blanket aside. “We’d better go. But I promise you that when we’re back, I’m going to keep my promise and do exactly what I want with you.”
I was still too stunned to come up with a witty remark or to simply tell him that he’d promised to not touch me. Not that I was complaining.
He smiled at me, buttoning his shirt and waistcoat. “I know what you’re thinking.”
“Do you?” I buttoned my shirt and donned my woollen skirt.
“Sod the bloody rules. I don’t care about them. I’ll shred them to pieces to be with you.”
“Do you mean that?”
He cupped my face and kissed me again. “Every word. I’ve had enough of resisting you. It’s torture. I want you like I’ve never wanted anyone.” Another sweet kiss. “And I’m going to take you when we’re back. I’m going to take you so hard you won’t think about the rules ever again.”
Lord, his words ignited a fire in my veins and wetness gathered between my legs.
Chest heaving, he stepped back and grabbed his coat.
“Roy.” I walked over to him, worried as he winced while slipping into his coat. While I’d waited a long time to hear those words, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t well. “Seriously, you should consider postponing the mission.”
His carefree smile vanished. “Murphy and Connor have worked hard to set up this meeting. I won’t let them down, and I’m fine. I’m getting better by the minute.”
I sighed, hoping he was right.
After rummaging through his luggage, he handed me a Beretta pistol. “It’s loaded. Here’s the safety.” He flicked the small hook on and off. “Shoot at everything you don’t like, if things don’t go well.”
“I’m a terrible shooter.” And the recoil always hurt my shoulder and terrified me.
“It doesn’t matter. You have it. You know what you have to do. Better than nothing.” He stroked my shoulder.
The metal felt cold in my hand, but the gun was surprisingly light. I nodded and slid the pistol into my bag. Maybe I was becoming sentimental, but I’d brought my precious pictures with me. After the call with my aunt, I needed them close.
“Take this as well.” He gave me a car key. “It’s for the car’s ignition. Our escape car is a black Ford, parked at the intersection with Margaret Straat. The number plate is 14478. We’ll take that car if we have to flee. We couldn’t park it closer to the border for fear that it would have attracted the police’s attention, but it’s only five minutes’ walk from the rendezvous point.”
I took the key and nodded again while I memorised the information.
“Thank you,” he tossed over his shoulder, putting his coat on.
