I kissed him. I couldn’t taste enough of him. His hand found my side and threatened to linger there in chaste caution until I arched into his touch, and his fingers wandered up slowly. Gingerly.

The dark settled around me, touching me everywhere he didn’t, and I reached for him, pulling him closer. His hand found my breast, his fingers brushing my nipple, and when I moaned into his mouth, his hand tightened, bolder now. I arched into him, fumbling with the button on my jeans, and his hand trailed down to brush mine aside. A second later, the button was free, my zipper down.

Ian sat up on his knees and his hands slid down from my waist, slipping beneath the material at my sides, sliding it over my hips so slowly I squirmed in anticipation, my eyes closed. He followed the material all the way to my feet, leaving a trail of kisses down my left leg. Then he kissed his way up the other leg, his hands blazing the same trail in advance.

When I couldn’t wait anymore, I pulled him up, opening for him, reaching for another kiss. He settled between my thighs, and I could feel him, hot and hard, and ready.

“Are you sure?” he asked again, whispering in my ear this time. “I need to know that you want this.”

I blinked in the dark, and hot tears trailed silently down both sides of my face. “Yes. I want you, Ian.”

He exhaled, and I felt the tension in him ease. He slid one hand over my hip and down to my knee, then lifted my leg, guiding my ankle around his waist. My heart thumped almost painfully as I tucked my other leg behind him and pulled him down for another kiss.

He entered me slowly, and I gasped, sucking air from his mouth. Rising to meet him. When he was all the way in, he stayed for a moment, and I sucked his lip into my mouth, holding my breath. Reluctant to move.

Then he withdrew and slid inside me again, and we found our rhythm.

I clung to him, arching with him, holding him close. He buried his face in my hair, holding me with one arm, supporting his weight with the other. And everything else faded away, swallowed by the darkness he wrapped around us.

I remembered nothing but Ian. I felt nothing but him. I wanted nothing but him. And I never wanted that moment to end.

Then the rhythm changed, and I rode the waves, coasting toward an edge I could feel building, tighter and tighter. He moved inside me and I rose to meet him over and over, faster and faster, and the fire burning between us consumed all conscious thought for one precious moment. Then that fire crested to spill over the rest of me in a hot, desperate wave of pleasure and I clung to him again, riding it out to the finish.

Ian collapsed on the bed next to me and I rolled over to face him, unable to quell the languid smile I could feel forming. He leaned forward to kiss me, then I rolled onto my back again and put one hand on his chest, because I wasn’t done touching him. I never wanted to be done.

Slowly he let the darkness fade, and as the light rose to replace it, I found him watching me. And for the first time in months, maybe even in years, I felt safe.

Twenty-Four

Ian

I couldn’t stop watching her during dinner, after we’d heated up the meal that had almost gotten us killed. I loved the way she cut her steak into bites, then ate them two at a time and refused any sauce. The way she picked every single tiny sliver of carrot from her salad, then offered to trade them for my cucumber. I loved the way she laughed when I dribbled wine from the lip of the bottle because I was too busy watching her to pour with anything resembling competence.

She made a face over the red wine, but she liked the white enough to have a second glass after dinner. She was different now. More comfortable. More confident. Still brash, but less angry. She was funny and quick-witted, and on the rare occasions that night when her smile slipped, I suffered a renewed, intensified hatred for everyone who’d ever so much as bruised her, body or soul.

After dinner, I asked her if she wanted to stay the night—Tower’s order wasn’t good enough for me—careful to phrase my question so that she had an out, just in case.

She stayed, and we made love again, and afterward, with her head on my shoulder, my dark hand splayed against her pale stomach, I saw a snapshot of our life and what it could have been, if not for Tower. What it might still be, if I pulled off the impossible and freed us both, after I freed Steven.

After I freed all three of us, because she wouldn’t leave without her sister.

Kori fell asleep in my arms, in the dark, but rolled away from me in her sleep, so I curled around her, treasuring her warmth, wondering how so much woman could possibly fit into such a small, beautiful body.

* * *

Something woke me in the middle of the night, and I lay still, trying to figure out what I’d heard. Then I heard it again. Kori. I rolled over to find her mumbling in her sleep, half word, half moan of pain.

She was dreaming.

“No,” she murmured, and when she started twisting, the covers tangled around her legs, which seemed to upset her even more. “No, please…” Her eyes were closed, but her head rolled back and forth, a vague outline in the dark room.

“Please,” she begged in her sleep, and a tear rolled down her face, glittering in the moonlight shining between the cracks in the blinds. And that was all I could stand.

“Kori.” I touched her arm, and she froze. Her eyes flew open and her hand slid beneath her pillow. “Are you—” Before I could finish the question, she’d shoved me down on my back and I felt the cold steel of a knife at my throat. My pulse roared in my ears, my heart thumping painfully.

She was awake, but unaware, still caught in the nightmare. Still trapped in the basement. Only this time she was armed with a knife from the room service tray.