to protect. Period.
“Princess Mirela of Ninsele.”
“Drei.” She strung out his name on a long melodic syllable that reminded him of her earlier song.
Had it only been hours since the funeral?
The world had shifted since then.
“Mirela Selskala,” he tried again, earning only a huff of exasperation.
Then she surprised him by sinking backward, pulling him off balance and dragging him with her.
Suddenly they were tangled together in the weather cloak, too close to the fire, and Drew was forced to roll over and take her with him. She seized the advantage and twisted in his arms until she straddled him.
And Drew was already so far gone he didn’t resist. Couldn’t. Not when she lifted her mouth to his again in an unspoken demand and laughed that silken laughter that he never heard anymore, hadn’t realized how much he missed.
The last thing in the world Drew should do right now was give in. The absolute last. He’d do better to put the pistol in his mouth and pull the trigger.
But when she rocked her hips, swaying until she had his reawakening erection trapped between her smooth thighs, he could only ride out the motion and try to hide that she was about to shake loose any possibility of resistance.
But she already knew because she sighed softly and swayed erotically, opening herself to him, and he finally gave in. Arching his hips, he found her softness, and thrust home with her name spilling from his lips.
“Mirie.”
CHAPTER FIVE
MIRIE HAD ONLY wanted a moment, had asked for right now. By definition that meant their interlude in the cave wouldn’t last forever, yet when Drei tugged on the harness she wore and asked, “Ready?” she wanted to shake her head with an emphatic no.
A strange sense of panic took hold now that they were dressed again. She wasn’t ready to leave, wasn’t ready to face the aftermath of her choices.
And she wasn’t ready to end her time with Drei.
Not when she had felt more alive during these fantasy hours together than she had in a very long time.
“Yes,” she said. No!
He only nodded, so terribly distant.
She couldn’t read his mood. The handsome face that had been hungry with arousal and so alive with pleasure had solidified into an expression that should have been familiar.
In some ways it was. She recognized the features, but had never understood that the impassive facade was a mask. She had glimpsed the real him today.
The intimacy they shared made him a familiar stranger. The difference was striking enough to unsettle her. As she had dressed, she felt uncertain, as if somehow putting on clothes together had been more monumental than taking them off. Her nerves were playing games with her, making her thin-skinned after too many conflicting emotions, too many memories in a short span of time. The memories alone had always unsettled her.
But all was well now. Or should have been.
General Bogdanovich had made contact. The attackers had long since escaped, and when the storm eased up enough for travel, her close-protection unit had arrived to retrieve her. They were above on the ridge. They’d sent down dry clothing and gear so she could safely make the ascent.
Mirie should be relieved the threat was over, and grateful to be alive. But when she looked at Drei, securing his own harness with the hands that had just held her, pleasured her, she felt a pang of...something, and her breath hitched in her throat at the physical intensity of the sensation.
He glanced up. The hard lines of his face softened, and she could see past the mask. His eyes caressed her as if he might never see her again. She glimpsed longing, and regret.
For one instant, Mirie thought he would reach out and touch her. An acknowledgment of what had passed between them, the caring, the comfort, the contentment. But he didn’t. He said unnecessarily, “They’re waiting above.”
He didn’t bother extinguishing the fire. There wasn’t much life left in the flames anymore, just enough to light their way as they left this place of shelter and unexpected escape.
Nerves were definitely making her thin-skinned and moody. Emotion swelled in her chest as they stepped out onto the ledge.
The path was lit with emergency lanterns to mark their way, a path that ascended straight up from the ledge. From this vantage point, Mirie marveled that they had made the descent successfully at all. Surely she would never have made it had fear and a storm not driven them to desperation.
Drei braced her close as he secured her to the rappel lines, his expression shadowed by the artificial light, his motions perfunctory. Could he so easily forget the way they had found comfort together? It shouldn’t matter, but it did. She wasn’t sure what she had expected after breaching the boundaries of their relationship so completely. Maybe that was the problem. She had acted impulsively, and he had been forced to react to her. There had been no thought. She had felt, and hadn’t been willing to let that feeling go.
She considered this while clinging to the rappel line one-handed. The line lifted her off the ground, and she used her feet to maneuver the branches, twisting them out of her way to avoid the snow dislodged with each step.
The climb was steep even with assistance from above, but Mirie felt no weariness, only awareness of Drei a few feet behind her. He steadied her with an occasional hand on her bottom. He helped her shove aside branches to spare her the trouble when he could. He would have caught her had she fallen.
He protected her. That much was the same.
Then the climb was over. There were men handling the equipment on the ledge, their bodies harnessed around tree trunks to provide the leverage to work the lines. She could see them well before the general reached for her hands to drag her up the remaining distance.
And Mirie left behind her emotions in that snowy gorge, put her own mask back on. “Thank you, General. Gentlemen,” she said, as she gained her footing.
There were quiet greetings, but Mirie was left to the company of the general as the unit of armed men worked to bring up Drei safely.
General Bogdanovich was minister of security with the NRPG under his command. He draped a blanket around her shoulders, and Mirie quietly endured his inspection as she stared into the face dominated by a bushy mustache that overcompensated for a head of thinning brown hair.
“Thank God you’re all right,” he said.
She felt the same way about him. “What of the villagers? You said there were injuries. How serious?”
“Scrapes and falls in the rush to get to the village mostly. No casualties—yet. The priest is in critical condition. The poliţie transported him to the hospital.”
But he wasn’t dead yet. Mirie’s eyes fluttered shut, and she inclined her head. The nearest hospital was forty minutes away in the best of weather, and the storm
