He also had no doubts that there would be many future opportunities to make up for his lapse.
He rocked into Francesca, gritting his teeth as her legs fell open, allowing him to fill her more thoroughly. He bent and covered her mouth with his again, smiling as her lips opened against the pressure of his mouth. She was baring all to him, he thought. Or, perhaps not all, but all she could.
Her hands lifted and settled on either side of his back, guiding him thrust for thrust. As he lifted himself again, moving to his knees, her fingers fell away and she bent her knees, straightened her legs. The resulting shift to her body slid him nearer to her center, and he was surrounded by her damp heat, the pressure of her slickly tight around him almost too much too bear.
He would have been able to bear it—would have been able to continue indefinitely—were it not for the expression on Francesca’s face.
Her eyes weren’t closed, exactly, but they’d narrowed to near slits, her lids drooping sensually as she stared at him, her mouth slightly open and her breath coming out in pants as he slid into her then out again, each time pressing harder, deeper. Her face was a study not in relaxation, but a soul-deep expression of satisfaction. When he murmured a sigh her gaze flicked up and he was taken with its intensity for all her apparent languor. In that moment she was perfect—not solely for him, but for this place, this country, this world. The one thing he knew that was right and true in his life, when everything else was in shambles.
Francesca chose that moment to smile, and her bright and sudden joy was all that it took to send Ryker crashing over the edge. He stiffened and her hands tightened on his arms, her eyes now flaring wide as she understood what was happening, wanted it to happen. As ready for it as he was, his climax came swift and strong, so powerful that he clamped his hands on her hips and held her as his eyesight dimmed then flashed white.
When he shook his head it cleared again, and there was Francesca beneath him—beautiful, serene Francesca, watching him knowingly.
“Beautiful,” he murmured again.
He leaned down to kiss her then rolled away, ridding himself of the condom then grabbing a fistful of towels from the stand by the door. Suddenly, the weight of the day’s events overtook him, and he stumbled his way back to Francesca, restored by her quiet laughter as he climbed into bed with her once more.
“We should stay indoors, I’m thinking,” he said as he moved up beside her.
If he was afraid that she would be self-conscious, he needn’t have worried, Francesca rested on her bent elbow, as relaxed as he’d ever seen her. She nodded. “A lot depends on where you want to go, but no matter what, nighttime is better. Stefan and his men will have likely moved out of the city by then, or they’ll restrict themselves to wherever they think you might be. That can’t be too many places, especially in a city as small as this one.”
He lifted his brows at her. “Now that so much time has passed without me doing any harm to anyone, you truly think they’ll be searching for me so diligently as that?” he asked, testing her. “Why would they care? Stefan assured me I had not committed any crime, and if I should stumble across someone who knows me or my family, what is the harm in that?”
Francesca’s response was stilted. “They want to ensure your safety is all. That you return to your family healthy and whole.”
He shook his head. SheknewStefan would be searching for him. If he hadn’t committed a crime, there was but one explanation. “That’s not reason enough.” He sighed. “I know the truth.”
Francesca went still, and he shook his head. “I’m not an idiot, Francesca. I was flying an expensive craft and wearing expensive gear when I crashed. I was being very well paid to do what I did, and someone likely feels guilty for what I have suffered.”
Her brows went up. “Guilty?”
“It’s the only explanation that makes sense,” he said. “Whoever put me into that plane on a regular basis is now trying to ensure I return to my family healthy and whole as you say. To put me up on the island of the royal family, give me the level of care they have, watch over my every step—they are a very rich group indeed. And I am grateful. But their guilt is misplaced.” He grimaced. “And that doesn’t change the fact that I have a family out there—perhaps in this very city, perhaps all the way to Mikala, with my friend Conti Goba. If my benefactors are not willing to contact them, that is certainly their choice. But it is my choice to attempt to find them. To piece back together this life I’ve been unable to live for so long.”
He leaned forward and touched his forehead to hers. “You watch me with such concern, but this is the right thing for me, Francesca. I do not have my memories, no. But I have my back, I have my hands. I have my mind, what is left of it. I was able to row a boat, and steer a larger craft as if I’d been doing it my entire life. I suspect I’ll be able to pilot an airplane as well. Or run fishing lines. Or do whatever it is I did before the storm dumped me into the sea. All I have to do now is find the trailing edge of that life and follow it back to my family.”
“But every time you think of them, or remember something about them, you experience pain,” Francesca said, frowning. “Don’t you think that’s a warning? Not about your family, necessarily, but—I mean, shouldn’t you have a professional with you when you go searching for these answers?”
“I do have someone with me,” he said. “I have you.”
The flash of wariness was back, skittering over her features before she once again composed herself. “I’m not a professional anything,” she said. “Not yet, and certainly not with you.”
He lifted himself on one elbow. This was a good enough time as any to learn a bit more about her. “I don’t know about that. You seem to have some skill in acquiring false papers in the capital city of my homeland—kind of a trick, considering you’re American.”
“I wondered when you’d get around to asking about that.”
To his surprise, Francesca didn’t balk at the line of questioning. Instead she lay back on the pillow, her gaze on him light, her manner deceptively easy.
“Where I grew up, the neighborhood bar was a favorite hangout for college kids—and kids who wanted to be college age,” she said. “There was a thriving market there for fake IDs, and the locals had gotten pretty good at it. Then, when I went away to college, one of the neighborhoods near the campus had the same sort of bar on the same scrubby street. I went inside, and it might as well have been an identical collection of guys in the back, setting up shop.”
He lifted his brows, and she shrugged. “I’ve traveled a little with school, not always in the nicest of towns, and it’s sort of become a thing for me. I find the shabbiest little bars near a thriving tourist or student district, especially if there’s a port or a marina or a border crossing—anywhere people can get through that doesn’t require public credentials. Chances are, you’ll find a bar like the one you went into today.”
“It sounds like you should travel in safer circles,” Ryker said, and as he’d hoped she would, Francesca laughed. She shifted her gaze away from him, relaxing yet another notch. It didn’t take much convincing for her to shift in his arms, her back to his chest, and drift in the soft sunlight.
As she settled into a drowsy slumber, Ryker kept his gaze on the window, focusing on keeping his body loose, his breathing even. He lowered his face to her hair, kissing her softly, but he knew the truth.
Francesca was lying to him.
He didn’t know why, but he suspected it was to protect him, not her, and that made no sense. There were too many things that made no sense, but that was going to change, he decided.
