Portuguese. The fortnight she’d spent with a seductive and charming Portuguese soccer star while he enjoyed his millions during the off season had left her with a keen desire to study the language more in depth.
The exquisitely musical language, with the delicious rolling ‘r’ and fluid vowels had been easy to pronounce and she had grown to love the purr in her throat when she switched to what she dubbed her third native tongue.
The first being code. The second being English and the third, the language that spoke of the human passions in her life.
Family.
Husband.
“Amar,” she whispered as she rocked her body slowly and sinuously in time with Stefan as he pressed himself within her welcoming walls. His arms splayed along her hip and back, pulling her to him possessively.
“Lyubimyy,” he growled in response as he pulled her face to his, the meticulously trimmed beard he kept, rubbed seductively against her throat. Their lips met in a slow, searing embrace, fanning the fire between them. Gently, she pressed him back down as they continued the age old dance of love, their devotion to each other singular and unmatched.
Even with the heavy air of unrest in the family, Faith had refused to allow her husband to close himself off, drawing him back to her, to the safety of their love, where he could share with her and only her, the private grief of Athena, of what was already gone and what seemed lost forever.
Sometimes, it was a simple touch. A hand against his arm. A smile that only he saw. A kiss to his cheek that lasted long enough to fill him with much needed warmth.
Sometimes, it was more intimate. Her body pressed to his as they lay in the dark, needing no words.
And sometimes, it was the most intimate of places and time, in the most private of places, their sanctuary where no one dared to venture once the doors were closed.
Where their bodies moved in a rhythm they had discovered and mastered years ago but never tired from. Joined in bringing the core of who they were together, so that both could bask in the joy and the light it gave them.
“Coração,” she murmured into his ear again and again. “Meu coração.”
My heart.
She placed his hand near her breast, to feel the thrum against his palm. In the dark, his sapphire eyes drank in the sight of the woman he had adored for well over 2 decades as she sat astride him, her glowing visage trembling as her body neared its release.
She was his everything.
He rolled them over, settling his weight over hers, now propelling himself deeper within her, and giving her the release that only he would.
“Lyubimyy.”
Beloved.
*~*
There was a reason the girls rooms were at the other end of the house. There was a reason the walls were nearly soundproof. There was a reason the windows were triple paned.
There was a reason for three locks on the door.
“Marcus!”
Alexis’ cry was more of a wail as Marcus drove his hardness deep into her scorching wetness as she hung on for dear life. Again and again he maneuvered his tempo with the sound of her cries, holding her easily in place against the wall.
The wall with nothing hung up. Too many things had fallen and broken in the past, due to their vigorous and intense lovemaking, that an embarrassed Alexis eventually declared the wall off limits.
For the paintings and pictures, not for their love.
Once content that his sister was secure and that his girls were where they should be, in their own beds under the safety of his roof, he had wearily retreated to the bedroom he and his wife shared.
After Marcus had shed a few rare, but unashamed, tears, Alexis had done what she always did when he needed her strength. She had curled up next to him on their bed and told him of his girls, of their love for him, of the way their faces lit up when he came home from a hard day at work. Of the fine woman Gia had become and would remain and finally of herself, of what he had given her since the day he had held her hand while helping her across a patch of ice outside the PCPD.
She spoke, even as he began to shed their clothes, piece by piece.
Even now she spoke. Or rather called.
His name.
Over and over again.
*~*
“Boss.”
One word was all it took to know something was off.
The guard, somewhat abashed, indicated inside the mammoth suite as he opened it.
Sonny frowned as he entered the darkened hallway, feeling the door shut behind him. Distinct warmth came from the living room, an orange glow flickering against the walls. He took a few more steps inside and nearly gasped.
A roaring fire had been stoked, filling the tall ceilings and open floor plan with a toe curling warmth. Curled up on the plush sofa was Dara, fast asleep.
She had come. She had waited.
While hell was breaking loose in his world, she had started a fire and wrapped a throw round her, waiting for him to come back. He rounded the sofa, dropping his coat on an adjacent chair. Perching on the cushion, he gazed at her peaceful face and gently pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. The tender gesture woke her and she sat up, their gaze never breaking.
“Everything okay?”
No. It wasn’t.
“It is now,” he replied, his fingers moving along the smooth expanse of her cheek. Without waiting another moment, he leaned forward and her mouth welcomed his in a lingering kiss that left their bodies craving more.
“It’s late, I didn’t think you’d come.” When his mouth finally pulled away, he rubbed his thumb along the full lower lip, eliciting a shiver from her. He did it again and she shivered once more. When he moved to do it a third time, she bit down, gently, on the mischievous thumb and he smiled, his dimples flashing.
Dara tilted her head; her body beginning to throb with every second his chocolate eyes stared into hers.
“Yes you did.” She offered a wry look. “You knew I’d come.” Her hands ran down his chest, finding their way to the buttons on his shirt and began to open the shirt up, one free button at a time.
Truthfully, he didn’t know.
But it wasn’t until he saw her that he realized how much he had wanted her to come.
How much he had needed her to come.
How quickly and easily his troubles spilled away when she was near.
With ease, he pulled her into his lap, his hands roving her jean clad backside as she settled herself. As he pulled her mouth to his for another drugging kiss, all he could think was how much he wanted a moment like this to freeze in time.
Dara with him. Looking down on him with a mouth and eyes ready for his touch.
And he in turn, wanting to be her everything.
*~*
Without argument, without so much as a look, Sabrina had retrieved her husband from Thane’s room and found a small, private nook with a bed tucked into the corner.
“He’ll be safe,” she promised, without even indicating the telltale burliness and cold efficiency of the two men now flanking the entrance to Thane’s room.
Exhausted, Jack allowed himself to be brought into the nook, where his wife slid off his jacket, taking care to place his weapon, badge and phone on a nearby table, easily within reach. He did his usual protest as she found a pillow for him to rest his head on and she shook her head at him.
She would not have it. Cupping his face in her hands she soundly kissed him and instinctively, he pulled her to him, the nearness of her soothing his worn out state.
“Babe,” he said softly and she stilled any more words with a gentle glare.
“Doctor’s orders,” she informed him as she pulled off one shoe and then the other. “Lay back.”
He did. His body sighed with relief and yet his mind still worried, still wondered, still could not let go of what had happened with his brother. A rustling near the foot of the bed caught his attention. It was Sabrina, opening a duffel bag and pulling out a blanket.
It was no ordinary blanket.
“Haven’t seen that in a long time.”
She looked up as she unfolded the plain looking, but undeniably cozy blanket. “Scoot over,” she instructed and climbed onto the bed, molding her body to his before covering them with the soft fabric. She inhaled deeply his scent, nestling her face near his.
“I was in that hospital bed for days, having nightmares every night after the accident and you came with this old blanket of yours, crawled into bed with me and covered us both with it, so I wouldn’t be alone. I felt so safe with you, so wrapped up in your love,” she said softly, reminding him of the accident early in their relationship.
Jack’s arms rested around Sabrina and his eyes grew heavy.
“And I never had another nightmare after that. Because of you and this smelly old blanket.”
“Babe.”
This time, his voice was low and sleepy. But there was a grace to the word this time. An appreciation of his wife, his love and the old blanket that covered them both.
“Truth is I just can’t sleep properly without you next to me.”
Jack closed his eyes. “I know.”
A pause. “And I know you can’t have a good night’s anything without me.”
Of course she had to have the last word. Of course she had to be cheeky.
Jack smiled as he finally drifted off to sleep.
*~*
The club was packed. The main level, 2nd and 3rd levels were full of gyrating men and women, moving to the pounding electronic beat, the whirl of lights and strobes creating the desired effect of being in another world.
A place of escape.
She’d seen him here before. Catching the appreciative eye of most women and the flat, irritated eye of most men.
He was beautiful, but that was not entirely the only reason so many was drawn to him. His demeanor was cultured, his dress sophisticated and his manner cordial.
He was clearly wealthy and well groomed. He seemed like a prince.
Of course, he was not.
The past few weeks, she had seen him with other women, no matter the color, age or background. Someone would catch his eye and he would be exclusive to her.
But only once.
What should have resulted in screaming matches among the women had instead, almost amazingly, turned into a mature parting of the way. They did not fuss or cry or beg for his attention again.
Which was fine by her.
She didn’t want his attention.
Well, at least not until she looked up from her seat and saw what everyone else saw.
“The stranger returns,” she said; her gaze sharp, trying not to stare.
“Yes.”
“Call me crazy, but this place doesn’t really seem like your scene,” she remarked, taking a sip of her sparkling water.
“Oh?”
She paused. He didn’t talk much. Most men tried to dominate conversations, eager to take the lead. He seemed content to let her do that instead.
“Opera seems more like you.”
He tilted his head and looked at the crowd once more. “Astute.”
“So what’s a Cassadine like you doing in a place like this?”
Andresj looked down at her, this time his eyes were intense and she caught her breath.
Damn. He was good.
Andresj nodded to the main entrance. “What is the name of this establishment?”
“Escape.”
“Then you have your answer,” he said calmly, finishing his own drink. He politely inclined his head to her and smoothly placed his empty glass on an empty tray as a waitress floated by.
Maxie Jones arched her finely shaped brows as she watched him seemingly melt into the crowd of dancers. Escape? What on earth did a successful, gorgeous, rich, young guy like Andresj Cassadine have to escape?
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