+18 - eps 22-27 - A case takes Russell and Brock to the brink of death. It'll be up to Gillian and the team to rescue them before they're killed by a white supremacist militia. And in the aftermath of the Paris attacks, the threat of a bio attack fo...
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At any other time, Gillian would've appreciated the way he'd turned her words on his behalf. But she needed a brain in order to do that, and her mind had gone suddenly blank, the overdrive melted away in his kiss. She could only register his hands on her cheeks, his piercing eyes on her, the wet tinkling of her lips. And his were still so close. Pursed in that way she loved. So close she could feel his breath on her skin. So close she only needed to lift her chin... Her eyelids came down when his lips welcomed her back. She didn't even notice her hands came up to rest on his chest.
She could only be aware of him.
Kissing her.
It was completely surreal. She lost herself to his warm, caressing lips and his gentle tongue. A delicious chill made her shiver when one of his hands moved away from her face and his arm circled her back. And then his body pressed against hers, and his fingers entwined her hair.
But none of it was as mesmerizing as his kiss. Slow and deep; soft, yet intense. Not only was he such a good kisser. It was also the way he sought every bit of contact. Nobody had ever kissed her like this. As if time didn't exist anymore. The whole universe could collapse over their heads and he'd still keep kissing her.
It was intoxicating.
Brock held her tight, not willing to let go any time soon. There was something completely unexpected about kissing Gillian. Let alone the rush of her seeking him back instead of punching his lights out. Let alone the electric tinkling roaming all over his body at her touch. Let alone the way she seemed to surrender to it—to him—and even shivered in his arms.
It felt right.
Like finding out of the blue a place where he belonged.
Because it was her, and that was the amazing power she had over him. The simple touch of her hand wiped away the nightmares. Her kiss offered the kind of peace nobody found but at home.
She brushed his lips to bring the kiss to such a slow, gentle end that he could but oblige, even against his will. Then he glanced down at her.
She looked straight into his eyes, her mind a stirring havoc, her body longing for more, her breathing quick and shallow. Yes. It was really him. The stupid bitter man. Brock. Declan Brockner. In the flesh. Not just another dream. The palm of her hand felt his heartbeat. His smell filled her nose. Her mouth tasted of him. She had no idea how, but it happened. And she wanted to keep this image of him in her memory for ever.
His thumb caressed her cheek, then slid along her lips. She gasped at his touch and he flashed the warmest smile she'd ever seen. His low, deep voice was a whisper that caused her yet another chill.
"I love you..."
To Brock's utter confusion, she stiffened at his words. Her eyes got full of tears and she shrugged away from his arms, lips trembling without a sound. He tried to speak but she shook her head as she withdrew to her room. She stepped in, closed the door and locked it.
He lingered there for a moment, trying to understand what had made her panic like that. He waited for two endless minutes, then he knocked softly on her door.
No response. Only silence from inside the room.
"Gillian...?" he called, keeping his voice low.
Now he did get an answer. Loud voices from the ground floor. Great, the punks were back. They'd be up there in a minute. He breathed deep, spun around and strode down the narrow hall to his room.
Russell was sent as a scout to make sure they wouldn't disturb Brock and Gillian, since they were nowhere to be found at the ground floor. When he reached the landing and peered at the second floor, there was nothing to disturb.
