Black Ice - Anne Stuart [69]
He shouldn’t have given in and gotten in bed with her. Yes, it was warmer with their body heat combined. Yes, the thin mattress on the bed was better than the even thinner blanket on the bare wood floor. Yes, they managed to fit their bodies together too damned well for his peace of mind. And yes, he wanted to push her over on her back, rip off her jeans and finish what he’d only begun a few short days ago.
He wondered if she’d felt his erection before she fell asleep. Probably not—she seemed totally oblivious to the effect she had on him. Which was just as well. He wasn’t about to complicate this already tangled mess any more than he had to. And making love to her would definitely complicate things.
He’d already fucked her—an entirely different matter. That should be enough. It was a normal enough response, and he knew himself well enough to try to dismiss it. Life-or-death situations brought out all sorts of primal appetites. Ugly but true. Danger aroused him.
And being in the presence of death, whether he’d been the one to kill or not, made him want to experience life on the most basic level. It made him want to fuck, and whether it was some caveman instinct about replenishing the species or a twisted fascination with sex and death, it still existed. He either acted on it or he didn’t, depending on the circumstances. There were often women operatives around who shared the same reaction, and a fast, frenzied coupling usually only heightened their defenses in times of danger.
But Chloe wasn’t an operative, she was ten years and a lifetime younger than he was, and a life-or-death situation would wipe all thought of sex from her mind. It would be a while before she got over the sight of her butchered friend, before she got over her hours with Hakim. She would, though. She might be not much more than a girl, but she was strong and resilient. She was back in a dark hole with him and she was sleeping, her suffocating claustrophobia at bay.
He could smell his scent on her, probably from wearing the coat that was now draped over both of them. For some reason he found that erotic. Then again, he was finding everything about her erotic.
The goddamned snow couldn’t have come at a worse time. If not for that, she’d already be on her way across the Atlantic, out of his life for good, and he’d be concentrating on his assignment. His final assignment.
He had to finish what he started at the château. Find out how the territories were going to be redistributed, and who was going to take Remarque’s place. Hakim had never held that much power. In fact, he’d been nothing more than a glorified administrative assistant, running things smoothly while the principals discussed disbursements. Of cabbage heads and fresh veal. Of long-range missiles and heat-seeking bullets. Of oranges and C4 and blood all around.
Christos was the big question mark. Why hadn’t he bothered to show up, and when he did, what did he have planned? Because the Christos he knew never entered a situation without a very detailed plan. There would be at least one person at the château who was privy to those plans—that was the way Christos worked. It might be the baron, who wasn’t nearly as harmless as he seemed, or perhaps even Monique. She was very difficult to pin down. She had a taste for pain, as well as sex, and he had yet to discover anything that made her vulnerable. It could be Ricetti or Otomi, Madame Lambert or even Ricetti’s assistant. It didn’t matter that the elegant young man servicing the Sicilian dealer was a Committee operative as well as Bastien. He wasn’t the only one there, and anyone could change sides if the price was right.
One thing was certain. Christos couldn’t be allowed to take over the leadership of the cartel, and it was up to Bastien to see to it. Thomason had been unclear as to what would happen to the rest of the dealers. Once the leader was disposed of, would they be left to reform? Probably—the Committee tended to prefer the devil they knew to the unknown, but it wasn’t his responsibility. He only had to kill one more person.