Cold as Ice - Anne Stuart [84]
He pulled to a stop on the side of the road, killed the lights and the engine, and looked at her.
“What’s this all about?” she demanded. “Surely you didn’t go to all that trouble to get me out of there just for the pleasure of killing me yourself?”
“Tempting as the idea is, no. Unfasten your seat belt.”
“You’re abandoning me in the woods?”
“No,” he said, reaching over and unfastening her seat belt.
She hit at his hands to stop him, but he simply captured her wrists in one hand while he undid the belt. The he leaned over farther so that he was brushing against her, so close she could remember the familiar scent of his skin and soap. She felt dizzy, and she held her breath.
He pushed open the door, then leaned back, releasing her hands. “Goddammit, why are we here?” she demanded. The dizziness should have faded once he moved away, but in fact it was growing stronger, and her stomach, momentarily appeased, suddenly decided to move into overdrive.
“You’ll know in just a minute.”
It didn’t take that long. She had just enough time to get herself out of the car, on her knees by the side of the road, throwing up everything she’d just wolfed down.
And him! Damn him, he’d gotten out of the car, come around beside her and was holding her, holding her braided hair away from her face, supporting her as she puked her guts out. She couldn’t push him away, she couldn’t do anything but let him hold her until everything was gone, and she was racked by dry heaves. She wanted to die, both from misery and humiliation, and all she could do was let him hold her.
“Finished?” he asked in a kind, businesslike voice. He had a handkerchief with him—of course he did— and he wiped her face with it. His cold blue eyes were dispassionate as he looked down at her. “You’ll do. Get back in the car and we’ll find someplace to spend the rest of the night. I could have told you that death and fast food don’t mix but I didn’t think you’d listen.”
She wanted to protest, but she was too weak to do anything but let him bundle her back into the car and fasten the seat belt around her trembling body. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes, stifling her instinctive moan of pure misery, and it wasn’t until he was driving again, back toward a more populated area, when his words sank in.
“Where did you say we were going?”
“We’re going to the cheapest, sleaziest motel I can. We both need to sleep.”
“I’m not sleeping with you!”
“I know this will come as a shock to you, but I don’t find someone spewing their guts out to be a particular turn-on. I certainly didn’t rescue you for the sex, which, while pleasant enough, was nothing special. I assure you I can do better without half trying.”
The words stung. Why did they hurt, and why had he said them? “Then why did you?”
“I told you, a favor for a friend.”
“That’s what Takashi said. You couldn’t both think you’re just helping each other.”
“He told you his real name? That surprises me. He’s usually a better judge of who to trust.”
“Whom to trust,” she said automatically. “Why did you come halfway across the world to get me?”
“Unfinished business.”
“Who? Me or Harry? Or both of us?”
He closed down on her, his face that cool, enigmatic mask once more, and he didn’t answer. They were moving away from the city, into the massive suburban sprawl, and she didn’t want to think anymore. About her stomach, about her future, about him. She just wanted everything to go dark and stop moving for a while.
She opened her eyes with a start. He’d finally found a motel that suited him—the M in the sign had burned out, one of the streetlights was broken, the building looked as if it wouldn’t withstand the next minor earthquake. The paint was cracked and peeling, but they’d have beds, and that was all she cared about.