Fire and Ice - Anne Stuart [27]
Why did she feel she’d walked into a trap? “No more arguments. As long as it’s not a love hotel I won’t put up a fuss.”
“You Americans are so puritanical,” he said. “It’s much better to be practical about these things. Sex is recreational, marriage is a business matter.”
“And what is love?”
“Doesn’t exist.”
She just looked at him. “What about Taka and Summer? Don’t you think they’re in love?”
“Su-chan is American, Taka is half.”
“Meaning only gaijin fall in love?”
“Meaning only gaijin are fool enough to pay any attention. The best thing to do if you start thinking such things is to lie down and wait for it to pass. It always does.”
She stared at him. “You speak from your great experience at falling in love?”
“I’ve avoided it. It’s a weakness and a waste of time, if it even exists. I’m better off without it.” He pulled the car to a stop. The street was darker than most of Tokyo’s neon-lit brilliance, and he cut the engine, turning to look at her. “So you can stop looking at me like that when you think I don’t know. I’ll go to bed with you if that’s what you want, but that’s all you’re getting.”
She’d never hit another human being in her entire life. She punched him, hard, so fast and instinctive that he didn’t have time to stop her, so fast that she didn’t realize what she’d done until it was too late. She’d hit him hard—her knuckles had slammed against bone and flesh and it hurt.
He didn’t move. “I guess that’s a no,” he said.
She’d been about to apologize, but the words died in her mouth. “Are you trying to make me hate you?” she said instead. She should apologize; she didn’t believe in hitting people. But he’d needed a whack upside his head, big-time.
His answer surprised her. “Maybe.” He opened the car door. “Stay put. I’m going to find us a place to stay. Just lock the doors and keep down.”
He closed the door quietly and started down the empty street, a lone, wiry figure in the deserted night. She opened her door, suddenly nervous. “Are you coming back for me?” she called out.
He turned and grinned at her, a flash of white in the darkness. “Don’t worry, Ji-chan. I’ll let you know when I decide to feed you to the sharks. Lock the door.”
She sank back in the seat, locking the door as ordered, pulling his jacket around her. He must be cold, he must be sick of her. She’d punched him. She still couldn’t believe she’d done such a thing. The last person she’d hit had been Tommy Hepburn when he’d taken her Tonka truck in first grade. She’d hit Reno, and while a part of her was horrified, part of her was glad she’d done it.
Her hand hurt. She could still feel the bone and flesh in his cold, pretty face. There was no violence in her—she was a pacifist in every sense of the word. And she wanted to hit him again.
She’d better think twice about doing it again. He wasn’t the kind of man to let someone get away with it twice.
Maybe he knew he’d deserved it. Maybe he just didn’t care. Maybe he was lying and never coming back, leaving her on her own in a strange city. She could handle it. As long as he wasn’t dead, she could just as easily abandon him as he abandon her.
And she would. If he wasn’t back in half an hour. Not that she had any way of telling time; it was after midnight, but then, her sense of time was all screwed up. Days were blending together—had she first landed yesterday or the day before? She hadn’t the faintest idea of the date. She’d gone backward in time, and the snatched hours of sleep, the constant movement on top of normal jet lag, had put her in an altered state of consciousness.
She should give him back his jacket. He must be cold. It wasn’t snowing in the city, but it was still midwinter and he was wearing nothing more than a skin-tight T-shirt.
She stayed put. Either he’d come back or he wouldn’t. At that point she was too tired to worry about it. She slid down and closed her eyes, practicing her deep breathing. Good air in, bad air out, shut out all those scary thoughts….
Someone loomed up outside her window, and she let out a small scream as he rapped