Fire and Ice - Anne Stuart [54]
“I’ll find you some food,” he said, trying to sound casual. “They’ve got a cafeteria here. More miso soup will do the trick.”
She said nothing. Her face was expressionless, eerily so, as she let him guide her along the pebbled path. Why the fuck did he ever think he wanted her to be docile? She was annoying as hell when she was talking back to him, but anything was better than this passive, lifeless doll.
He circled the shrine itself—there were people there, and he’d failed to bring anything to cover his telltale hair. He was an idiot to keep it. The first thing he was going to do when they got someplace safe was cut it off and dye it black. He was like a walking neon sign—in the past his notoriety and that of his grandfather’s had kept him safe. Now it was drawing the enemy closer to him like a beacon of light.
He bought her a can of coffee from one of the vending machines, and he made her sit while she drank it. She swallowed miso soup and picked at the bento box from the cafeteria—another sign of hope. As long as she could eat, she’d be all right. He’d never known anyone so intent on food, which would have been annoying if it didn’t turn him on.
Right now, on this rare occasion, sex was the last thing on his mind. He had to keep her safe and hidden until she snapped out of this, and wandering down the hidden pathways of the park could only take so long. Besides, she looked as if she was freezing in her skimpy, undeniably erotic get-up.
Okay, he wasn’t going to think about sex. He’d keep his eyes straight ahead, remember she was in shock, and forget about the glimpse of black lace garter he could see if he stepped back. Besides, she needed him beside her, not lusting after her.
It was late afternoon by the time they left the massive gardens and she still hadn’t said a word. Businesses were spilling out onto the brightly lit streets, and in Harajuku it was easy enough to blend in, even with a giant female gaijin. He managed to cram her onto one of the trains, shielding her with his body from curious looks or the roaming hands of salarymen. He switched them over to the Marounouchi Line, which circled around the center of the city, put her into a seat and guarded her. They could ride for hours while he figured out what the hell he was going to do with her.
She was in shock, and he knew people could die from shock. But the last thing he was going to do was take her to a hospital; there’d be too many questions, not enough answers. And if they decided to keep her there, he wouldn’t be able to protect her.
But he had to do something. The blank-faced, eerie silence was making him crazy. He wasn’t stupid enough to feel guilty that he hadn’t been able to protect her—he’d done his best, and if she hadn’t capped the man, they’d both be dead. She’d get over it. As soon as he found her a safe place to crash.
Jilly supposed she was cold. Her hands felt numb, her legs and knees were icy, but it didn’t seem to matter. She didn’t know where she was, but that didn’t matter, either. As long as she kept hold of Reno, she didn’t have to think. She could stay in the safe place she’d found, where nothing could touch her, nothing could intrude on the peaceful cloud she’d enveloped herself in.
The cold was nagging at her, pulling at her short skirt, trying to drag her back into the present, and that was the one place she refused to go.
He put his arm around her, only it wasn’t the iron grip he usually used. He must have known she’d given up. She wasn’t going to argue anymore. She was going to do exactly what he wanted her to do. As long as he didn’t try to talk to her, she was fine, perfectly fine. Because if she opened her mouth, she’d start screaming, and she didn’t think she’d be able to stop.
But everything was safe around her, a bubble of tranquillity that nothing could break. And she tucked her arm in Reno’s, leaned