Ice Blue - Anne Stuart [37]
It hadn’t taken her long to realize the candy was drugged. The Petersens knew she had a weakness for Rollos, and she’d spent the first two days in a daze, waking long enough to eat more chocolate before her paranoia kicked in. Jilly had made a lot of sacrifices in her life, but spitting out the chocolate when they weren’t looking had to be the hardest. When she got back, away from them, she was going to eat Rollos until she was sick, and then eat more.
But right now she was on a stretch of deserted highway in the middle of nowhere, freezing cold, hungry and pissed off. She refused to let herself be frightened; she didn’t frighten easily, and if, when she finally got a ride out of this nowhere place, her driver had other ideas, she knew how to handle that. Summer had had self-defense training, though she’d never said why. It had something to do with Summer’s childhood, Jilly expected, and her big sister would tell her when the time was right. In the meantime Jilly had learned from Summer—learned to disable a two hundred and fifty pound man in a matter of seconds.
There were headlights in the distance, coming down the straight, empty highway, and Jilly felt a wave of relief. Rescue was at hand, even if she ended up fighting for it. As the car drove closer her relief grew, and she dropped her thumb and waited until the white limo pulled up beside her, the driver lowered his window and his shaved head poked out. “His holiness has come for you, little one.”
Jilly despised being called “little one,” particularly since she was almost five-eleven, and she found the pasty white Shirosama revolting. But as she’d already decided, beggars could not be choosers.
“Thank God,” she said. And she climbed into the back of the limo.
9
The interior of the old car was very dark as Taka crawled inside it. Summer tried to scoot away from him, but even in a huge touring car there was only so much room, and he caught her easily, pulling her under him, trapping her beneath his body.
She didn’t fight him. Even in the shadows he could see her eyes, a clear blue, staring up at him, and he could see the fear she was trying to hide. The longer he drew this out the harder it would be for her, and he cradled her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing against her jaw, her throat, stroking, knowing he was going to have to exert pressure.
She was so soft beneath him. He liked hard bodies, slight women, thin and muscled. She was like nothing he’d ever looked at twice, and she was so deliciously soft.
He wanted to kiss her mouth, just to see if it was as soft as the rest of her. He could kiss her, and she wouldn’t even know she was dying as he did it.
She knew what was coming, she had to, and she closed her eyes, shutting him out, lost, resigned, and he moved closer, resting his forehead against hers, breathing slowly. His fingers were cradling her neck, his thumbs stroking her throat. He thought about the scars on her wrists, the darkness in her eyes. Maybe he was giving her what she really wanted, maybe not. He only knew he had no choice. He wanted to tell her he was sorry, but that was absurd, when he’d never been sorry before.
She was utterly still beneath him, though he could feel the panicked fluttering of her heart, which would soon be stilled.
He’d touched her lips with his, a benediction and a farewell, his thumbs beginning to press, when the mobile in his pocket began to vibrate.
He pulled away from her quickly, as if her skin burned him, and climbed out of the car, flipping open the mobile phone that was like no ordinary communicator.
He had his back to her, and he half expected her to make a run for it. He didn’t want to have to chase her down—it would only make things harder—but he needed to concentrate on the message. And maybe, just maybe he could let her go….
But then someone else would get her, hurt her a great deal more than he ever would, just to find