Ice Blue - Anne Stuart [74]
“Phony passports are child’s play,” he said. “And Madame Lambert tends to travel with diplomatic immunity. No one is going to look too closely at her companions, particularly if they’re pretty, young and innocent.”
“Yeah, that takes care of Jilly, but what about me?” Summer couldn’t believe she’d actually said such a thing out loud. Begging for compliments, reassurances, none of which she needed, thank you very much.
He laughed. She hadn’t heard him laugh often, and the sound was soft, momentarily beguiling. Until she remembered she hated him.
“That’s right, you’re ugly, old and jaded,” he murmured. “How could I forget?”
“If I had a gun I would kill you,” she said bitterly.
A moment later he reached under the car seat, pulling out a small, nasty-looking handgun, and put it in her lap. “It works very simply. You need to cock it first, then just point and shoot. If I were you I’d wait until we get off the highway. If you shoot me at these speeds you’ll probably end up dying as well, and I thought you were past adolescent suicide attempts. Unless you have some romantic notion of a murder-suicide.”
She picked up the gun. It was small, cold in her hand. “If you’re trying to talk me out of it you’re doing a piss-poor job.”
“I can pull off on the shoulder if you’d like. That way you could just shove me out and drive on. It’d make a bit of a mess…”
“Just stop it!” She moved to drop the gun into his lap, but his hand shot out and caught her wrist. She let go of the gun, and it fell on the floor at his side. He kicked it under his seat without slowing his speed, but kept hold of her hand. She curled it into a fist, but didn’t try to break free. Even when he brought it to his mouth and kissed the back of her wrist.
“You’re going to be rid of me in just a few more hours,” he said gently. “And then you can forget I ever existed. It would be better that way. Madame Lambert even has drugs that will help you, so that after a while it will all seem like nothing more than a bad dream.”
“And how am I going to think of the cottage you blew up?” Why wasn’t she pulling away? Why was the touch of his mouth on her skin making heat pool deep between her legs?
“As a necessary loss,” he said. He released her hand back in her own lap. “Sometimes you give up what you love to stay alive.”
“Have you ever had to do that?”
He turned his head to look at her for so long it should have been dangerous, but he seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to the road. “It’s coming,” he said.
And he turned away, driving into the slowly dawning day.
18
Dawn couldn’t come soon enough. He had to get her out of his life as quickly as possible. It was becoming the most important thing—more important than breathing, living. He needed to get away from her, fast. Because he didn’t want to let her go.
Taka had absolutely no idea what kind of insanity had decided to land on his head. He’d almost gotten them killed back on Bainbridge, all because he couldn’t keep his hands off her. He could come up with a million excuses, all plausible, all lies. Everything boiled down to one simple thing. He wanted to be inside her. He wanted to make her cry again. He wanted her, maddening though she was, and the moment he let her go it would be forever.
Had he ever given up something he loved in order to stay alive? Destroyed it? What had made her ask that question, and what had made him come up with the instant answer that he’d somehow managed to silence? It was her.
She’d shut herself off again, and as the morning light filled the car he let himself watch her. She was pale and drawn, with violet patches beneath her eyes, the scattering of golden freckles across her nose. She’d managed to braid her long hair again, but it was coming loose, tangling on her shoulders. He wanted to untie her hair and bury his face in it, breathe in the smell of it.
Hell, it probably smelled of smoke and ashes from the explosion they’d just barely