Ice Blue - Anne Stuart [84]
He stared at her in complete horror. “You speak Japanese?”
She shook her head. “No. Only a little from when Hana lived with us.”
“And you just decided to tell me that now?”
“I’d forgotten.”
“Forget again.”
“Wouldn’t your wife know some Japanese?” she countered. “I would think—”
“Don’t think, don’t talk. You’re my American wife, we live in Seattle and this is your first trip to Japan. You know nothing of the language except for a few kinky things I’ve said to you when we have sex.”
She could feel the color flood her face. She wanted to hit him, but presumably American wives didn’t hit their Japanese husbands, any more than they talked or thought. “Yes, dear,” she said in her snottiest voice.
He ignored her sarcasm, unfastening his seat belt, reaching over to unfasten hers when she didn’t move. She batted at his hands and unclasped the buckle herself, pushing out of her seat. For a moment she felt dizzy, disoriented. But then, that had become the norm for her. She was half a world away from everything she’d ever known, and whatever lay back there was in ruins. At least her sister was safe. Summer needed to hold on to that fact, like some kind of beacon.
The flight attendants were hovering, and for the first time she could see how they fluttered around Taka. Did Japanese wives get jealous? Was flirting expected?
Apparently not. Taka turned to her, sliding his arm around her waist, and it felt strong and warm, so wonderful that for a moment she forgot the other time he’d held her with his arm around her waist, touched her, and she just wanted to lean her head against him. “Come along, darling,” he said in a voice pitched just loud enough for those around him to hear. “Time to meet your new family.”
She looked up at him, startled. There was a brief, bitter look in his eyes that was quickly masked. “They’ll love you just as I do,” he added with only slightly exaggerated fondness.
Which meant she was toast. “I’m looking forward to it,” she replied sweetly. “Taka-chan,” she added, using the affectionate term.
The flight attendants made soft, approving noises, as Taka glared at her. He leaned down and whispered in her ear in Japanese, something people close to them could hear. The giggles were louder now as he pulled away, and Summer smiled fondly up at him, wishing she was wearing high heels that she could tromp on his instep. She had no idea what he’d said, but whatever it was was clearly smutty.
“Let’s go, darling,” she said through gritted teeth. And she let him lead her off the plane, into a new world that was hardly more foreign than the life she’d been living for the last few days.
He was waiting for her in the first class lounge when she finally emerged from the changing room, and he didn’t look up. It gave her a moment to watch him, unobserved. He looked different. He’d showered and shaved, and his long hair was tied neatly in the back. He was wearing a dark suit, possibly the best looking suit she’d ever seen. He appeared remote and elegant, as if in entering his native country he’d absorbed it, becoming more of a stranger than ever.
The hard-shell golf case was beside him, the treasures of the Hayashi family safe inside such a mundane container, and he was reading a Japanese newspaper, looking like any normal man waiting patiently for his wife. If you didn’t look into his dark, merciless eyes.
He folded the newspaper and looked up. Of course he’d known she’d been watching him—he was aware of everything. But that didn’t mean she didn’t have some surprises in store for him. If she hadn’t been looking for it she might not have noticed his reaction, but it was as strong as she’d expected it to be.
Her Italian leather high heels were silent on the thick carpet. For a moment she hadn’t been sure whether she should put them on, but the attendants were wearing their shoes, and she assumed that the first class lounge was essentially international territory. And besides, they made her legs look terrific in the stockings that could be nothing less than silk.
Stockings, and lacy underwear that made Victoria