Ice Storm - Anne Stuart [28]
“All right,” she said, hunching down on the small seat. She could just manage to curl up, and she tucked her hands under her head, closing her eyes and ignoring the cold.
Only to have something come sailing over the seat. The blanket he’d dragged into the front for her. “Wrap yourself up,” he said, still sounding testy. “You’re cold.”
“You keep it. I’ve got more space back there, and you’re cold, too.”
“I’m wearing more than that skimpy little outfit you’ve got on.”
“Skimpy little outfit?” she echoed, annoyed. “It was hot earlier today.”
“It’s cold now. And if you’re going to try hitchhiking around France you might at least wear a bra. I’m not always going to be around to save you.”
She sat up, pissed off and embarrassed at the same time. “I don’t need a bra,” she said. “It’s just one more piece of laundry to deal with, and I’m not so well endowed that I need to bind myself—”
“It would make life easier on me if you did,” he grumbled.
“What?”
“Never mind.”
She leaned forward, putting her hands on the back of the seat. “What’s going on with you? We’re friends. As far as you’re concerned I don’t even have breasts.”
“Princess, I’m a man. I always notice a woman’s breasts.”
“Okay, first stop tomorrow I’ll buy a bra. Will that make you happy?”
“No.”
“Killian…”
“Just go to sleep,” he said. “I’m going for a walk.” The blast of wind and rain swallowed her protest, and then the door slammed and she was alone in the car.
A moment later she was out in the night, chasing after him. He was barely visible, and the rain beat against her skin like tiny pellets. “Killian, get your ass over here!” she demanded.
“Get back in the car.” His voice came from out of the darkness.
“Not until you do.”
“Get back in the goddamn car, Mary.” He was moving farther away, and the rain was icy, blinding.
She could be just as stubborn. “I’m not going anywhere until you come back.” She started toward the sound of his voice, only to have him suddenly slam up against her out of the night, his arms around her, pulling her close.
“You idiot,” he said. “You almost went over the cliff.”
She tried to look up at him. “Why the hell did you park beside a cliff? Couldn’t you find someplace safer?”
He pushed her up against the car, and she could feel him fumbling behind her for the door latch. “Please,” he said, the word a growl, “get in the car and stay there. If you don’t, I can’t answer for the consequences.”
“Consequences? What the hell are you talking about?”
“This,” he said. And he kissed her.
Not the sweet lover’s kiss she’d daydreamed about. Not the tender touch of his mouth on hers. This was rough, hard, deep—a kiss of such raw demand that it frightened her.
Her arms were trapped between their bodies, and she yanked them free, knowing she should shove him away. Knowing she was going to put them around his neck and pull him closer. Knowing she was going to kiss him back.
He got the door open and pushed her into the front seat, and if he’d had any thought of leaving her he was out of luck, because she held on, dragging him after her into the tiny space.
They were a tangle of arms and legs, mouths and tongues. She yanked at the denim shirt he was wearing, ripping off the buttons to expose the firm smooth flesh, as he pulled her T-shirt over her head and sent it sailing over the seat back. His hands covered her small breasts, and then his mouth, and the car was hot and dark, skin against skin. He pushed her into the driver’s seat and reached under her skirt, finding the plain cotton underwear and yanking it down, putting his hand between her legs, where she was wet and aching.
He didn’t say a word. He simply pulled her back to him, her legs straddling his thighs, and she heard the rasp of his zipper, his soft groan, and then he thrust up into her, pushing, thick and hard. Hard with wanting her, needing her. The thought was dizzying.
She wanted more, and he