Ice Storm - Anne Stuart [62]
She wiped the rain from her face, disguising the tears. “I need a cigarette.”
“These?” He’d somehow managed to get his hands on the crumpled pack of cigarettes she had been pursuing like the Holy Grail. “Forget it.” And he crushed them in one hand.
It was the final blow. Isobel let out a shriek of rage and jumped him, trying to get her hands on what remained of the pack. Big mistake. A moment later he had her slammed up against the wall, pressing his body against hers, holding her immobile.
“Let’s establish a few ground rules, shall we?” he said. “If you try to hurt me, you’re just going to have my hands on you, and I know you think that’s the last thing you want. So I know all about you—get over it. I haven’t gotten to where I am due to faulty intel. I’ve made it my business to keep track of you since you ended up at Stephan Lambert’s. I know you were recruited by the Committee shortly before Stephan died, and he didn’t want you to work for them. I know you’re smart and strong and ruthless.”
“Everything I wasn’t eighteen years ago,” she said in a cold voice. He was touching her in too many places: his hips against hers, pinning her to the wall; his chest pressing against hers, so she couldn’t breathe; his hard hands trapping her wrists so she couldn’t fight back.
She’d forgotten how much taller he was. Perhaps not as tall as Peter, but enough so that at such close proximity she felt rattled. Which was exactly why he was doing it. She was aware of him, suddenly, strongly, when until now she’d been able to keep a mental distance.
“You were smart enough,” he said, and she could taste the whiskey on his breath. “Just no match for me.”
“That’s not the case anymore.”
She could see his faint smile in the dim light. “I agree. You’re a perfect match for me.”
She tried to kick him but her legs were trapped, tried to hit him but might as well be handcuffed. She tried to slam her head against his but he saw it coming, so instead she sank her strong white teeth into his neck.
You could kill someone that way. If you had the strength and the stomach for it you could rip out their carotid artery and have them bleed out in a matter of minutes.
She could taste blood, but a moment later he moved her away from him, holding her at arm’s length, his eyes glittering in the darkness. “I should warn you that I find biting to be highly erotic.”
She froze. He was between her and the door in their tiny cabin, and there was no way she was going to be able to get past him, at least not now.
She took a deep breath, certain that only she could hear its shakiness, and he stepped away, no longer touching her. She could breathe again, the iciness of her skin slowly warming.
“So sit down, Mary Isobel,” he said. “I’ll make another drink and you can tell me all about yourself.”
There was a banquette opposite the bed—the lesser of two evils. She sat stiffly. “I don’t care for another drink, thank you. You’d probably just drug me.”
“The notion is tempting, but I think I need you awake right now.” He stretched out on the bed, seeming perfectly comfortable, and with anyone else she’d be able to escape. She already knew his reflexes were equal or superior to hers. She wasn’t going anywhere unless he decided to let her.
She leaned back against the banquette, forcing her tight muscles to stop screaming and relax. If she stayed on high alert they might cramp, and she couldn’t afford to let that happen. She had to be ready to run.
“All right,” she said with deceptive calm. “What exactly do you want to know?”
The flash in his eyes was so brief she might have imagined it, if it weren’t for the shard of fear that spiked through her body.
“Time to catch up on old times. I want to know what was happening to you during the last eighteen years. Were you happy with Stephan?”
“What the hell does that have to do with anything?”
“Humor me. I was quite surprised to hear he’d married you. I wouldn’t have thought he was the marrying kind.”
“If that’s your way of saying he was gay, then