Widow - Anne Stuart [83]
“I’d rather freeze, thank you very much. If it were up to me I’d still be back in my car, waiting for rescue.”
“Rescue showed up, sweetheart, and it was me. Like it or not, I’m your knight in shining armor.”
“God help me,” she muttered.
The night was lousy. The rain was pouring down steadily, and his windshield wipers barely put a dent in it. He was soaking wet and the heater didn’t work, he could barely see ten feet in front of him, and he was trapped in a car with a woman who despised him and probably wanted to see him dead. So how come he suddenly felt like whistling?
He was smart enough not to. Charlie had been through enough for one day. “We’ll be in Florence in another hour if we’re lucky. Any idea where you’ll be staying?”
“The first hotel I can find.”
“That may be a bit tricky. There’s another one of their damned festivals going on right now—just about every room is booked. I was even considering renting out my apartment, seeing as how I didn’t think I’d be needing it.”
“But you do need it,” she said with false sweetness. “And I’m sure I’ll have no trouble finding a room.”
“Nice to be sure of things,” he said evenly.
She began to shiver. She tried to hide it from him, and he decided to be a nice guy and pretend he didn’t notice, but the longer they drove the more she shivered, so that the seat was practically vibrating. The only reason he couldn’t hear her teeth chatter was because she had them clamped shut. He didn’t blame her—he was freezing as well.
His apartment was on the east side of town, not far from the Duomo, an old, seedy set of rooms in an old, seedy building that had somehow defied gentrification. He drove straight there, avoiding the busier streets, and by the time Charlie noticed he had already started down the narrow alley behind the building where he usually parked.
“Where are we?” she demanded. He had to admire the fact that there was only a faint tremor in her voice. A less observant man wouldn’t realize she was about to turn to ice.
“We’re at my apartment. You’re going up there, get some dry clothes and warm up, and then we’ll find you a hotel room for the night.”
“No.”
“Charlie, you’re shaking so hard this old car almost bounced off the road. You look like a drowned rat—try walking into the Excelsior or something in your current condition and they’ll set the police on you.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
He parked, turning off the lights and car, and sat there in the darkness with her. “You already have. It’s late, it’s cold, I’m freezing even if you won’t admit that you are. And I’m not going to argue. Get out of the damned car or I’ll carry you.”
“I’d like to see you try,” she said, except the effect was ruined by her chattering teeth.
“Sure thing,” he muttered, slamming out of the car and coming around to the passenger side. She pushed the lock down, naively assuming his derelict car actually had locks that worked. Since it didn’t, he simply opened the door and reached for her.
“Hands off!” she said. “I’ll come quietly.”
“Good,” he said. The rain had softened to a faint drizzle, but the night was still unseasonably cold. He watched with a critical eye as she climbed out of the car in the dimly lit alleyway, but apart from the cold she seemed to be in reasonably good shape. He still wanted to get a good look at her in decent light, to make sure she hadn’t been hurt when her car had gone off the road. She had insisted she was fine, but then, she’d lie.
“Nice neighborhood,” she said.
“Sarcasm doesn’t work when your teeth are chattering. Hurry up.”
She didn’t dignify that with a response, she simply followed him into the rainy night, her head ducked to avoid the dampness. The old building held four apartments, but he seldom saw his neighbors, and there was no sign of them that