The Great Escape: A Vintage Contemporary Romance

by Thea Harrison

  Her head snapped up. That was no hallucination.

  That was a full-throated roar of fear and dread and rage and—that was Mike.

  “Mike!” she screamed. “I’m up here! Oh, God, they said they shot you and I thought you were dead and I’m so scared up here—Mike!”

  “Keep calling, Dee, I’ll be right there—don’t give up…”

  She heaved right off the bed and landed as hard as she could contrive, making quite a satisfactory thump. Then she twisted to her back, ignoring the screaming protest from her jerked and abused shoulder muscles, and kicked the floor as hard as she could, a steady rhythm of life and hope and desperation pounded on that naked floor. The floorboards were warm. The panic that hadn’t come when she had been hopeless came then, a wave of pure terror, and she screamed for Mike, crying.

  Over the steady and inhuman roar from the insidious, white-hot fire, she heard pounding footsteps in the hall then they stopped. “Dee!” Mike shouted. “Which room?”

  “Here!” she sobbed. The handle turned, rattled, and something heavy slammed into the wood. She heard herself, quite detached in a way, as she sobbed out a steady stream of hysteria. “Yes! Yes! Oh, God, get me out of here—please just get me out of here—”

  The door splintered open and he surged in, his dark hair falling like black rain over a grim brow, his eyes glittering like precious stones, his mouth pulled into a grimace revealing white teeth. One second and he was heaving a broad, panting chest in a great sigh, staring at her crouched on the floor staring at him, and the next second he was down beside her, hauling her up against him hard, his mouth all over her face, raining shaking, fierce, thirsting kisses, and she could barely feel them, because she was kissing him back, anywhere she could reach him—his jaw, his cheek, his brow and then his lips.

  And his lips were crushing hers, drinking, giving, hurting and the hurt was so deliciously wonderful, so wonderfully alive, she welcomed the pain. He pulled back, set her on her feet, and she promptly began to fall, crying out. Mike jerked her into his arms and deposited her on the bed, wrenching at the tape around her ankles and ripping it off within a few seconds, then reaching behind her. “Sorry, I didn’t notice…”

  “Oh, darling—” she gasped out an unsteady, unamused laugh. She couldn’t feel his fingers. “It won’t do any good. I won’t be able to walk—the circulation has been cut off too long—” The tape was off her wrists, for her shoulders were suddenly eased from their cramped confinement, and she brought her hands around to touch them together tentatively. Nothing.

  “Not to worry, my love,” he said, sounding incredibly calm after his ferocious bellowing. “I’ll carry you. You can’t be much of a load, such a little thing, after all. I’ll just sling you up over my shoulder like so, and we’ll be off—” He started out of the door and down the hall, carrying her, contrary to his words, tightly against his chest, shielding her nose and mouth. They were forced back into the room as red angry flames licked wickedly at the stairs. The roar of the monster was nearly a scream.

  Mike shoved at the door with one foot and went to the window after dumping her on the hateful bed, weak and frightened, tears streaming down her face. He tried the window, found it nailed shut, so he found something to wrap around his forearm and smashed it right through the glass, running his padded arm around the edges to be sure all the dangerous jagged edges were broken off. Then he surveyed the outside for a brief moment, and looked back at Dee. He had apparently made up his mind, and he strode over to sweep her on to the floor, laughing recklessly down into her face.

  “Didn’t I tell you not to worry?” he mocked, kissing her hard.

  She smiled at him quaveringly, trying to joke, “I’m sorry, I’ve just had a bad day.”

  His eyes softened on her unbelievably, then he was moving swiftly, tearing up sheets from the small bed with a rippling flex of his shoulders, tying the pieces together in an amazingly short amount of time. He tied one end to the bedpost, yanking the bed over to the window and throwing the other end out. It disappeared with a snaking slither.

  He turned back to Dee and wordlessly held out his arms. She rose to her knees and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, pressing kisses against his jawline and ear. She felt him kiss her back, then he carried her to the window. “It’s only the second story, love. Do you think you could keep those lovely arms around my neck for that long, hmm?”

  She drew back, stammering, “My hands—I can’t hold on to anything—”

  He drew one finger down the side of her cheek. “I won’t let you fall.” And looking into his wonderfully sparkling, vividly alive eyes, she believed him. She tightened her arms around his neck and he wrapped one arm securely around her waist, swinging them both over the windowsill. Then they were dropping into the air, Mike’s neck and shoulder muscles bunching painfully, straining, as he lowered them both to the ground.

  Once down and feeling the incredible destructive heat that had not yet broken through the outside wall, Mike hauled Dee up into his arms and carried her swiftly away from the burning, dying house. She held on to him and buried her face into his hard, warm, moving shoulder. Some distance away, he stopped and lowered her on to the hood of a car. Her head surfaced briefly. It was his dark green sedan. She buried her face again into him, feeling the marvellously good texture to his skin, smelling his scent, touching him and being held.

  He pulled away. “Dee darling, we’ve got to call the fire department so that they can get this blaze under control or the whole wood will burn. Are you all right, dear girl?” The tender tone and the slightly unsteady hand that passed through her hair made her gulp, and she nodded, waveringly. He scooped her up and put her gently into the car, grabbing a soft comforter from the back and tucking it under her. Then he swiftly got into the driver’s side and reversed down the driveway with a squealing of tyres. Just as they reached the road and he turned right, a distant wailing siren was heard. Mike slowed and pulled off the road, cocking his head and listening intently and Dee peered down the road briefly, but uninterestedly, because her hands and feet were coming alive with a painful intensity. Several red-flashing, wailing trucks passed by, and Mike relaxed, sighing. “Well, they got here quicker than if we’d had to call, didn’t they?” His head rested wearily on the headrest and he turned his head to look at her. “What is it, sweetheart? Are you hurt after all?”

  Dee turned her face away as the tears streamed down her face. The pain was becoming unbearable, and she shifted restlessly to ease it, but moving only made it worse. “It’s my hands and feet,” she muttered, as he pulled her close to him again. “I’m not hurt, but—but they’re on fire, and they prick so painfully, and—that’s all. It’s silly to cry, and I’ve cried so damned much, it seems, but—Mike, I thought you were dead! I thought you were dead!”

  And of all the many experiences of the day, the terrifying, the inundating, and the very good, what she remembered most about it was the darkened early evening when she sobbed out her pain and tiredness and deep relief into the living warmth of Mike’s arms, smelling pungent smoke in her hair and clothes on a fiery dark and red, balmy night. The sounds of sirens wailed mournfully in the distance and an unseen hand stroked her hair.

  She wasn’t exactly sure when she fell asleep, but she remembered Mike tucking her carefully into her corner and the car starting up with a gentle purr. She remembered the passage of time and space, the wind whistling through Mike’s slightly cracked window. She remembered his stern, drawn face, half obscured by darkness and occasionally lit up into brilliance by the passage of bright, glaring cars. She dozed and then remembered the car stopping and him sliding out of the car. That was when she cried out and reached for him with both urgent hands, and he soothed her patiently, telling her he would be right back. Then he disappeared for a time and sounds came to her of the boot opening and closing. Then he was back as he’d promised, but Dee was so deeply asleep by that time that she never even stirred when he bent over to kiss her and tuck a co
rner of the blanket under her feet.

  She slept on and on and finally woke to sit up and look bewilderedly around. It was pitch black outside, the black of the dead of night, with icy white sparkling stars winking overhead. Mike’s face was impassive and unfathomable in the faint glow of the lit dashboard. She glanced at him, at the unending strip of road that the car’s speed ate up avidly. Finally she looked back at him in time to see him send her a quick, unexpressive gaze. “We’re on an interstate highway, aren’t we?” she asked him quietly.

  He nodded. She glanced around again, and what little scenery that she could make out appeared to be that found in northern Kentucky. She turned her puzzled, questioning gaze back to Mike, but he said nothing.

  A myriad collection of thoughts danced through her mind, uppermost the dread of going back to that homeless house, the uncaring hostility, the remembrance of Mike as being the hunter, the pursuer, the enemy. Then she recalled his gentleness to her, his understanding. She thought of him asking for her trust. Then she deliberately emptied her mind of all thought and stretched out to put her head against his thigh as a pillow, curling her legs comfortably. She could feel his eyes on her, could feel his mind wondering at his reaction, and she turned her head to smile at him sleepily.

  “Wherever we’re going, wake me when we get there,” she murmured. “Unless, of course, you’d like me to drive. In that case, don’t vouch for your safety or the continued existence of this car unscathed!” She giggled a bit, then snuggled her cheek down to his warm leg. She could feel his tension and wondered what he was thinking.

  Mike gave a sigh and relaxed. “You’d be more comfortable if you stretched out in the back,” he said softly. She put her hand lightly on his knee.

  “No. Would you like me to move? I will if you’re uncomfortable.”

  He answered as simply. “No. Oh no.” A hand descended to her shoulder and squeezed briefly, then was put back on the steering wheel. “You stay right there. Thank you, Dee.”

  She burrowed into the softness of the blanket, feeling the delicious contrast between its yielding pliancy and the hardness of his leg muscle. “You’re welcome.” And again she slept, fitfully, waking sometimes to his hand resting lightly on her neck.

  Some time later the car’s motion changed, and she stirred. Mike was pulling off the highway and he said tersely, “Lie still a moment. I don’t want to knock your head.” She kept down while he negotiated the turn, then she eased away from him to look around her with blurred eyes.

  “Are we there yet?” she asked, voice fuzzed by sleep.

  She heard his low chuckle and glanced at him in time to catch the fleeting whiteness of his smile in the semi darkness. “Dear, sweet, patient thing—you don’t even know where ‘there’ is, do you? No, we aren’t there, I just can’t drive any more without the fear that I might nod off as I stare at those lovely white lines on the road that flash on and on.”

  “I could drive,” she mumbled, and sank against the car door to close her eyes.

  “We’re not that desperate,” he replied dryly, his exhaustion running through his amusement. “We’re going to get a room and sleep until we wake on our own. You’ve had it and so have I.”

  They pulled into the parking lot of a roadside motel that was still open, and Dee stumbled out along with him. He stopped and stared at her. “Go back and stay in the warm car until I call for you,” he urged, shooting out a hand as she staggered.

  She doggedly shook her head. “I want to come with you.” She blinked as she looked around. She didn’t want to stay in the car by herself. Silly, probably, but there it was. She followed him and didn’t even notice his tired grin at her appearance. She was totally unaware that she still had the blanket around her and that she was peering from it like a small street urchin wrapped in rags, reeking of smoke. His arm went around her shoulders bracingly, and she leaned against him as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do.

  Later, after they had carried in their luggage, Mike locked the door and he turned to one of the two beds, stripping off his clothes with the simple economy of movement that bespoke overwhelming exhaustion, and an overriding desire to get in between the sheets despite clothes flung on the floor and chair. Clad in only his briefs and unaware of Dee’s riveted and fascinated gaze at the sleek animal beauty of his long body, he slipped between the covers and settled with a sigh on the pillows. Greatly tired herself, in spite of her sleep snatched in the car, she also stripped right there, uncaring if Mike’s attention was on her or not. It just didn’t seem to matter. She slid a clean nightshirt over her head, yawning so widely that her jaw cracked, and started at the unexpected sound of Mike’s voice, sleepy and amused, “You look about twelve years old in that thing.”

  She grinned as he stretched luxuriously, hugely, and she padded over to turn out the light with a careless flick of her wrist. Then, suddenly paralysed by the thought and the totally unexpected emotional need that struck at her, she stood motionless in the middle of the dark room. A spasm of shaking swept through her as she stood, chilled and alone.

  A rustle of sheets. “Dee?” he asked her quietly, the deep timbre of his voice luring her more than he could know. “Why are you just standing there like that? Is something wrong?”

  Slowly, very slowly, she advanced until her leg brushed the side of his bed. She trembled, wondering what he would think if she just slipped into his bed. Dared she? A hesitant, trembling hand went questing out and found a corner of sheet. Just to slip in beside him and to be held, so wonderfully close and warm and safe. What if he rejected her? What if he turned away?

  His voice came again, puzzled, patient and very, very tired. “Dee? Where are you? I can’t see in this infernal darkness. Are you all right, love?”

  And at that she suddenly knew. She pulled back the covers with a sureness as solid as a rock, and slid right in, encountering long, warm, hard legs with her own slighter, cold ones. She pulled the covers over herself as she felt the quiver of shock run through him. The warmth of his body was like an electric heater and yet so much more enticing and comforting, for it was living and breathing and able to give her what she needed.

  “God—” he muttered, as if it were jerked out of him, “—Dee, what are you doing?”

  “Trying to get warm,” she whispered, and another spasm of chills shuddered through her. “I’m being selfish, you see. I want to be held, and warmed, and I want to go to sleep knowing that when I wake up I won’t be alone. I don’t want to be alone, Mike.” Her voice trailed away to a mere thread of sound.

  Utter stillness and then, convulsively, his arms slid around her, drawing her close to his long, warm, vibrant body. She snuggled and cuddled and drew as close as she could, and there wasn’t anything sexual at all between them—and yet curiously enough there was. Just to know that Mike was so definitely, exquisitely, alienly male made the warmth very interesting indeed. He groped and searched for her hands and found them carefully tucked away from him, as cold as ice. He pulled them close, in spite of her tentative tugs, and laid them right against the heat of his chest without so much as a flinch. It felt so wonderful and so incredibly good to her, like the rest of his body, that she sighed, relaxing, and she felt him relax too. He drew her head on to his shoulder and she found that it fit just exactly right in the hollow of his neck and shoulder muscles. A quick, slight movement had her pressing her soft lips against the side of his neck and then relaxing again.

  “Thank you, Mike.”

  “You’re very welcome, Dee.”

  They slept.

  Delicious warmth and the total relaxation of tired, sore muscles. Dee turned her head, murmured in her sleep, and roused a bit at the light that peeped through the thin slots of curtain across the room. She stretched her legs lazily and collided with longer, harder, smoothly muscled legs. Freezing in surprise, she remembered and relaxed again. She slid close to Mike’s warmth and started to drift off to sleep again, after briefly and uninterestedly wondering what time of
morning it was. A large, questing hand roused her as it touched her bare thigh, and she murmured, “It’s just me.”

  A low, husky voice vibrated through her back as he slid closer. “Hmm, so I’ve found. How could I have forgotten? Good morning.”

  “Mm, g’morning.” Dee froze again as that roving hand crept slowly along her rib cage, over her slim shoulder to the hair that lay on her neck. The hair was brushed gently aside and warm lips pressed to her nape. The pure physical delight that quivered through her at this was totally new and unexpected, and she melted right to the bone at his touch, sighing.

  The hand quested down again, found the edge of her nightshirt, slipped in. “Dee,” it was said very, very softly, and yet she still caught the quiver of something ragged running through it. The hand stilled a moment, fingers tightening, lying heavily and yet gently against her ribs. “You’d better get out of this bed right now. Please, get out.”

  He was saying two different things, she thought hazily. He was asking her to stay with his hands and telling her to go with his words. And she found that she wanted to stay so very much, and with a rightness and a completeness, she realised why she wanted to stay.

  Of course she loved him. She had known yesterday, underneath, when she’d been overwhelmed with desolation at the thought of him dead. She had known at the bursting of joy when she had heard him calling her name over the sound of the fire. She had known when Mike had pulled her close yesterday, and held her.

  She turned in his arms and looked at him clearly, letting him see the emotion and the desire in her eyes, without prevarication, and the smile that she gave to him was like the morning sun rising and spilling its brilliance over a darkened countryside. She heard him catch his breath and felt him come up on one elbow to stare down at her. “Can you look me in the eyes and tell me straight to my face that you want me to leave?” she asked him softly, feeling somehow much more controlled than he at the moment. “Because if you can, I’ll go, but not before then.”