Skin Dive

by Ava Gray

  “Wait here. I’ll get us a room.”

  Inside, it was much as he’d envisioned. A tired old Pakistani woman came out from behind a faded blue curtain. Her face creased in an insincere smile, but she took his money, asked no questions, and gave him a key, which was all he needed from her. Thankfully, there was no TV in the lobby, or she might have seen their faces on the news already. He had no way of knowing what angle the Foundation would choose, or what kind of terrorists he and Gillie were supposed to be. Taye hurried back out to the car and pulled it around back; he’d asked for a room on the far side of the motel, away from the freeway noise.

  He didn’t kid himself the British merc would give up the chase. But at least he couldn’t track them using extraordinary means, and questioning people took time. Taye would use that time to rest and move on. In two days, they would make the safe house rendezvous with Mockingbird’s agent.

  Barring trouble.

  Gillie slid out of the car as soon as they parked. She hadn’t asked him to stop so she could use the bathroom, but from the way she hurried past him toward the facilities, she had to be in pain. Dammit, he would’ve found a restroom for her. But she hadn’t asked. And that was Gillie. She had borne her lot in silence for so long that it had become second nature. Her anger came if it wasn’t personal, if it was just a mood. But when she really needed something, she couldn’t ask because that acknowledged her own impotence—and that she would not do.

  Instead she closed the door quietly and turned the water on so he couldn’t hear her pee. Or maybe, he thought, so he couldn’t hear her cry.

  But he heard . . . and it broke his heart.

  CHAPTER 7

  Gillie wiped her eyes.

  She wondered if this would be it, if the sum total of her life would amount to running—narrow escapes and endless death. Maybe she shouldn’t feel sorry for the men Taye had killed. They hunted their fellow human beings without caring if their prey deserved it; that made them reprehensible. But she couldn’t help but question whether they had families.

  She needed to stop giving a fuck. The lines had been drawn, and they were at war. If she didn’t want to end up a casualty, she had to toughen up. Once she fought past the initial reaction, she washed her face and hands, watching the blood swirl down the rusty drain. That homeless man had been less than nothing to the men who came into their apartment building, just a potential complication. She had to remember him when she faltered.

  By the time she finished in the bathroom, Taye was already in the bed with his back turned. It was a small room full of dings, dents, cheap furniture and interesting stains. He had pulled the curtains so the light only shone around the edges, creating a peculiar golden rectangle.

  This morning, a cruel impulse possessed her. Since his intentions were so pure—he’d proven she didn’t interest him over months of platonic cohabitation—she saw no reason to sleep in her bloodstained clothes. In economical motions, she slipped from the McGinty’s Tavern T-shirt she wore and then unbuttoned her jeans.

  He stirred then, risking a look over his shoulder and then turning his eyes forward in a rush. “What’re you doing?”

  “Getting ready for bed.”

  A long silence greeted the words. And then: “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

  “I’m safe with you, right?”

  “Yeah.” But he sounded none too sure whether he could trust himself.

  It was nice to know her bare skin discomfited him, even if he had no intention of doing anything about the quiet attraction. Denied the larger prize, she would take small victories. Gillie slipped into bed behind him and turned her back, facing away. She’d stay on her side, but while he tried to drift off, he could think about what she wasn’t wearing. He wasn’t immune; she knew that much. But he was determined not to “sully her innocence.” Absurd. She hadn’t been innocent since they took her from her parents. She was merely untouched.

  “Then I see no reason why I should sleep in filthy clothes.”

  “I’m not a monk.” The admission sounded as though it had been ground out of him.

  “Are you concerned you’ll forget yourself in your sleep?” she asked sweetly. “I mean, if you happen to bump up against a mostly naked woman?”

  “I might.”

  “I promise I won’t scream for help.”

  “I know,” he muttered. “That’s the problem.”

  That bit deep. He made her feel like she had thrown herself at him repeatedly, and that wasn’t the case. Before she got the message, she’d dropped a few hints—that was all. But he’d made it clear he preferred to treat her as a younger sister, or perhaps a sexless great-aunt. They’d lived as roommates without a single misstep; that track record could get a woman down.

  She pretended it didn’t matter. “Sweet dreams, Taye.”

  Over the years, she’d gotten good at shutting her mind off and falling asleep on demand because her body needed rest. Gillie did so then. And when she woke, she found herself nestled in his arms. She didn’t wonder who held her; there was simply nobody else it could be. He’d left his jeans on but had removed his shirt. His fever-hot skin blazed against her bare back.

  More intriguing, he’d rolled onto her side of the bed, seeking her in his sleep. That had never happened before. Maybe she’d implanted a suggestion of sorts, teasing him just before they slept . . . or maybe it was the fact that she was naked. Whatever the reason he’d done it, if she were as wholesome as he believed, she wouldn’t even consider encouraging him. As matters stood, she couldn’t pass up this opportunity.

  One of his arms draped over the curve of her waist. But not satisfied with that claim, he’d also thrown one leg over her, so that his entire body curled around hers. His chin rested on top of her head. Seductive warmth stole her breath, leaving her languid.

  She shifted ever so slowly. Considering he “didn’t” want her, his cock was doing an excellent impression of an iron spike. In response, he growled in his sleep, such a drowsy, sexy sound. A shiver rolled through her when he nuzzled his face into her hair and drew her tight against him. He pressed a palm low on her belly, positioning her so he could grind against her ass. It felt fantastic; he’d never forgotten himself this way before. Countless nights, she’d lain awake wishing he would. Then he went further, trailing upward until he claimed her breast.

  He cupped and caressed, deliciously gentle. With great effort, she swallowed a moan. Dear God, that felt good. Her nipple tightened against his fingertips; Gillie hardly dared to breathe, afraid he’d wake and stop. For long, luscious moments, he played with her, gradually gaining confidence; his touch grew demanding. Her breath came in little gasps. The moans she strangled as he stroked his way south, lingering over the curve of her ribs and the concave dip of her belly. He rubbed himself against her in slow, firm thrusts, growing more aggressive. She wanted to reach back and pop the buttons on his jeans and invite him to take her from behind, but not like this. It couldn’t happen like this, or he’d never forgive her.

  Taye nuzzled the side of her neck, licking and biting. The shivers just didn’t stop. His fingertips brushed the top of her panties, and he paused. Probably, in his dream, she was naked, wide-open, and ready to be fucked.

  Touch me down there, she begged silently. Her body dampened, the ache intensifying. She tensed her thighs; that had helped in the past, but she needed friction for her clit. During her days in captivity, she’d perfected the art of masturbation so nobody could tell what she was doing. Quiet, furtive. Just “sleeping” on her stomach, muscles tensing and releasing, with a slow twitch of her pelvis. She could do it silently, the orgasm flooding her system until her muscles went limp. But not today.

  Gillie sensed the moment he woke, the real world imprinting over fantasy. Tension filled him, and then he rolled away with a smothered curse. He pulled the pillow over the top of his head and muttered, “Take a shower. Please.”

  “You know,” she said softly, as she rolled out of bed, “I think I’d be
within my rights to call you a tease. It’s not fair to start what you don’t intend to finish.”

  “Your objection is noted.” He didn’t budge.

  In reply, she eased off the bed and made no attempt to cover herself on the way to the bathroom. Once there, she sponged the worst of the blood off her clothes and took a quick shower using the rudimentary toiletries the motel provided. To forestall an argument, she also dressed in there. Fifteen minutes later, she emerged with her hair wet and falling in soft curls. He had left her backpack lying in the street, but since he’d saved her life, it didn’t seem right to complain about wearing the same clothes for a second day. They’d sort it out.

  “Your turn,” she said.

  Taye offered a scowl in answer, as if she had been secretly responsible for his nocturnal shenanigans. Once he closed the bathroom door, she muttered, “Not hardly.”

  If she had any input on what they did in bed together, it wouldn’t end that way. But it wasn’t the time for such thoughts. The longer they stayed in one place, the greater likelihood someone would find them before they made the rendezvous with Mockingbird’s agent. Since she had nothing to pack, she donned her jacket and went out to the car, where she checked the lot.

  Everything seemed quiet enough, but she still locked the doors behind her. Taye came at a dead run a few minutes later, his hair still streaming water. When he saw her sitting quietly on the passenger side, he closed his eyes for a long moment. Relief etched his features in pained lines, and it struck her then. He cared. Whether he wanted to or not, he did. She hadn’t meant to frighten him.

  But he didn’t chide her as he climbed in. Merely started the motor in silence and pulled back onto the interstate. It might be better if he did because then she would feel like he’d staked some kind of claim. Right then she felt like an obligation he couldn’t shift.

  “How much farther?” she asked.

  “About five hundred miles.”

  They covered the distance mostly in silence, punctuated by workaday exchanges about food and other biological urges. But it wasn’t a companionable quiet. Instead Taye seethed, angry about something he wouldn’t share. That irritated her in turn.

  By the time they reached their destination, she was stiff, cranky, and spoiling for a fight. They pulled off the highway and followed a complicated series of turns to a house in the middle of nowhere. Somehow, she had expected a high-rise office building or something equally glamorous with an impressive security system and a bunch of armed guards. Buried in the boondocks, this looked like a secret base for rumrunners in 1924. The paint had long since peeled away, leaving this windwashed structure. Simple architecture—the porch ran along the front of the house. It had a second story, but no attic, at least as far as she could tell.

  “This is it. We arrived ahead of schedule.” Taye opened the car door and swung out onto the gravel drive. He arched his back, pulling the leather taut.

  Best she could tell, they were somewhere in Kansas. Snow lay cool and white in the surrounding fields. There were no trees for cover, but that was a good thing. Nobody could approach this house by land in any direction without being seen for miles distant. Given their current situation, she reckoned that a plus.

  “That means we wait.”

  “Yep.” He headed up the path to the front door and claimed the key hidden beneath the welcome mat.

  “Definitely the right place.” The isolation was spooky, she thought.

  Since their escape, they’d stuck to cities, where they could blend in with the numbers. Never had she been able to gaze around and see nothing but open space. Never had the only answer to her voice come in cold wind and icy silence.

  “Don’t be scared,” he said quietly. “They’re going to help us.”

  Maybe she was more cynical and wary because Gillie saw this as an attractively baited trap. Once they lured him in, they wouldn’t let him go. They’d use him to fight their war until it destroyed him, and she didn’t want safety at the price of his soul. Not that Taye would listen.

  He unlocked the door. A musty smell wafted out, not unpleasant, but long unused, as if the house heaved a sigh of relief to feel wind within its walls. She followed him inside and set about turning on the lights. Twilight lent the place a desolate air, and she didn’t like the shadows. Sheets covered the furniture; the place was so old it didn’t have carpeting. Instead, scarred hardwood floors showed the marks of many years. Children had run up and down this hall. Gillie could almost hear their voices, echoing down the decades. The house carried a particular energy, not happy or tragic in particular, just . . . busy, as if many things had happened within these walls. They too bore the marks of a Tungsten-spiked paint job.

  “Wait here. I’ll scope the place out.” Taye loped up the stairs without looking back.

  Wouldn’t he be surprised not to find her waiting, someday? Because it struck her as pathetic, she didn’t stand by the door, obedient to his will. Instead she went to see if the previous guests had left anything to eat. She hadn’t imagined she’d ever miss anything about her captivity, but she’d enjoyed cooking for herself—and later, for Taye.

  In the kitchen, she found a few staples she could use to make a passable macaroni and cheese from a box mix, powdered milk, and vegetable oil. It wouldn’t taste exactly right, but it had to be better than what they’d been getting from the drive-up. Gillie heard him prowling through the house, ceiling creaking overhead. Doors opened and closed as he searched the place. Doubtless he expected her to wait by the front doors for the all clear. He found her from the rattling pots. By his expression, his temper couldn’t take much more of her silent defiance.

  “I didn’t say anything before,” he bit out, “but this can’t go on. You scared me at the motel.”

  That shouldn’t please her as much as it did. She shouldn’t want to cause him pain. But since he wouldn’t permit her to give him pleasure, Gillie craved the other side of the coin.

  “I was careful . . . I checked before I went out.” Pretending she didn’t know why he was agitated, she put the pot of water on to boil.

  “That’s not the point. I’m trying to keep you safe, and you’re not cooperating.”

  She gave him her sweetest smile. “You’re about to learn how very truculent I can be.”

  Fabulous word, truculent. It pleased her. Sounded like a woman digging in her heels, impossible to shift as an eighteen-wheeler.

  “Don’t fight me, Gillie. I don’t have the energy or the patience right now.”

  “Or what?” she mocked gently. “You’ll zap me? I don’t have to obey you, and it’s about time I started making my own way. I’m going to offer my own services to Mockingbird.”

  His jaw went rigid. “No.”

  “You don’t think he’ll be interested? I bet he would be. Think of all the lives I could save. His agents would be so grateful.”

  “It hurts you.”

  “Yes,” she admitted. “But what you do hurts you, too.”

  “That’s different.”

  “Why? Because you’re a man?”

  He shrugged. No, with him, it wouldn’t be that simple. Taye wasn’t a chauvinist. His chivalry had layers and edges, vast dark chasms where she could lose herself and her budding autonomy if she wasn’t careful. God, she almost wouldn’t mind—and that was the most dangerous part about him. He didn’t want to love her; he just wanted to save her, and she wasn’t willing to take one without the other. Not anymore. She had to learn to live without him if he was determined to maintain this distance.

  “It’s complicated,” he answered.

  “It always is. Put some salt in the water, will you?”

  He obeyed without hesitation. A woman could get used to that. In contemplative silence, she measured the powdered milk and mixed it with tap water.

  “Don’t do this,” he said quietly. “I don’t want you to.”

  Gillie turned then, her gaze snaring his. “And who are you to ask that of me?”

  Tho
se lovely eyes searched her face, and for just a flicker of a moment, revealed much more than he likely knew or wanted. Such hunger; he burned with it. And then the shutter came down, obscuring his emotions.

  “We’re friends.”

  “Ah. Of course. But friends don’t arrange their lives to suit one another.”

  “You won’t listen to reason because I refuse to fuck you?” He meant to humiliate with his hard, mocking tone. Oh, he had a cruel streak, but generally he didn’t turn that razor tongue on her. He’d always pulled his punches because he figured she was fragile.

  God, he knew her so little when it came right down to it. He saw what he wanted, not what existed, what life had made of her. She was like those unbreakable toys. Use them, abuse them, and they spring right back into shape. Sure, she had scars. But they would not end her.

  She was supposed to gasp in shock. Her eyes ought to well with tears. But she merely crossed her arms and stared at him, brow lofted. “Honestly, Taye, you think so highly of yourself. You imagine I’m scheming to do you? Very well, say I am. How many men would I need to fuck before I’m dirty enough for you? Five? Ten? Should I do them all at once? Would you like to watch?”

  His hands curled into fists, and he was the one who flinched from the mental picture. Don’t like imagining that, do you? And yet you keep pushing me away.

  “I can see there’s no talking to you right now.” He stalked from the room, shoulders tight.

  She wished she could make it better, but he wouldn’t let her. Beyond a certain point, he had to fight his own demons. Everyone did.

  He’d left the cell phone on the table. Mockingbird’s number would be in the recent calls, unless he’d remembered to delete it. Making a decision, she picked up the phone and dialed. Time to put her money where her mouth was.

  CHAPTER 8