by Alicia Scott
There was a town up ahead, not large, but at least he could already see the glowing red Vacancy sign for a small strip motel. He pulled in, and Jess roused herself enough to peer out.
“Here’s the deal,” he told her, the severity of the situation making him curt. “Sooner or later, Les’s men are going to pass through looking for a man and woman traveling together. So we need to make it appear like I’m traveling by myself.”
Jess looked wary at this idea, but in her half-frozen, sleep-deprived state, she couldn’t quite pinpoint why she should be concerned. Then, of course, he spelled it out for her.
“That means I’m going to go inside there and get one room for one person. You’re going to sneak into the room later.”
He saw her half open her mouth and he cut her off before she had a chance to say anything. “We’re both exhausted,” he said flatly. “And we’re both adults. And so help me God, we are going to share that room, and you’re not going to argue with me. If you absolutely can’t stand it, you can sleep in the tub for all I care. But we’ve got a big day ahead of us tomorrow, and we need our rest.”
Then before she could so much as muster a reply, he opened the door and climbed down from the Blazer, slamming the door firmly behind him. Alone now in the deep freeze of the cab, Jess let her head sink to her knees. She was truly exhausted and she was truly frozen. And her heart still beat painfully in her chest, her mind dull from the strain.
She was in no condition to share a room with a man like Mitch Guiness, yet in no condition to argue, either. Never in all her life did she crave solitude so badly, and fear it just as much. Because in the loneliness lay the nightmare waiting to find her.
The door opened again, abruptly penetrating her thoughts. She raised her head slightly, her eyes wary.
“Room 3B,” Mitch said crisply. He drove them to the spot in front, climbed out with the bag and unlocked the door. He looked around, saw no one in sight and then motioned her in. She tried to obey as quickly as possible, but the long hour in a crouch had cut off too much blood in her legs. Pins and needles stabbed through her, and she would have cried out if she’d had the energy. She bit deep into her lower lip instead.
Mitch watched her, and the strain on her face filled him with guilt. Damn it, he’d told her to trust him. He’d told her he knew what he was doing. And here they were running like thieves in the night. Damn it all to hell.
“Stretch out slowly,” he found himself saying. “And take a warm shower to heat up. But start with the temperature on the cool side. Your nerves are so numb, you can scald your skin if you’re not careful.”
She looked around the tiny, cramped room, her eyes making out the shadowed pocket of a bathroom. A shower sounded wonderful. Warmth sounded wonderful. She gave him a sideways glance.
“And you?” she asked carefully.
“I have to attend to the car,” he said obliquely. “It could be a while before I’m back.”
She froze, suddenly feeling another frisson of fear wash through her. He was leaving. She should want him to leave. She should want the solitude. But the trembles running through her belied the words. And suddenly, deep and heartrending inside of her, she didn’t want him to go.
And knew no words to make him stay.
It was the shock of the last few hours, she told herself. The aftermath of the fear. But no matter what logic she used, she felt her heart thump painfully in her chest as he opened the front door. Images slashed across her mind, and at once she remembered the feel of his soft, urgent lips upon her own, his strong, solid arms wrapping her in a secure, warm embrace as he filled her with sensations she’d never felt.
Warmth. Strength. Heat.
She swallowed hard, closing her eyes. But even then, the yearning tore at her.
It’s the fear that’s causing it all. Because you don’t care, you never care. You are the Ice Angel and all you need is to be alone.
He walked through the door, and she stood there in the middle of the room like a mannequin. Her insides screamed as she watched the door close. The click seemed to echo with finality. He was gone.
And suddenly she was all alone in the dingy motel room with a mind full of demons and heart filled with pain.
She didn’t even understand why.
* * *
Two hours passed. At first she pretended she didn’t notice. She did some minor stretches, easing her tired muscles. She showered and pulled back on her jeans and a heavy knit blue sweater. She flipped through stations on the tiny, badly colored TV and told herself after the excitement of the evening, she just wasn’t tired yet.
And even as she glanced at her watch for the fifth time in half an hour, she told herself she couldn’t possibly be waiting.
She didn’t wait. She didn’t care about other people or their schedules. She took care of herself—that’s the way it had always been. When she felt tired, she slept, regardless of anyone else’s plans. And at any time now, she could take the brown-and-orange floral blanket and curl up safely in a corner of the floor to sleep. She could.
But as her eyelids drooped down, she didn’t.
Two hours turned to two and a half, the sun beginning to lighten the sky. The entire night ended, leaving the dim-lit dawning of an uncertain day.
Where was Mitch Guiness?
Sitting on the floor, her backside numb, she couldn’t escape the growing apprehension. He could have left; it was possible. Just gotten into the Blazer and driven away.
She shook her head, trying to dispel the notion. She didn’t care, she thought fiercely. She’d said she wanted to be on her own, and she would take care of herself. Though she hadn’t had time to grab the twenty thousand from her room last night, she had five hundred dollars in cash in her purse, which would take care of a lot.
But a minute later she abandoned the idea altogether. Mitch wouldn’t walk away like that. He just wouldn’t.
Once more she remembered his kiss.
Warm, strong, compelling. She’d felt every muscle of his powerful body tense and bunch with the passion. His embrace had been firm, his chest hard and unyielding. Yet gentleness had tempered the strength, restraint easing the power.
Tonight, when Mitch had woken her, the fear had never reared very hard. He’d been with her, guiding her through the silent house with his sure steps and capable strength. He’d led her to the vehicle he’d sequestered, driven them through a rain of bullets and plunged them safely through a snowy forest. Somehow, hunched down beside him, she’d never doubted that they would escape. She only had to look at the grim expression on his dark face, the deft control of his large, callused hands, and she’d known it would be okay.
He’d even thought of ways to make her warmer while his own fingers had grown thick and sluggish with the biting chill.
He’d done all that he’d ever promised, and even now, two and a half hours later, she knew he would come back.
He was that kind of man.
She half shuddered, wrapping her arms around herself as she huddled on the floor. The exhaustion filled her, and her head slipped forward to rest on her knees. But she didn’t close her eyes. She knew the minute she did, the nightmare would find her, plunging her down into the desperate blackness.
She wrapped her arms a little tighter, unconsciously rocking a bit. One more glance at the watch. Two hours and forty-four minutes since Mitch had left. Surely he would be back soon, filling the tiny motel room space as he filled everything with his presence. Her gaze crept slightly to the single bed, then skittered away with unstated apprehension.
She would sleep on the floor. She would take the top comforter, curl up on the floor and abandon her fearful vigil. Mitch would be here, and even as he filled her with uncertainty, she knew he would take care of things. As long as he was nearby, Les’s men wouldn’t get her.
Mitch would be standing guard.
A noise sounded at the door, and she jerked, her head popping up. Her spine instantly stiffened, all expression leaving her fa
ce as her control slid unconsciously into place. The telltale scratching of a warped key in a rusty lock penetrated the silence, followed by a low, familiar stream of curses.
Mitch returned. Whatever relief that brought her, none showed on her face.
He opened the door only enough to let himself in, closing it quickly behind himself. He looked haggard and worn, the lower half of his jeans encrusted with mud as if he’d made a long journey.
Seeing her sitting there on the floor, he gave her a small grin, lopsided with the exhaustion.
“Waiting up for me?”
“You were gone?” she returned, feigning ignorance, her eyes habitually cool.
“At least you missed me,” he said wryly, leaning back against the wall with obvious weariness. For a moment, she felt a strong stab of guilt. He’d had a long night, and all because of her.
“Where did you go?” she asked quietly.
“I dumped the Blazer in a nearby river,” he said. “It’s too easy to trace back to us. Tomorrow we’ll rent a new vehicle.”
She nodded. “You think of everything.”
He glanced up sharply, but there was no trace of sarcasm in her voice. Did the Ice Angel just compliment him? He wasn’t sure he dared dream so big. Finally he gave a small shrug, leaning down to work on his mud-encrusted boots.
“It’s my job,” he said casually.
She watched him attempt to untie his shoelaces. Funny, now that he was back, she wasn’t tired at all. Instead, her nerves surged with a new kind of restlessness. He filled the room and the one bed loomed like a billboard. She found she couldn’t quite meet his eyes.
Mitch was back. Large, strong and vital.
Her stomach clenched again, and the memory of the kiss threatened to overwhelm her brain.
She looked away altogether.
“Damn it.” Mitch swore again, penetrating her thoughts. She glanced over through shuttered eyes to see his hands plucking ineffectually at the water-swollen laces. Without thinking, she rose.
“Let me,” she found herself saying, easily crossing the few steps between them. Before he could reply, she was on one knee before him, reaching for the laces.
Her own nimble fingers undid the mud-entangled knots easily, and she loosened the laces all the way down.
“There,” she said. She kept her eyes on his boots, knowing if she looked up, she would find his warm brown eyes and strong, unrelenting jaw just inches from her own face.
“Your hands are dirty,” Mitch said. His voice sounded unexpectedly gruff to his own ears. He could see the silky sheen of her wavy brown hair. It looked so soft, he wondered how it would feel to the touch. It had been a long night, and the morning was still far from certain. And all of a sudden, he just wanted to pull this woman into his arms, bury his face in her neck and breathe in the warm, beguiling scent of fresh summer peaches.
“My hands can be washed,” Jess replied. Her heart thundered a maddening beat in her chest. She wanted to look up. She really did. She wanted to see his warm eyes, soft with exhaustion, and she wanted to trace the line of his unshaven jaw with her own slender hand.
She wanted to bury herself against his chest and see if he felt as warm and comforting as she’d felt last night when he’d stolen a kiss from her lips.
Her breathing increased and she felt a small shudder ripple down her back as her stomach filled with that heady combination of want and fear.
Slowly, of its own volition, her head came up.
His breath froze in his chest. Her eyes were dark and luminous as they fell upon his lips. There was no mistaking that look. And even as he told himself he was asking for trouble, his large hands reached down to find her shoulders and drag her up against him. She came against his chest hard, but neither protested. Mitch’s gaze settled on her lips, pink and swollen, waiting for him. His gaze swept up one last time to find her eyes still mesmerized by the desire.
“Is this what you want?” he found himself whispering thickly.
She nodded, leaning her lips slightly closer. But he refused to comply so easily. Last time he’d been taken in by the invitation, only to be held as the guilty party when it was through. He would not be accused of taking advantage of her twice.
Her eyes darkened further, her mouth pouting slightly with the frustration. His large hands slid up her back, drawing her in farther. He could feel the long, graceful lines of her body, soft and pliable against him. His hands slid more to the side, and discovered the tantalizing swells of her breasts. She shivered, her own hand coming up to rest on the shadowed line of his jaw. Softly her long index finger discovered the rough feel of twenty-four-hour whiskers.
She drew his head forward, and this time, he gave in to her unspoken demand. His lips found hers warm and inviting. There was no need for careful exploration. Her lips parted willingly, inviting him in as she pressed closer. He felt the first rush of shudders as he found her tongue and sucked lightly. Her hands were suddenly on his shoulders, pulling at him as she moaned lightly.
The sensations were warm and wonderful and pushed all the apprehension from her mind. He filled her senses, and willingly she gave herself over to the onslaught. There were no more sinister shadows or waiting nightmares. Just this strong man with his warm lips that moved on hers knowingly. Just this one man with his maddening scent of soap and spices that left her dazed and wanting.
His lips snuck away from hers, but before she could whimper her protest, they soothed their way to her ear. She felt the warm whisper of his breath against her sensitive neck, and a small gasp escaped from her lips. She arched back, and he seized the opportunity to explore her delicate ear with his tongue, then blazed a tantalizing trail to the seductive curve of her shoulders. The bulk of her sweater got in his way, and he seized it with impatient hands. She stiffened slightly in his arms, but he relaxed her again with reassuring murmurs. The next thing she knew, her sweater was being swept over her head until cold air struck her tender flesh.
She drew back slightly, the cold penetrating the spell. For one moment she tensed with the fear, and her hands balled on his shoulders.
She shouldn’t be doing this; she shouldn’t be letting any of this happen. But his lips returned to hers, softer this time, cajoling. His hands splayed carefully across her back, replacing the air with sure fingers. They swept up to trace the straps of her bra, but did not remove it.
He felt her relax a fraction more, but she was still tense and uncertain in his arms. He frowned unconsciously, deepening his kiss, and he sought her earlier pliability. Instinct told him she was on the verge of pulling away, and his own red-hot senses told him he would possibly explode if she left him now. He wanted her with an intensity that was new and startling for him.
Her hands flattened on his shoulders once more, the deep stroking of his tongue in her mouth filling her stomach with unknown yearning. She could feel his heartbeat, fast and strong, and she reveled in the sensation. For one tantalizing instant, she wondered what it would be like to feel skin against skin, heat against heat. Her hands paused at the edge of a button.
The desire to tear it away mixed once again with the fear, and abruptly she became conscious of his hands moving along her back, sliding forward, cupping a lace-covered breast.
The fear reared hard and she couldn’t stop herself. She pushed away with a violent oath, her own desire and insanity ringing in her ears.
“Stop,” she cried, whirling away. Her hands crossed in front of her in a feeble attempt to cover herself, and in that instant she suddenly looked like a small, vulnerable child.
He looked at her heavily, his hands balling at his sides as he fought against his own raging passion. Deep inside, he realized he’d been waiting for this moment. All along, he’d known she’d pull away. And then he abruptly became aware of something else.
Like the way she was hunched forward and the way her eyes were watching him warily under the cover of her brown hair. Her gaze swept down to his hands, and in that moment he understood. She
was waiting for him to hit her.
He wanted to swear, low and violent and ugly. He wanted to shake her for thinking so little of him. And he wanted to reach out and draw her back into his arms until she understood not all men were cruel and abusive.
Not all men were like Les Capruccio.
Slowly he reached down and picked up her sweater. Without saying a word, he held it out to her. She took it carefully, her eyes still alert. Then, as if she thought he might change his mind, she turned quickly and yanked it on.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked quietly.
“About what?” she said in a muffled voice, not turning around.
“About Les and how he treated you.”
Her back went rigid, her shoulders squaring, and she slowly turned around. Her face was once more controlled, but he could see the wariness in her eyes.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” she said stiffly.
He shook his head. “You are the most stubborn creature I’ve ever encountered,” he told her bluntly. “Why are you so determined to protect the man? Everyone knows what Les was like. And enough people testified on how he treated you. What not just get it out, Jess? Why not just admit the man was an abusive bastard who hit you.”
“It’s no one’s business,” she said slowly, but he could see the hurt in her eyes. His voice gentled.
“It’s not your fault,” he said softly. “Surely you understand that.”
She shivered, her arms unconsciously wrapping around her. The defensive move made him wince, and at that moment he would have liked nothing better than to slam a concrete fist through Les’s smirking face.
“You should have left him sooner,” he said quietly. His voice was gruff. “God knows you deserve better than the likes of Capruccio.”
Slowly she nodded. “I hate him,” she said suddenly, the words toneless. “I hate him more than I’ve ever hated anyone.”
“How did you even hook up with such a man?” Mitch said, running his hand through his hair as the tiredness once more began to sink in. In the beginning, he’d been prepared to dislike Jessica Gavornée because of her association with Les Capruccio. Because she’d remained the mistress of a cruel and abusive man. But now, having seen her intelligence and her strength, the whole thing seemed suddenly like a huge waste to him. That such an ugly man would claim such a beautiful woman, and lock her life onto a violent, unending path.