‘I don’t know what to say to you.’ My voice came out as no more than a weak vibration with no conviction at all.
‘Say you’ll give me a chance, give us a chance. We could be happy,’ he said, taking hold of my hand again.
Could we? Could we be happy? I didn’t know. Relationships didn’t come with a guaranteed happy ever after and Darren hadn’t just burnt my fingers he had scalded my entire insides.
He didn’t wait for me to answer. He touched my face, cupping it with his firm hands, drawing it towards him. I felt his lips –soft, moist, tender –against mine, and felt the butterflies arrive in my stomach and begin a well-practised rolling formation. I reached for him, clung to him, let him gather me up into his muscular arms as the whole pub looked on.
When I broke away he was smiling, a smile like no other I had seen him wear before. It wasn’t an expression of elation because England had scored a goal, it wasn’t a look of delight because someone had laughed at one of his jokes, it was an expression of joy, of hope, a look of love.
‘Would you like to meet your son?’ I asked him.
‘Adrian,’ he said, his voice soft as he formed the word.
He nodded his head and then dropped it, a sob racking his shoulders. I knew how much that meant to him and how long he had been waiting for it.
I took his hand and squeezed it tight in mine. It was time to move on, it was time to grab what I wanted with both hands and it was time to admit that what I wanted was Ricky Western, the big, fat, stuck in the eighties, show-off. We’d had one night but we deserved more.
Kiss Me, Kill Me
Anna Louise Lucia
Anna Louise Lucia
ANNA LOUISE LUCIA came to live in Cumbria in 1996, after twenty years of long-distance devotion. With mountains, ancient woodlands, high moors, mirrored lakes and sweet, clear rivers on her doorstep, it’s hardly surprising that landscapes play an important part in Anna’s books. Anna loves to combine deeply emotional romance with edge-of-the-seat action and write about ordinary characters who find themselves doing extraordinary things. Her romantic suspense novels are Run Among Thorns and Dangerous Lies.
Kiss Me, Kill Me
‘Congratulations, Mrs Blake.’ The clink of crystal made the champagne bubbles dance in the sunshine.
‘Congratulations, Mr Blake,’ Catherine replied, meeting his eyes and taking a sip.
Jonathan grinned back at her, wedged the bottle safely in stones, and dropped down to sit behind her, wrapping his free arm round her.
She breathed a sigh of pure bliss, leaning against him. He was like a warm wall at her back, shielding her from the wind that funnelled off the high mountains into the ghyll where they sat. The valley below was perfectly England: vibrantly green fields bound by grey walls, clusters of grey slate cottages and farm buildings.
It was her idea of a perfect honeymoon destination.
It was hard to believe they’d been strangers just a few weeks before.
‘I meant to say no, you know,’ she murmured.
‘To the proposal?’ She could hear the warm smile in his voice. He slipped his hands up under her jacket.
‘No. To the second date.’
His hands moved, touching, stroking, conjuring memories of last night and shivering predictions of all the nights to come. ‘So why didn’t you?’ he breathed against her nape.
‘Because…’ She shivered, goose bumps rising on her arms. ‘Because I didn’t think I deserved something as perfect as you.’
He was very still. Even his hands had stopped their leisurely journey.
First Date
Her blind date was still propping up the bar, trying not to look at her. Catherine felt humiliation tighten the skin between her shoulder blades. How had she let Abby persuade her into this?
She’d spotted him the moment he walked in –most women in the bar had spotted him, too, subtly shifting in their stools to check him out. He had a tall, upright stance that screamed confidence, a clean-cut, attractive face, and dark, watchful eyes.
I’m not that lucky, had been Catherine’s first reaction.
But then he’d stopped just inside the door and instead of scanning the room, had looked directly at her, sitting at the table she’d so carefully described to Abby to pass on to her ‘great guy I know’. Before she’d managed to close her mouth or raise a hand, his eyes had slid over her and he’d turned his back, heading straight for the bar. Where he’d stayed ever since.
She glanced at her watch. Ten minutes had passed. Just how much Dutch courage did he need to say hello? She wasn’t that bad.
Looking down at her drink, she saw all the ice had melted. She downed her own double shot of courage and got to her feet.
She tapped him on the shoulder. ‘You don’t have to.’
He faced her, brows raised. ‘Uh, sorry?’
‘You don’t have to.’ She kept her head up, voice even. Straightforward, matter-of-fact. Calm Catherine. Sensible Catherine. Single Catherine.
‘The only thing worse than no dates is a bad date, right?’
Now he looked embarrassed, glancing over her head, round the room, anywhere but at her. He eased back a step, but his neighbours at the bar blocked his way. ‘Right?’
‘Right.’ She nodded. ‘So don’t worry about it. You don’t have to cower over here at the bar –’
‘Cower?’
‘ –all you had to do was say, “Sorry, this isn’t going to work out” and –’
‘Excuse me?’
‘ –I’d have smiled and laughed and we’d have pretended to Abby that it was just one of those things –’
‘Who’s Abby?’
‘ –because, God, it’s not as if either of us was going to pick the other out of a line-up as a potential soul mate or anything, I’ve been happy by myself for years, that’s fine, I’m not expecting that to change –’
This time he interrupted her with a gentle hand over her mouth. His skin was hot, a little rough, his hand large on her face. ‘Can. I. Buy. You. A. Drink?’ he asked.
Her face burned. She was so hot she thought for a horrified moment she was going to faint. He still had the look of a man handling a dangerous and unpredictable animal, wide-eyed, a little frozen.
She blinked and nodded. Who’s Abby? ‘Uh, you’re not my date, are you?’
His lips twitched. ‘I’m afraid not.’ He held out his hand. ‘Jonathan.’
‘Catherine,’ she said, taking it.
They drank, talked, and when he suggested that her real date had probably slunk away when he saw her on the warpath, she’d laughed, choked on her wine, pushing her hair back to meet his gaze.
He was nearer than she’d thought. She could see the silver line around the dark blue of his irises, the fine lines beside his eyes, his mouth. His dark hair had threads of amber in it. This close, she could catch a sharp citrus tang, and underneath an indefinable scent that was simply his body heat.
And then it happened. She saw the shock of her attraction echoed in his reactions. His widening pupils, the stutter of a surprised breath, his heart beating in the pulse at the base of his throat.
He reached out and touched her cheek, her hair, leaned in, hesitated…and kissed her.
It was a tentative touch, a brushing of lips, a soft exchange of breath.
She thought, This is crazy. She thought, I can’t.
But she did.
‘Get up.’
She turned, smiling. Jonathan’s voice had been clipped, sharp, but she rose to her feet expecting a kiss, a romantic word.
Then she saw his face. ‘Jonathan?’
His narrow-eyed stare was directed past her shoulder. She turned to look, down the steep path along the edge of the tumbling beck, the stony surface showing pale between turf and bracken, like a scar. Squinting down the path, she was conscious of a thread of chill in her belly.
Then she saw what he must have seen: two figures climbing into view where, just half an hour or so ago, Jonathan had ta
ught her to scramble, laughing at her efforts, kissing her in reward. Two men. Nothing much suspicious in that, except something about their haste…their dress. Dark jeans, tailored jackets across broad shoulders and bulky forms.
‘We have to go.’ Jonathan’s face was shuttered.
That chilling thread tightened.
Without words, without understanding, she reached for the rucksack, jumping when Jonathan snatched it from her, slinging it across his own shoulder. She bent to retrieve their lunch things and champagne, but he caught her arm, swinging her round. She stumbled over loose stones and his grip tightened.
‘Ow! What the hell is going on, Jon?’
‘Move,’ he answered. ‘Up the path. I’m right behind you.’
‘What –?’
‘Move. Now,’ he bit out, his mouth snapping shut on the words into a grim, hard line she’d only seen once before.
Second Date
This time it was harder.
This time she had expectations.
Catherine sighed, turning the slim, crystal stem of her wine glass between her fingers. Not that it mattered if she sighed loudly or surreptitiously –she didn’t think her date really knew she was there. Or if he did, he wasn’t happy about it.
His strong, lean fingers worked the cutlery, making short, surgical work of the steak he’d ordered. He’d made the choice of this venue, and a week after their first date, they were dining in the smart restaurant of an upmarket boutique hotel.
She glanced across at him. He wore a dark suit, sharply cut, with a navy shirt and no tie. As he swallowed, the cords of his throat moved under supple, golden skin that somehow glowed in the frame of his open collar.
Catherine felt a hot, dark pain shoot through her: equal parts longing and pure sexual need. Some of the longing, she knew, was for him to feel the same need. She sighed again, and sipped her wine.
When she looked up from the crimson merlot, she found his eyes on her. She forced a smile.
‘This is a lovely place,’ she said.
‘Yes.’ His lips moved to shape the word, then flattened into a hard, grim line.
She swallowed. ‘Have you been here before?’ Oh yes, a great conversationalist you are.
‘Yes.’ Lips formed the word, then settled flat.
‘Is your steak good?’ Heaven help me.
‘Yes.’ Flat line.
Something snapped in her. She got to her feet, dropping her pristine napkin onto her half-finished boeuf en croute, struggling with her chair on the plush carpet until a waiter drew it out for her. Jonathan came smoothly to his feet without effort, making her feel even more awkward.
‘This is clearly a mistake.’ She didn’t care that the waiter still hovered, that curious faces were turning their way. ‘Goodnight.’
‘Catherine –’
She didn’t wait, keeping her head so high she nearly tripped over her own handbag –the waiter restored it to her –she walked swiftly out of the dining room, aware of the murmur of voices behind her, half obscured by the buzzing in her ears.
‘Cath, wait…’
She didn’t stop for her coat, almost running out the door, heading instinctively for the darkest part of the street. Footsteps sounded and she spun round. ‘Go. Away.’
He had her coat. He stopped warily a few paces away.
In silence, she held out her hand for her coat, but he didn’t give it to her. A few seconds passed, while the goose bumps rose on her arms. He stood half in, half out of the light, the amber illumination slashing across his face as if he wore a mask. One eye glittered.
‘I’m sorry. It’s…’ He glanced over his shoulder. A taxi drove towards them, a gaggle of partying women, tottering in high heels, giggled their way down the road. ‘It’s just that I shouldn’t be here.’
‘You shouldn’t…Oh, God. You’re married.’
‘Married!’ The eye flared wide in shock, in alarm. ‘No. God, no,’ he said, glancing away as if dazed.
‘Then why? What do you mean?’
He stepped closer, still not quite looking at her. Her coat was draped over his left arm, but his other hand was out of sight. He looked again down the road, as if embarrassed to be seen with her. Turned a little away from her, his right arm straightened, held down by his side in shadow. He moved closer, until she could see that he breathed hard, the line of his shoulders tense.
‘Easy, don’t rush,’ he muttered, under his breath. He looked round once more, the street was finally empty, and then, and only then, he turned his head, looked down, and met her eyes.
There it was again. That sense of dislocation, echoed in the blue eyes that stared down into hers, the head rearing back just a little. The traffic noise died, drowned by the hammering of the blood in her ears.
She couldn’t remember the last breath she’d taken.
‘Damn,’ he said, dropped her coat onto the pavement, caught her head in his left hand, and kissed her.
Jonathan grabbed her hand, urging her on. He kept her moving, hoping to keep her out of breath and out of questions, because at some point he was going to have to explain and everything in him rebelled at looking down into those courageous, trusting eyes and saying…saying…
God.
They went through some sort of peaty bog at speed, stumbling over tussocks, going ankle deep in the soft ground. Cath tripped and went down, mired to the knee, and he took a moment to steady his breathing, getting a look behind them. The top of the path they’d ascended levelled out onto a plateau, creating a broad moor where the tarn on their left lay still, shadowed silver. Ahead to the right, the mountain rose, a smooth, rounded shoulder of the long ridge that formed this side of the wide valley, falling away to ragged crags on the opposite side.
Their pursuers hadn’t yet appeared behind them. His mind ran ahead, but without cover, without…belatedly he realised Cath was still struggling in the bog. He got a grip of her trousers and heaved her out.
‘Run,’ he said, and knew from the hated flicker of fear in her eyes that something of his urgency was getting through. She shook the peat from her hands and ran, heading up the slope, picking her way carefully, but moving fast. Even while his mind switched from pleasure to business, he was still able to admire the way she moved, the strength in her legs, the nimble way she picked level, solid footings among the detritus of the fellside.
He ran at her shoulder, ready to force her on when her strength began to fail. He risked a look behind. They were still in luck. He didn’t know the names of the men they’d sent, but he knew why they were here.
They were here to finish the job he hadn’t.
And to finish him.
It hit him, then, with blinding, breath-stealing clarity, that explaining to Catherine wasn’t the worst thing he could face today.
Losing her would be.
‘Cath, wait!’ he hissed, making a grab for her shoulder and missing, off-balance in body and mind. ‘Wait!’
She skidded to a halt and he found himself almost rooted to the spot. Her face was white, only the heat of exertion lending it colour. Her mouth shook.
Catherine, I’m so sorry. ‘Look, I need to explain, in case…in case I don’t get to later.’
She didn’t say anything.
Over her shoulder he could see cloud boiling up out of the neighbouring valley, spilling over the edge.
‘The men after us. You need to be afraid of them, if we get separated, you need to run, hide, and get to safety.’
She stared. He wiped sweat from his face. ‘You…they…’ He swallowed. No time for finesse in survival. ‘I wasn’t supposed to kiss you when we met, Catherine. I was supposed to kill you.’
Tears welled in her unblinking eyes, hovering there an impossible time before tracking over her ashen cheeks. She was utterly still, not a muscle flickered in her face.
‘I wasn’t supposed to kiss you. I wasn’t supposed to like you. I wasn’t supposed to see you again, to fall in love with you, Catherine.’ He raked his fingers th
rough his hair, tugging at the roots. He wanted to comfort her, but he was the source of her pain. ‘I was supposed to fulfil a contract. But I didn’t, I…From their point of view, I failed. So now they’ve sent people to…clean up.’
She moved, just the back of one hand to swipe across her eyes. ‘Kill me?’
She was in shock.
‘You piece of slime!’
‘Catherine –’
‘You can’t –You don’t –Oh, how could you?’ she cried. She pressed her hands to her face, bending over, making a keening, hurting sound.
‘Catherine –’
‘Don’t say my name!’ she shrieked, leaping upright, staggering backwards. ‘Get away from me!’
‘No,’ he said, as she began to run. ‘No, no, no, no, no,’ he muttered under his breath as he went after her. She struggled when he first got a grip on her, but he’d expected that. He tried to restrain without hurting, tucking her arm up, winding her close, avoiding her kicking. ‘No, Catherine, you need me –You can’t –’
‘I need you?’ She spun in his grip, trying to bring her teeth to bear, raking his shins with her heels.
He went down with her, shocking her with the movement, with the hissed words at her ear, ‘If you want to live, Catherine, you need me.’
She stopped fighting, only breathing hard, vibrating with anger.
‘Do you hear me? Focus. If you want to live, you have to work with me.’
‘I hate you,’ she said, in a dull toneless voice.
‘Well, I love you,’ he said, tasting bile, ‘and if I can’t kill you, no one can.’
Some remaining sane part of his brain heard those words in action replay and reared back, incredulous, but it seemed to work.
She turned her head slightly in his hold. He could see the flicker of one eye, the impossibly beautiful curve of her cheek, dark strands of hair plastered to it. There was a speck of mud high on her cheekbone, near her eye. Carefully, moving slowly, he wiped it away with one fingertip.
Truly, Madly, Deeply Page 40