by Raye Morgan
Ayme was hurrying along, but rebellion was smoldering in her heart.
“David,” she said softly. “Tell me what we plan to do.”
“Get away from your white-haired man.”
“What? Why? He was very nice.”
“Most assassins are great guys to go bowling with,” he told her from the side of his mouth. “You can look it up. It’s in the statistics.”
She looked at him and shook her head. He wasn’t taking her request seriously and it was beginning to make her angry. Swinging around in front of him, she blocked his path into the hotel and confronted him, hands on her hips.
“You know what? You need to give me a reason for all this. I can’t do things without a reason. I’m a methodical, logical thinker and I really need to know why I’m doing things.”
He seemed annoyed but tried to be patient. “I will. I promise you. Just give me a little more time.”
She threw up her hands. “For all I know, we could be on our way to rob a bank or knock over a candy store or kidnap a famous hockey star or…who knows?”
“None of the above,” he assured her, though he knew she was just using those as examples. “Ayme, we don’t have time for this. We’ll talk once we’re on the road.”
She sighed. She knew she wasn’t going to be able to stand her ground. Not yet. But if he kept this up…
“Oh, all right,” she said, and they raced for the stairway.
They were able to get a slot on the service that packed cars in for the trip through the tunnel, and they made it in record time. A short time later, they were back on the highway, on the French side of the channel.
Ayme was excited. After all, this was part sightseeing trip for her. But when David made a left turn where she was expecting a right one, she protested.
“Hey, the sign says ‘Paris, that way’.”
He glanced at her warily. “But we’re not going to Paris.”
Her heart sank. “Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
She bit her tongue. She’d had just about enough of this “you’ll see” stuff. If he didn’t trust her enough to let her know their destination at this point, what was she doing with him?
And then she had a brief moment of self-awareness and she realized she really ought to stop and think about what she was doing, period. Why was she running around the countryside with this man she barely knew? It was bad enough that she’d dropped everything to race to London with Cici on a mere address and a whim. But what was she doing now? This was crazy. His apprehension of being in danger was obviously sincere or he wouldn’t be taking these measures to stay hidden. And here she was going right along with him—as though she were meant to. Insanity!
But she knew very well why she was doing it. Of course, his being such a gorgeous hunk of male humanity didn’t hurt. There was a spark between them; she wouldn’t deny that.
But there was something more, something deeper, something worse. She was doing it to avoid reality.
Funny, that—she’d jumped headlong into a dangerous chase in order to avoid her real-world situation. It seemed a contradiction. But she knew it was pretty accurate. Anything beat sitting around and thinking about her life. The longer she stayed on this journey to nowhere, the longer she could put off dealing with what had happened to her sister and to her parents. And the longer she could put off facing what the rest of her life was going to be like.
Okay, so she knew why she was doing this. And she knew why he was doing this—at least she had a good idea. But that didn’t mean she had to sign on to this “you’ll see” business any longer. Either she was a partner in crime, or she would bail out of this situation. Well, maybe not bail exactly. But she would let him know she wasn’t happy and insist on better treatment.
She settled back and looked at him, at his beautiful profile and his sexy day’s growth of dark beard, at the way his gorgeous, shiny hair fell over his forehead. He glanced her way and frowned.
“What?” he said. “What’s the matter?”
She didn’t answer. She just kept looking at him. He glanced her way a few more times, and finally, with an exclamation of exasperation, he pulled over to the side of the road and turned to face her.
“What’s wrong?” he demanded crankily. “You’re driving me crazy with this silent routine. Tell me what you want.”
She stared hard into his starry blue eyes. “Trust,” she said at last. “I want to be trusted.”
From the puzzled look on his face, she could see he had no idea what she was talking about.
“I trust you,” he protested.
“No, you don’t. If you trusted me, you’d tell me the truth.”
A wary look suddenly clouded his gaze.
“Ah-ha!” she thought. There was evidence of guilt if she’d ever seen it.
“The truth about what?” he asked carefully.
“Everything,” she said firmly.
Everything. He let his head fall back against the headrest and chuckled softly. If she only knew how much more complicated that would make it all.
“Ayme, Ayme, what makes you think I actually know the truth about anything?”
“You know more than I do. And that’s all I want.” She moved closer, touching his arm with her hand, trying to make him understand just how important this was to her. “You see, this is what I hate—you knowing and me not knowing. You guiding and me following without a clue. I need to be in control of my own destiny. I can’t just sit here and let you control my fate. I have to have some free choice in the matter.” Her fingers tightened on his arm. “Give me facts, let me make my own decisions. Let me make my own mistakes. But don’t treat me like a child, David. Please. Let me be your partner.”
He looked into her earnest face and felt a wave of emotion different from anything he’d ever felt before. He liked her. He liked her a lot. Too much, in fact. But he didn’t care. There was something so good and true and valuable in her. Reaching out, he cupped her cheek with the palm of his hand and smiled into her eyes. The urge to kiss her bubbled up in his chest. Another urge competed. He wanted her to have whatever she wanted in life and he wanted her to have it right now. He wanted to protect her and be there for her and, at the same time, to let her fly free.
But mostly, he wanted to kiss her. He was moving closer, looking at her pretty lips. He could already taste her…
But wait. Swearing softly, he pulled himself up short. Someone had to. Taking a deep breath, he slipped his hand from her face and looked away and pulled himself together. What the hell was he doing here?
Frowning fiercely, he got tough.
“You want some facts, Ayme? Okay, here you go. I’ve had word that there definitely are people following me. It’s not all in my mind after all.”
An early morning call to Monte had given him that information.
“I think your white-haired man may be one of them.”
“Oh.”
“Right now I’m trying to think of a way to get us to a safe place I know of without the bad guys knowing for sure where we are. So we are headed for a nice Dutch farm area to the north. My sister lives there. If we make it there without something bad happening, we’re going to stay with her for a bit.”
She sighed. That was all she wanted, a little sign that he trusted her, at least a little.
“Thank you,” she said earnestly. Then she smiled. “That sounds nice. I always like people’s sisters.”
He watched her face light up and he groaned inside. The temptation to kiss her was with him all the time now. Every time he looked at her, he could feel what her body would be like against his and all his male instincts came to life. He had to find a way to ratchet his libido down. The whole sexual attraction thing was a new way to complicate his life and he had to resist it.
“I’m sure she’ll like you, too,” he said gruffly.
She nodded happily. “Okay then. Lead on.”
And he did.
But he knew very well
that the information he’d given her would only be the beginning. It was human nature. Once you had a taste, you wanted more. They hadn’t driven for half an hour before she was asking questions again.
“So who exactly are these people who are following you?”
He shrugged. “I assume they are agents of the regime in Ambria. But I don’t know that for sure.”
“Because they know you are working against them?”
He nodded. This was no time to get into the rest of the reason.
She frowned thoughtfully, biting her lip. “We need something to call them. The Bad Guys is too generic.”
“You think?”
“Yes, I do.” She thought for another minute or two. “I’ve got it. Let’s call them the Lurkers.”
He shrugged, amused by her urge to organize everything. “Sounds fair.”
She smiled, obviously pleased with her choice.
And she was pleased with Holland, too.
“It’s so beautiful here,” she said after a few hours of watching the landscape roll by. “It’s like a fairy tale. Everything is so cute and clean.”
“That’s the Netherlands,” he agreed. “It’s quite a nice place.”
“And you grew up here.”
“That I did.”
“Did that make you into a nice person?”
He grinned at her. “It’s good to see you’ve noticed,” he told her.
She smiled back at him. That spark thing happened and they both looked away quickly. But Ayme was warmed to her toes and floating on a cloud.
By late afternoon, they had arrived at the outskirts of the town of Twee Beren where David’s sister lived.
“Here’s another news flash for you, Ayme,” he said as he began to navigate the tiny streets. “If my current plan works out, we’ll be making our way to my sister’s house in a farmer’s hay wagon. How’s that for local color?”
“Oh. That’s interesting.” Though she was a bit taken aback at the prospect.
“I thought you’d like that. Hope Cici can take all the straw.”
“The straw?” Ayme blinked at him. “What straw?”
“We’ll be in hay. Straw.” He gave her a puzzled glance. “You do know what a hay wagon is, don’t you?”
“I…I think so. In fact, I think I’ve been on one before when I was a little girl and going around to the different ranches with my father.”
“There you go. You should be an old hand at this.”
“Hmm.”
“The thing is, I’m sure the people following us…”
“The Lurkers, you mean.”
He nodded, his wide mouth twisted in a half grin. “The Lurkers. They have the license number on this car, so we have to ditch it somewhere unobtrusive in the town. Then we’ll switch over to the hay wagon. That ought to throw them off.”
“I know it does that to me,” she muttered, shaking her head, wondering what on earth he was thinking.
He pulled into a parking space near a vacant lot, switched off the engine, and turned to her. “Okay, here we go. We have about two blocks to walk. I’ll carry Cici. Try to look inconspicuous.”
She gazed at him, wide-eyed. “How do I do that?”
He looked her over. She was right. She was gorgeous with the afternoon sun shining in her golden hair. Everyone within a half mile would be craning their neck to see her.
“Think ugly,” he said, knowing it was no use. “Here, wear this wool cap.”
She put it on and now she resembled a ragtime street urchin. He smiled. He couldn’t help it. She was so darn adorable.
But someone else walking by was smiling at the picture she made, too, and he frowned.
“Come on. We’re becoming a spectacle just trying not to be one. It’s no use. We’ll have to hurry along and hope we blend in.”
They gathered their things, packed in a sleeping Cici and made their way down the street and around the corner to where a rather mangy-looking horse stood hitched to a relatively flat farmer’s wagon. Hay was piled on it high as a hay stack and it had been left right in front of a small, friendly seeming pub.
David nodded with satisfaction.
“Good. Some things never change. Old farmer Shoenhoeven has been stopping here for his afternoon drink for as long as I can remember. When he leaves for home, he goes right past my sister’s farm.” He grinned at his own memories. “It’s been fifteen years since I last did this. And to think the old man is still going strong. How old must he be? He seemed ancient back when I was a kid.”
“You know him? Do you think he’ll give us a ride?”
“He’ll give us a ride but he’s not going to know about it,” David said, scanning the street. There weren’t many people out and about. “We can’t sit up there with him for all to see. We’re going to hide in the back of his wagon.”
“We’re going to do what?” She came to a screeching halt and whirled to face him, appalled. “Even in Texas we don’t do stuff as goofy as that.”
“Well, here in Holland, we do.” He looked around the quiet street again. There was no one in sight.
“Come on. As you walk past, turn in a little. There’s a place where you can climb up. See the foothold? Just swing yourself up and make a dive under the straw.”
She turned to face him, horrified. “Are you kidding me?”
“Hurry, Ayme,” he commanded in a tone that brooked no debate. “Before someone comes around the corner.”
“But…”
“Now!”
She threw her hands into the air but she did as he said. He came right behind her, handing off the baby and pushing back the straw so that they would all fit beneath it. They scrunched in, lay side by side under the straw and stayed very still. Ayme was holding her breath, listening intently, but no one came along to challenge their right to jump aboard.
“Is Cici okay?” David asked in a low voice at last.
Ayme looked at the baby, then blew a small piece of straw out of her mouth before she answered. “She’s still asleep. Can you believe it?”
Carefully, she laid the baby down on a blanket between two wooden boxes, making sure no straw was touching her face. Then she turned back to David. They’d made a little cave in the straw and it was actually rather cozy. The corners of her mouth quirked.
“This is really silly,” she whispered to him. “I feel like my feet are sticking out the bottom. Like the witch in The Wizard of Oz.”
He grinned at her, leaning on his elbow and looking incredibly handsome with his eyes dancing and hay in his hair.
“Do I look like a farm boy?” he asked her, chewing on the end of a long straw.
“Uh-huh.”
“Hush,” he told her. “Or we’ll have people calling in to the police about checking out a talking hay stack.”
She couldn’t meet his gaze without giggling. “Here we are in the back of a hay wagon.” She was laughing out loud. Then she hiccuped and laughed harder.
“Shh,” he hushed warningly, reaching to quiet her.
“This is just so funny, it’s so ridiculous,” she said between hiccups. “I mean, what are we doing here?” She was laughing again.
“You’re getting hysterical,” he warned near her ear.
“I’m not hysterical. You’re tickling me.”
“I’m not tickling you.”
“Your breath. It tickles my skin.”
Somehow that very concept sent her into new gales of laughter that she tried to stifle, but couldn’t. He was on the verge of laughing, too, just from watching her. But she had to be quiet and stop making the haystack move if they were going to get away with this. And she showed no inclination to do so.
So he kissed her. As far as he could see it was the only option, short of throttling her.
It was meant to be a quick shock to her system, a way to stop the laughter in its tracks. A warning. A suggestion. A way to keep her from harming them all. But it turned into much more than that.
When his mouth covere
d hers, her lips parted immediately and her tongue flickered out as though to coax him inside. He took that invitation and made his move and then everything began to blur. His senses went into red-velvet mode. Everything about her felt soft and plush and everything he touched seemed to melt before him. He’d never felt anything this wonderful before. He never wanted to stop.
And neither did she. Every other man she’d ever kissed had been a wary exercise in testing waters that she hadn’t found very warm, nor very tempting. This was so different. She felt as though she’d reached for a ripe fruit and had fallen over a cliff just as she grabbed it. It was a fall that had her spiraling from one level of delicious sensation to the next. She never wanted to reach the bottom of that canyon. She wanted to fall forever, as long as she was in David’s arms.
She stretched. She reached for him—she was begging for more. His embrace was such a comfort to her, such a warm, safe place to be. She sank into the kiss as though she’d finally found a place where she really belonged.
But not for long. He pulled back, cursing himself silently for being such an idiot. This was exactly what he’d been warning himself against. He couldn’t do this. It was stupid, but most of all it wasn’t fair to her.
“I’m sorry,” he said, hair falling over his eyes as he looked down at her. “I didn’t mean to do that.”
“Shh,” she said, eyes wide. “He’s coming.”
They listened, quiet as mice, while the man called out his goodbyes and started to sing as he came toward the wagon.
Ayme gasped. “David, he’s drunk!”
“Nah.”
“Yes, he is,” she whispered near his ear. “Listen to him.”
“He’s not drunk-drunk. Just a little tipsy. He’s had his evening Bols and he’s floating a bit. That’s all.”
The farmer climbed up into the driver’s seat and called the horse to attention, and they started off. The wagon creaked loudly. The horses hooves clanged against the pavement. And the farmer sang at the top of his lungs.
“He’s definitely had too much to drink!” Ayme hissed at David.
“Yes,” he admitted. “Yes, he has. But it’s okay. This isn’t like a car. The horse knows the way. He’ll take over.”