“I can. Thanks. I’ll be just fine.”
She was smiling faintly at him, a smile that said she saw right through him and didn’t find him much of a challenge. Bolt suddenly felt as if he was years younger than her instead of the other way around.
“Okay, then.”
“Good night,” she said again.
“Right.” He turned and saw the book on the edge of the dresser. The woman on the glossy cover had laces on her dress, too, only hers were in the front and they looked as if they were popping open from the pressure of her ample breasts. She even looked a little like Cat, long blond hair and lots of soft curves. But the woman on the cover didn’t look as if she was telling the man leaning over her that she didn’t need help with her laces. Quite the opposite.
Without thinking, Bolt reached for the book and picked it up.
“Knight of Passion,” he said, reading the title out loud. “Any good?”
“I think so.”
He smiled at her. “Now I know where all that duel talk came from earlier.”
She shrugged, her gaze direct. “You have to admit it seems a more honorable way to solve differences than jumping people without warning.”
Bolt winced. “It does, at that. I wonder why duels ever went out of style.”
“I guess because, for the most part, everything else about the world they represented went out of style. Things like honor and chivalry and loving someone enough to die for them if need be.”
“Don’t forget wearing your lady’s token into battle,” he added. “You see, I do know a little about it.”
“Why are you chuckling?”
He shrugged. “Natural reaction, I guess. I mean, I’m sure it makes for a great story, but who would take any of this seriously?”
“I would,” she said, removing the book from his hand. “All of it.”
She began to close the door on her side, purposefully bumping the toes of his boots in the process.
“I’m going, I’m going,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean to offend you or anything.”
“Trust me, you didn’t. I hardly expected a man like you to understand my philosophy of life, much less agree with it.”
“A man like me?”
She met his gaze with a lofty expression. “That’s right.”
It was late and he really wasn’t sure he was up to hearing her view of his manhood. “Yeah, well...there is one more thing.”
“What now?”
“About tonight...” He stopped and rubbed his jaw with his palm, looking at the bed behind her and the ceiling above before finally meeting her impatient gaze. He spoke quickly. “I sometimes have dreams, all right? Bad dreams, I mean, and there’s a chance I might shout or something. I just thought I would warn you so you won’t be scared if you hear anything.”
“Thank you,” she said softly. Just as he stepped into his room, she added, “Bolt, I think maybe I would feel safer after all if we left the connecting doors unlocked. Is that okay?”
He caught her gaze, her hint of a smile maddeningly perceptive, as if she knew him better than he knew himself. Bolt felt that same uncomfortable feeling twisting inside him, as if roles were suddenly reversed and he was the one who needed protection and she was taking care of him.
“Whatever you say, Tiger,” he replied, managing a cocky grin for her benefit. “Sweet dreams.”
Sweet dreams. The wish trailed him into his room, lingering in his mind as he kicked off his boots and attempted to punch the paltry motel pillows into shape. Were there still such things as sweet dreams? It had been so long since he’d had any that were even remotely sweet, he couldn’t be sure. He either didn’t dream at all or woke up sweating. No in-between.
Which was fitting, he supposed. At any rate, he preferred things that way, black or white, all or nothing, no in-between. To Bolt, in-between implied halfway and compromise and concessions. Concessions left room for error. Something he’d learned the hard way.
He stretched out on the sagging mattress with the bedside lamp still on and closed his eyes experimentally.
Immediately he descended into the middle of an explosion of heat and streaks of red light, bloodred. The noise filled his head and he was diving, diving through glass and blackness, hitting the ground hard and hurting, hurting bad, then running, running as fast as he could to get clear of the smoke and see where he was. He had to find his way inside the house, only the pain in his chest kept stopping him, making him fall again and again, and finally he was flat on his belly, looking back and seeing there was no house left to find, not anymore, and he was crying out because he knew that with the house had gone the woman he had just found to love, the woman he thought had loved him, and then he was just lying there, facedown in the dirt, dying in some godforsaken corner of a country he didn’t understand and mostly hated and not knowing the half of it.
He knew now, though. He knew it all now. Knowing it, knowing the truth about Angelina, and about himself, was what brought the real screams from some private hell deep inside him.
Jerking upright, away from the memory, he swung himself off the bed. This wasn’t going to work. Not tonight. Maybe it was being overtired or Cat’s talk of knights in shining armor. Whatever, there was no way he could risk falling asleep in that room tonight. Noise and motion and the sense that he wasn’t alone in the darkness, that’s what he needed to sleep in peace.
Since that wasn’t an option for tonight, he needed instead to shake off some of the languor that was already setting in. A walk seemed in order. Cool night air might have helped refresh him, but the air outside was still warm and heavy. He prowled more than walked, circling the small motel twice. That wasn’t enough, so he also walked a distance down the road and back. Whenever a car approached, he was careful to look away from the glare of the headlights, wanting vision sharp in case a black Mustang happened to pass.
As he rounded the corner into the motel parking lot, the first thing Bolt saw was the old convertible gleaming like cherry ice in the moonlight, and he smiled in spite of his dark mood. As he drew closer, the urge to just slip behind the wheel and take off rose up strong inside him. It would be so simple, Bolt told himself, just him and the Chevy and the old man in the moon who already knew all his secrets anyway. He could drive away and leave all his problems behind.
He glanced at the darkened window of the room next to his, the curtains tightly drawn on the other side. Problems like Catrina Amelia Bandini, for starters.
It sure was a tempting thought.
He had no doubt she’d get home safely without him. She was a big girl with a wallet full of credit cards. She could take a taxi to the airport and be home by tomorrow afternoon. Of course, the general would be all over him about deserting her here, but by then both she and the car would be safely where they belonged, and everyone knew that in the end, results were what mattered most. The general understood that even better than he did.
If he didn’t leave now, if he stayed and continued at the unhurried pace Cat clearly intended, the trip was only going to get harder. Harder in all kinds of ways that he didn’t even want to think about. And more complicated. He knew that in his gut. One look at Cat in that black dress had seared that truth into him in a way he wouldn’t be forgetting in a hurry.
The hell with chivalry. The smart thing to do would be to take off. If he went now, everyone would be happy in the end. Him, the general, Tony LaCompte. Okay, maybe not everyone. But the only one who wouldn’t be happy was Cat. At least she’d be getting paid for her trouble. She wouldn’t, however, get to take her damn pictures.
So, Bolt reasoned, her project would simply have to be put on hold for a while, until she could afford to travel on her own. And if the magazine editor lost interest in the meantime, well, Cat was young. Very young, chided a small voice in his head. There would be plenty of other projects for her.
Not, he reminded himself, that any of that was his problem.
Nope, it wasn’t his problem at all, he decided, s
ighing as he turned toward his room. Not even remotely his problem. If he wanted to, he could have his stuff in that car and be out of there in a heartbeat.
He entered the room and closed the door quietly behind him, not wanting to disturb Cat. His mouth curved reluctantly at the memory of the sleepy yawn she’d tried to stifle when bidding him good-night a while ago.
Still moving carefully so he didn’t make any noise, he turned the room’s only chair, which easily qualified as the ugliest and most uncomfortable vinyl-covered chair ever manufactured, so that it faced the small television. He turned the set on with the volume low, cranked the air conditioner to high, kicked off his boots once again and spent the night slouched awkwardly in the chair, thinking about the woman sleeping next door.
* * *
Cat was surprised when Bolt readily agreed to let her take the first stint behind the wheel the following day. Pleasantly so. Uncle Hank would never ride in a car while a woman did the driving, and Bolt went up a notch in her estimation for not being quite that obsessively macho. Of course, after last night and the debacle in Madelaine’s barn, he still had a long way to go.
The man was clearly the victim of too many of her uncle’s top-secret missions. She’d seen the signs before in some of the men who visited Uncle Hank from time to time. Wary and guarded, quick to suspicion and slow to laughter. Special Services burnouts, she’d dubbed them, to her uncle’s dismay. There was a time, she knew, when Uncle Hank had cherished a hope that she would someday settle down with a man in uniform, preferably one handpicked by him from his corps of elite officers. She’d long since disavowed him of that silly notion. She loved her country and had the utmost respect for the soldiers who dedicated their lives to defending it, but she could never live with one.
Cat knew exactly what kind of man she wanted to share her life with. She’d known since the days when she’d sat on her uncle’s lap and listened rapturously to his stories of how her beautiful ballerina mother and handsome magician father had met and fallen head over heels in love and run away to get married because they just couldn’t bear to be apart for even a minute. Her mother had given up her dream of dancing professionally to become the stage assistant of the Great Bandini.
Together they developed the act and took it on the road, more often than not leaving their only child with a friend, and together, on one of those road trips to a string of small-town gigs, they had died, their souls now bound for all eternity. To Cat, it was the most romantic story ever, far more so even than her favorite fairy tales about Cinderella and Rapunzel.
She may not have been able to put it into words at first, but even back then she had known there was a Prince Charming in her future. The man she was waiting for was creative and daring and wildly romantic, a man who needed her and wanted her and respected her, a man to cherish her and build his world around her. A man exactly like her mother had found, she mused, thoughts of the parents she’d barely known tugging at her heartstrings, as always.
None of the men she’d dated had ever come close to fulfilling her requirements. Not surprisingly, since her requirements were so demanding. She knew that and had no intention of compromising one iota. If her mother and father could find their soul mates, then so could she. Even if it took her a lifetime. She’d already decided that she would prefer to share a short while with the man who was created for her alone than to waste eternity with some runner-up.
For a while, when they first met, she’d thought Gator might have been the man for her. Now the very idea made her giggle. Gator was creative, all right, and even daring in his own off-the-wall way, and he certainly knew how to make her laugh, another must. But he utterly lacked the inner strength and compassion she was looking for. He was a great friend, but no more her soul mate than...Bolt Hunter, she thought, giggling even louder at that. Bolt might be as strong and stubborn as the lock on Fort Knox, but wrong for her in every other way she could conceive of and probably a few she couldn’t.
Besides being surprised by Bolt’s agreeing to let her take the wheel this morning, she was also secretly relieved to be driving early in the day. Of course, she would ride strapped to the bumper before admitting that to him. She knew for a fact that she would never have been able to drive anywhere near the number of miles he had covered yesterday and she certainly would never have been in any shape to consider going on after they left Madelaine’s. She had to admire Bolt’s fortitude, which he had dismissed as a simple matter of willpower.
Actually, that would explain it nicely. She didn’t have enough willpower to resist a jelly doughnut or splurging on a sweater she couldn’t afford, much less enough to will her eyes to stay open and focused after a long day on the road.
That’s why she was happy to do her share of the driving now, while she was fresh and alert. She’d fallen asleep as soon as she hit the bed last night and had only been dragged back to consciousness when Bolt banged none too gently on her door at the ungodly hour of six o’clock. She felt great now, wide-awake and full of energy. Which was more than she could say for her copilot.
She darted a quick sideways glance to where he’d been sleeping soundly ever since they’d stopped for breakfast just outside Albany. So far he’d slept through tolls and a rush-hour traffic jam and the quick pit stop she’d made to tank up on gas and coffee. Now they were approaching the New York City area, which Gator had taken pains to warn her about, and in spite of a selfish wish that he might awaken in time to take over the driving before the upcoming route changes and heavy traffic, Cat didn’t have the heart to disturb him.
If she had been making the trip alone, as planned, she would have had to handle the tough driving on her own, she reminded herself. And Bolt didn’t appear destined to rejoin the living anytime soon. She chuckled to herself as she carefully followed the signs directing her to bear left at the split ahead. Apparently yesterday’s hard drive and the incident at Madelaine’s had taken more of a toll on old Captain Invincible than he would ever admit. Now that she thought about it, he’d started out today looking worse than he had when he went to bed last night.
Some of it was due to the fact that he hadn’t bothered to shave, and two days’ worth of dark stubble made him look grouchy and vaguely menacing. But the circles under his eyes and deep grooves by the sides of his mouth with which he’d greeted her this morning had nothing to do with whiskers, only fatigue. It was obvious he needed the sleep and even if it meant risking a detour through the heart of Manhattan, Cat was going to see that he got it.
She wasn’t sure why she felt so kindly to him all of a sudden. After all, at this time yesterday she would have cheerfully left him hog-tied by the roadside if she could have managed it. For reasons she couldn’t explain, Bolt got to her in a way she would never have expected. He made her feel almost protective, which was totally absurd, she thought, smiling wryly. Even if she hadn’t known that he was one of her uncle’s legendary warriors, after one day in his company she could tell that Bolt Hunter was as tough and resourceful as they came. The man needed her protection about as much as a cobra needed protection from a butterfly.
All he needed was sleep. And since he was going out of his way to help her, she supposed she owed him that much. Besides, she thought, sneaking another peek his way, the man looked adorable when he slept. Not exactly cuddly, but definitely less fierce and irritating than he did when he was awake. He even snored nicely, she decided, listening to the soft, snuffly sound of his breathing. It was deep and rhythmic and reassuring on some elemental level, like listening to someone’s heartbeat.
And, she thought, tightening her grip on the wheel as she approached the Garden State Parkway, she could use all the reassurance she could get about now.
By taking it slow and paying attention, she managed to make it through the heaviest traffic without a single close call or wrong turn. She felt quite triumphant and proud of herself. Baltimore, their next stop, was still over four hours away, but Cat figured that with a quick trip to the ladies’ room and anothe
r cup of coffee, she just might be able to make it all the way.
This time Bolt stirred when she pulled into a rest stop, parked and turned off the engine. He groaned, rubbed his jaw sleepily and turned to peer at her with a heavy-lidded expression that made her pulse race for no good reason. Good Lord, what was the matter with her?
“Where are we?” he asked, his voice husky.
“New Jersey,” she replied proudly.
That opened his eyes in a hurry. “You’re kidding, right?”
Cat smiled and shook her head.
“Damn,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean for you to drive this far. I must have really zonked out.”
“You did. Which means you really needed the rest.”
“Maybe,” he replied. Cat decided that was probably as close as he would come to admitting she’d been right. “I’m fine now, though,” he went on, “so I’ll take over from here.”
She nodded agreeably. She was proud, not stupid, and her neck was getting stiff from driving.
“All right,” she agreed, stretching her arms over her head before reaching behind her for her bag. “But first I need to wash my face and grab a cup of coffee. Do you want to take turns using the facilities?”
“I think we should, just to be on the safe side,” Bolt said, scanning the parking lot.
“Looking for a black Mustang, by any chance?” she teased.
He shot her a look. “Why? Do you see one?”
“At ease, soldier, it was a joke.” She shook her head ruefully. “So who goes first?”
“You can,” he said, reaching for the door handle. “I’ll get out and stretch my legs a little while I wait.”
“Okay. Back in a jiff,” she said as she walked away.
Bolt followed her example and stretched his arms over his head as he watched her go. Didn’t the woman own any slacks? he wondered, scowling at the back of her long legs as she hurried up the walk. Sure, it was hot, but he was wearing jeans, wasn’t he? It wouldn’t hurt her to do the same and it would sure help him to concentrate on his driving. Maybe he’d suggest it to her for tomorrow. A shirt with sleeves wouldn’t be a bad idea, either.
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