Setting Him Free

by Alexandra Marell

  "Over there," he said in the same quiet, measured tone he'd used to reassure her just before the plane went down. "That's a good girl. Point it towards the window for me."

  Her finger still rested lightly against the trigger. She felt it twitch at the same time Taylor moved, so swiftly that her face was jammed against the seat and her arm twisted painfully behind her back before she'd even registered it. The air left her lungs in a rush. She struggled for breath. Heard the gun clatter to the floor. And then Taylor's clipped tones.

  "What the bloody hell do you think you were doing?"

  * * * *

  Collecting personal possessions and bagging them seemed right to do, despite not really caring about any of the dead. Cash and condoms from the business man. ID cards. A ring and a cross each from the nuns. A few items of jewellery from the flight attendant. Taylor threw them into the carrier bag with the policeman's possessions.

  He glanced over the edge where he'd dumped them all. Still no sign of the pilots or the radio. and all that was left of the second policeman were the tattered remnants of his suit jacket, hanging listlessly from a tree branch.

  The last thing he expected to see when he squeezed back through the gap was Danielle with the gun, kneeling down and waving it about with no idea what it was capable of. Instinct and years of training kicked in. He was on auto pilot by the time he'd disarmed her with a flick of his wrist, and kicked the gun away.

  Didn't she know how easily these things went off? Of course she didn't; why should she? He didn't know if the safety was on or off, and his heart hammered painfully at the thought of what could have happened.

  Danielle whimpered quietly into the seat-back and he knew that he was hurting her, but he was still angry. Angry at what he'd seen her do, and angry at himself for showing her a side of him he'd rather have kept hidden.

  "Danielle?" He slowly released the pressure on her arm and turned her to face him. Her eyes were huge with both fear and shock, and his heart sank as he searched for words to explain why he'd reacted so violently. He kept a firm hold of her hand. She looked as if she wanted to be as far away from him as possible.

  He closed his eyes, and took a few calming breaths. When he spoke, his voice was shaking.

  "Danielle, love, what were you doing?"

  She stared at him as if he'd turned into a monster. He tried again.

  "Danielle, what were you doing? Half scared me to death."

  She shook her head a little. At least it was a reaction. Taylor slipped his hand behind her neck and held her still, his face close to hers. "Don't ever mess with a gun like that again. You had your finger on the trigger, for God's sake. Do you hear me?"

  "I wasn't, I didn't... I was just playing. Taylor?"

  "Say it. Tell me you heard me."

  "I hear you, Taylor." Danielle's eyes flicked briefly to the gun lying in the aisle, then back to him. "No harm done, right?"

  "Right." Taylor nodded, anger turning to relief. "Not this time, but I've seen it, Danielle. What these things can do. Friend of mine was messing about, laughing, joking. Next minute he was dead. Happens in a heartbeat, and I haven't survived this to lose you before…before…"

  "Before what?" Danielle blinked. It came out as the barest whisper, and at the same time her hands drifted over his shoulders. She hesitated for a moment then tugged gently, pulling him down to her.

  "Before what?" she repeated. "This?"

  The tip of her tongue moved slowly over her lips and in her eyes he saw question, invitation, and challenge. It was unbearably exciting. The air around them sparked with tension. He was as hard as hell, every muscle in his body rigid with need. Blood pounded in his ears and his focus narrowed swiftly, until all he could see was her.

  He wanted her. They both had bucket-loads of tension to work off, and it would get worse. But would one kiss be enough to dampen the fire building between them?

  Hell, it was going to happen, why was he even having this conversation with himself? Because, afterwards, when she'd calmed down and started thinking rationally, she'd say he'd taken advantage of her. And she'd be right.

  Taylor let his hand slide into her hair, smoothed it back and threaded his fingers into her long pony-tail. The silky hair slipped through his fingers and, as he rested his cheek against hers, he scrunched the golden strands in his fist and rubbed them against his face. A delicate hint of shampoo mingled with her light perfume, and he breathed in the soft warmth of her and clawed back his control.

  When she tried to turn her face to him, he held her firm.

  "I'm sorry."

  "No, no, it was me, I was being stupid. Taylor?"

  For a moment his lips rested against her salty skin and letting go was hard. He sat back on his heels. "I didn't mean to hurt you."

  "I know." She looked slightly dazed by what had happened, and confused by what hadn't happened. "I didn't see you coming."

  It wasn't a question, but she needed an answer. What the hell did he tell her? She gazed at him. Expectant, wary. He owed her an explanation.

  He sighed and then spotted the tray of food behind her on the floor of the aisle. Reaching over, he placed it between them and twisted round to sit more comfortably.

  "Looks like I got me a dinner date," he said, attempting a smile. "Here." He opened a sandwich pack and offered her one. It looked a little dry. She paused for a moment before taking it. Taylor took a bite of his, chewed, swallowed, then said, "Okay, what do you want to know?"

  * * * *

  He'd moved like lightning, and pinned her to the seat without a pause. All with one arm. Avoiding his gaze, Danielle chewed on her sandwich. Whatever he was, he'd done that before and whatever he told her wouldn't include teddy bears and pressed flowers, that was for sure.

  Do I really want to know this?

  The canned drink fizzed when she popped the tab. She took a swig and passed it over to him. Where to start? What did she say? By the way, are you a serial killer? And what if he said yes?

  "I enjoy myself for a living," she began. "Must have the best job on earth." The only downside is that I'm afraid of flying, which you probably noticed. I always knew the plane would crash, and I was right, wasn't I?" That got a small smile from him. "Do you like flying?"

  "Never really bothered me." Taylor took the can and tipped his head back for a drink. The gun lay on the floor where it had landed. She suspected he hadn't forgotten about it.

  Why didn't he kiss me? She closed her eyes, cringing inwardly at the way she'd grabbed him. He must have known I wanted him to.

  Opening her eyes, she avoided his gaze and concentrated on her sandwich. For a few moments they ate in silence. He wasn't picking it up, and she was usually so good at this. Getting people to open up was her job. He's English. So ask him where he's from. That's always a good one.

  Before she could voice the question, he spoke.

  "I used to kill people for the British Government."

  No emotion. Just words. He continued eating, as if he'd simply made a comment about the weather.

  "Oh." It was all she could think of to say, and she was never stuck for words. But then, she'd never heard that one before. Before she could stop herself she replied automatically. "Did you enjoy it?"

  His sharp laugh made her jump. Hell, what a stupid thing to say. She closed her eyes, mortified. When she opened them he was looking directly at her, his gaze unwavering.

  "What would you say if the answer was yes?"

  The very last thing she wanted to hear. Danielle went very still. Carefully, she placed the sandwich on the tray.

  "I'd say how could you?"

  Was that why he hadn't kissed her? Because he knew that when she discovered his secret, she'd regret it? Feel contaminated and wish she hadn't.

  "Enjoyed maybe isn't the right word, but I found it easy, at first. They picked me out while I was in the army. Said I had potential. Hell, I proved them right." Taylor shook his head, as if remembering, his mouth curving into a dry smile. "Not th
at different from soldiering. Just a bit more personal, that's all."

  "At first?" Danielle reached for her sandwich, although the hunger had vanished. A knot of tension twisted in her stomach, making her feel slightly queasy. Part of her had clung to the hope that his crime had been something safe, like embezzlement or tax evasion. She hadn't expected to hear this. And yet, looking at him now, his words made perfect sense.

  Somewhere inside the broken shell of a man she'd glimpsed before the crash was the hard man who talked so casually about killing. For that he'd need a heart cold as ice. And yet it didn't square with the man who'd looked at her with such concern and touched her so tenderly.

  "You said, 'at first?"

  "I was a regular 007. Licensed to kill, and all that. Adventure. Glamorous women. That's how I met my wife."

  Wife? Something else she hadn't been expecting. She felt an irrational twinge of jealousy.

  He acknowledged her look of surprise. "Yes, wife. Didn't last long though. She's dead. That's what this is all about."

  "You killed her?" Her voice was a bare whisper. Please don't say you killed her

  "No. They say I did. But I didn't. Do you believe me?"

  "I don't know." Danielle searched his face for evidence of the truth. How did she know whether to believe him or not? Just because she was attracted to him didn't mean he was safe to be around. Some women formed obsessions with killers. Wrote them letters in prison. Was she doing the same because he was attractive, sexy and strong and she desperately wanted to believe him?

  A hardened killer who went home at night to his wife and played ball with his kids in the park on Saturday morning? Could you be both at the same time?

  "Why didn't you let me kiss you just now, Taylor?"

  His eyes narrowed. "Danielle..."

  "Was it because you thought I'd regret it once I found out about you?"

  "I suppose so." He picked up the drink can again and stared at it. "How would you have felt knowing you'd kissed a killer?"

  "I won't know until I try it."

  He snapped his head up. "Danielle, what are you saying?"

  "I'm saying that if I have nothing to fear from you, then you can kiss me right? You didn't kill your wife so prove it to me. You don't like killing any more? Show me. Make me know I won't have anything to regret."

  Insane logic for an insane situation. Trapped in the middle of nowhere with dead bodies, a killer and feeling no fear? She bit back the hysteria.

  I'm doing this for him. To show I trust him.

  Hell, who am I kidding? Everything about him called to her in a way she'd never experienced. Her insides were still tingling with the anticipation of the nearly-kiss. Her emotions in a tailspin. If he didn't make a move soon she'd explode.

  She knelt up, and pushed the tray out of the way. "Well?" Her knees trembled slightly. What would this really prove other than that they were both horny as hell?

  When he made his decision and dipped his head towards hers, Danielle closed her eyes and grabbed his tee-shirt, to steady herself as well as to anchor him in place. He seemed to be hovering on the edge of something. His slight hesitation made her tighten her grip, silently willing him on.

  Surprisingly, nothing like she expected. Instead of a dam-breaking, passionate torrent of a kiss, he gave her the sweetest, most heartbreaking kiss she'd ever experienced. A brief touch of his lips on hers, and the question "Do you trust me?" whispered so quietly against her cheek she thought she'd dreamed it. And when he sat back, and she opened her eyes, he looked drained. Like a man who had nothing left to give and for whom nothing mattered, except the answer to his question.

  "Taylor?"

  Hell, she'd got it so wrong. No black and white in this, no question of right or wrong, justification or condemnation. It was way more complicated than that. Leaning towards him, Danielle gathered him up, feeling him let go his resistance, his good arm sliding around her back. He needed her strength, too and she'd been dumping it all on him. Expecting him to look after her, because he was a big strong man and she was a woman.

  Poor man was tired, and not just physically. She felt it in the way he held her. Almost like a child who needed silent reassurance that everything was going to be okay. She couldn't give him that; she had no idea what the future held for him. She could only give him this.

  "I'd trust you with my life, Taylor." Threading her fingers into his hair, she stroked the short strands, soothing and caressing. Taylor held on, giving no indication he'd heard the words.

  "Rest," she whispered. "That's what you need. Just now there's nothing to worry about." Danielle sank back against the side of the seat, letting his weight fall on her. His hair tickled her cheek and she continued stroking, a little overawed at his trust in her. "None of it matters any more. It's just you and me, and nothing else."

  Chapter 6

  Taylor hardly moved except to breathe. Danielle continued stroking his hair, his shoulders, his back until his weight became so heavy, she thought he'd gone to sleep.

  Some loose part of the plane clanked rhythmically as the wind increased and the sound of the wildlife gradually became quieter. A rumble of thunder caught her attention. The heavens were about to open and the rain come thundering down. It would stop as abruptly as it started; usual for this part of the world, and Danielle thought with longing about peeling off her sweat-stained clothes and stepping under the torrent of water. Soaping her body, shampooing her hair, letting the rain rinse it all off. Only a few hours had passed since her morning shower and already she couldn't remember what if felt like to be fresh and clean.

  Taylor was stuck to her. A pool of liquid heat soldered their bodies together. He didn't smell any better than she did. Not a complete turnoff, though, which she found surprising. They smelled like a couple who'd just had sex on a very hot day, only without the sex.

  Tipping back her head, she closed her eyes, remembering the last man she'd been in that position with. Poor Marc. On the face of it, the perfect man for her, kind and generous, offering a comfortable lifestyle, unconditional love. He'd doted on her, treated her like a queen and she'd tried to so hard to pinpoint why that was never enough.

  Then Taylor had fallen into her arms and held onto her as if he never wanted to let her go. And now she knew.

  From that first glance, Taylor had called to her on a level that almost scared her in its intensity. Everything about him touched some sensitive part of her, and set it on fire. His voice, the touch of his hand on her face. His lips brushing across hers. The way he trusted her enough to lie quietly in her arms and let her give him comfort.

  Marc had almost smothered her with caring, loving to sweep her off her feet at the most inopportune of moments. Fun at first, but then it just made her feel powerless. She wanted to be swept off her feet by a man who couldn't help himself, not by one who thought she was too delicate to walk. She'd maybe watched Gone With The Wind once too often, but Marc had never once carried her to bed.

  Had Taylor had ever carried a woman to bed? She could probably bet her life on that certainty. After a while he lifted his head to look at her drowsily, a little sheepishly.

  "That was nice." Taylor pushed himself up, groaning as he adjusted the position of his broken arm in the sling, and then leaned back against the seat beside her.

  "Thank you." He spoke very quietly, a tinge of self-consciousness in his voice now. Resting his right elbow on his knee, he stared down at his feet.

  A few moments of silence as if neither of them knew what to do or say next. Danielle pulled at the knotted tails of her blouse, freed them and flapped the hem in an effort to cool herself. She stretched her arms above her head, working out the kinks, needing to do something to fill the awkward gap between two people being so intimate and then suddenly not being. Too hot to be so close, but the loss of contact was startling, like the moment he'd pulled his gaze away before the crash. She wanted to reach out, hold him some more and make the most of this time together.

  Soon he wou
ld be gone and she'd never see him again.

  Instead, she heard herself saying "You're welcome, Taylor." And, hell, that sounded awful. Why had she turned so formal all of a sudden?

  A hint of a smile on his face, as if he understood what she was feeling. "Need to go to the bathroom?"

  "Yes, but I don't suppose we can use that one?" Danielle tilted her head towards the back of the plane. Taylor shook his head.

  "Strictly outdoor plumbing, I'm afraid." Another low rumble of thunder rattled the plane. Taylor pushed to his feet, shoved the gun back under the seat with the toe of his boot, and stretched out a hand to her. "Let's go cool off."

  She let him haul her up and lead her to the exit, stepping in to help him when the door wouldn't open as easily as it had earlier when he'd dumped the dead body. The activity smoothed the transition from intimacy to more practical matters. It was quite a drop to the ground. Danielle stared down in dismay. A few splintered tree trunks held the plane in place. Perhaps she could use them as steps? And how would Taylor cope with his broken arm?

  "Think you can do it?" he said, narrowing his eyes and mentally measuring the distance. "You go first. Then if that first branch is too low I can pull you back in."

  "Okay." Danielle sucked in a breath and steeled herself. There would be snakes out there, and goodness knows what else. No, don't think about that. The body would be there too. When she looked dubiously back at Taylor, he squeezed her arm.

  "It's all right, love. I'll be right behind you. You can do it."

  "Okay."

  Love? The word rolled off his tongue so easily. Didn't mean anything, of course, but it made her feel good all the same. She took another deep breath. No dignified way of doing this so might as well get it over with. She knelt down and rolled onto her stomach. Taylor held onto her as she inched backwards until her legs were paddling in mid-air, her feet feeling for the first branch. Then she grasped the edge of the floor and lowered herself.