Setting Him Free

by Alexandra Marell

  Where had the body landed?

  Taylor crouched in the doorway. Her face was level with his boots. "Can you make it, Danielle?"

  "I think so. We will be able to get back in, won't we?"

  "Looks easy enough, but climb down carefully. Try not to scratch yourself on the twigs."

  Climb down? She placed her foot on a lower branch, and found there were no more convenient footholds. So she took in a steadying breath, released her grip on the plane, and jumped. When she hit the ground she stumbled sideways and nearly stepped on the body.

  For a few seconds she could only stare, wide-eyed, unable to tear her eyes away from the horror of the dead policeman's vacant stare. A knot of panic rose in her throat, and when another sharp crack of thunder split the air she let out a small scream, stuffing a fist into her mouth to stop the sound, ordering herself to look away. She couldn't. That might have been her lying there with ants crawling from her mouth, her eyes.

  Behind her she was aware of Taylor jumping down, and then his arm around her, pulling her away, shoving her face against his chest. She breathed against him, grabbing handfuls of his tee-shirt, twisting them into her fists until her panic subsided. Around them the forest fell silent. Soon random raindrops started falling softly here and there, filling the air with a different kind of music.

  Taylor took a step back, concern in his eyes. Danielle let go, and held her hands up. "I'm okay, I'm okay," she said letting go one last shudder. "God, that's gruesome."

  Taylor steered her away from the body. ""Not a pretty sight. Try not to look."

  "I'm okay, really." She wasn't, though. Every nerve ending was on edge. All she needed now was to meet a snake and she'd be running around screaming and flapping her arms above her head like everyone's stereotypical, hysterical female. The thought made her smile. Taylor gave her an encouraging hug.

  "You're a good girl."

  "I'm not a girl. You had noticed that?"

  "Oh, I've noticed. Which tree do you want?"

  "The one with hot and cold running water, the flushing toilet and the hot tub."

  "Over there, then." He pointed to the left. "Mine's the one with the marble tub and the gold taps. Be quick."

  Danielle hugged him back. "Now you're getting it," she said with a wink.

  * * * *

  The rain took its time in coming. A drop here, a drop there, almost as if it couldn't make up its mind. Taylor hunkered down on the end of one of the branches wedged beneath the plane to wait for Danielle. She reappeared, hair loose and flowing about her shoulders. Tilting back her head, she stood quietly and let the raindrops wet her face. Then the drops gathered momentum, and she abandoned herself to the downpour. Taylor cradled his broken arm, mesmerised by the sight, torn between needing to get her back into the safety of the plane and wanting to see her soaked to the skin, clothes moulded to her body.

  "Come and cool off, Taylor." He barely heard the words above the din of the torrent now pounding everything in its path.

  Hesitantly, he stood and moved towards her. Danielle leaned back when she felt him behind her. He slipped his good arm around her waist. She seemed to understand him on some instinctive level he couldn't fathom. They hardly knew each other, yet they fitted together perfectly.

  His mind raced on. Yes, they would fit together perfectly doing that too and there it got mighty complicated.

  "Isn't this heaven?"

  He had to agree. Whether they were talking about the same thing, he had no idea, but if there'd ever been an idea of celestial bliss in his mind it was in the feel of her hot, wet body pressed softly into his. The sound of her panting breath and laughter as the rain half-drowned her. And the sight of her flushed skin, clearly visible through her soaked blouse. He tightened his hold on her waist and bit back a groan when she wriggled and pushed back against him.

  Perhaps he had died in the crash after all and, inexplicably, was in heaven instead of the hell he was expecting. For those few moments when she'd held him on the plane all his earthly cares had slipped away. Every stroke of her hand had lifted another bit of the burden he'd hefted around for so long, and he'd wanted to stay like that for the eternity it would need to make him whole again.

  How could he refuse such a gift, so generously offered? Up until this morning, simply getting through the day took every ounce of his willpower. So lost in despair, he'd practically walked into the police station by himself. But this, here, gave him a reason to go on, for the next few days at least. Made him feel stronger than he had for a long time.

  The rain stopped abruptly, as if someone had turned off the shower. They stood together, neither of them speaking while the trees steamed around them.

  With his mouth pressed against her ear, he whispered, "You're beautiful, Danielle."

  "What, like this?" She shivered and laughed and tipped her head right back, looking up at him with glittering eyes.

  "Especially like this."

  Slowly, they rocked back and forth, and soon the rainforest wasn't the only thing steaming. Kiss her, a voice in his head urged, but still he held back. What right did a killer have to kiss an angel? None at all, a different voice said.

  "Let's get back inside. Reckon it'll be dark soon. They won't be looking for the plane until tomorrow now."

  Daniell's mouth flattened a little. Her eyes clouded over.

  "They'll find us." Taylor smiled and touched a finger to the end of her nose. "Couple of days, tops. If not, I'll get you to safety. Stop worrying."

  "What if I said I didn't want to be rescued?"

  She spoke so quietly that he leaned down and tilted his head in question. Danielle blinked and turned away. When she turned back he wasn't sure if it was rain or tears making her eyes shine. "Can't stay here," he said, gently, because suddenly she felt like the fragile one, like a little lost bird quivering in his hands.

  "I know," she replied and stepped away.

  Taylor followed her back to the plane, amazed at her capacity to keep going after all that had happened. Her resolute stride and the way she pulled him back into the plane when he found it more difficult to climb back in than he had to jump out, made him smile fondly, even as he caught his breath and rode out the wave of pain in his broken arm.

  "I need a drink." Danielle's mood lightened and look of child-like glee crossed her face at the sight of the refreshment cart tucked away at the back of the plane. "What can I get you, sir?"

  Taylor followed her and reached for the whisky bottle. Danielle dropped to her knees and rifled through the contents of the small cupboard underneath the cart. While he poured himself a generous glass of Scotch, she filled her arms with cans of cocktails.

  "Blue Lagoon, Pina Colada, what's it going to be?"

  Taylor held up his glass.

  "Boring. I'm trying every one of these. Sure you don't want one?"

  "I'll stick to this, thanks." Taylor picked up the bottle and tucked it under his arm. "So where's the party?"

  Danielle got to her feet, balancing the cans in the crook of her elbow. "Not much room for dancing, is there? How about here?" she said pointing to the pair of double, facing seats at the very back of the plane. "Wait, I'll get us some snacks."

  "There'll be a towel in the galley. Want to dry off?"

  "No," she said and shook her head like a wet dog, spraying droplets all around her.

  Taylor took a big swig of whisky, welcoming the burn in his throat. He sat and tipped back his head. "You're crazy, do you know that?"

  "So I've been told."

  Danielle slipped into the seat opposite, and threw him a bag of nuts. It hit him squarely on the head since he was unable to field it without spilling his drink. Rainwater dripped into his eye from his wet hair. He wiped it away with his elbow. "Hey, what's with you all of a sudden? Found some happy pills?"

  "No," she said and popped the tab on a can. "Just an extreme reaction to an extreme situation." Danielle planted her feet on the seat next to him, and then downed her cocktail in one. "
I don't know. I just feel a bit crazy all of a sudden. I wish we had music so we could dance. Want me to fix you a fresh sling?"

  Taylor shook his head, understanding perfectly how she was swinging between despair and elation while trying make sense of their situation. Right now she was definitely on an up. Putting on a brave face, bravado, whatever you wanted to call it.

  And then he remembered the kiss, and her disappointment when he'd pulled back instead of doing what he'd really wanted to do, which was to kiss her senseless so she'd put up no resistance when he made love to her. It would have been cheating, somehow, when she was so vulnerable, and feeling so sorry for him.

  Shaking his head, he thought he might as well join her in happy-land. Here there was nowhere to run and no-one to run from. They could just be themselves. He almost found himself wishing they did have some music so that he could dance with her. He was definitely feeling more peaceful and relaxed than a man in his situation should be. That would be her doing. The way she'd held him, and just let him be, had been exactly what he needed. After two years of slowly turning into a ghost he suddenly felt real again. When she looked at him it felt as if she could really see him, and, for the first time in what seemed like an age, Taylor let a small spark of hope ignite deep in his heart.

  Why this, why now? Of all the bizarre twists and turns of the past few years, this was the only one that had made him stop and think instead of wanting to run. Almost as if an unseen hand had grabbed him by the collar, swung him around and set him down on a completely different path. The question was, what did he do next? He knew what he wanted to do, and he knew what he ought to do.

  But he had no idea which path he should choose.

  * * * *

  Danielle popped another can and took a big swig, grateful for the temporary high of the alcohol. The interior of the plane looked a little hazy and another drink would probably send her to sleep, but Taylor was smiling indulgently and she liked seeing him smile. So she wriggled her toes and wiggled her shoulders, then wrinkled her face as she caught a whiff of sweaty armpit despite their impromptu shower.

  Taylor laughed out loud this time. The sound warmed her deep inside. Laughter was good medicine, and something she suspected he hadn't indulged in the past few years. Toeing off her sandals, she moved her foot to rest beside his thigh. Merely a comforting touch, the alcohol making her bold. With a devilish grin she slid her foot up Taylor's side and tickled him with her toes.

  Taylor spluttered, almost dropping his glass. Unable to put it down, he was almost helpless, so she took full advantage and tickled him again. Flirting with him, she realised. Making something happen.

  "You little..." He drained the glass in one and sent it with a sharp flick under the seat. In a blur of movement, a hand circled her ankle. Danielle bit back the hysterical scream that nearly came out full-force, barely able to make him out in the dim light. His expression at that moment told her exactly who was now in charge. Eyebrows raised, a hint of a smirk evident, Taylor straightened slowly and, still holding on, he contemplated the foot. Danielle made a futile attempt to back up in her seat, but Taylor had her firm. There was nowhere to go.

  He raised his eyes to her. She stared back, her own eyes wide, heart racing in anticipation of his next move. She was ticklish too, as she suspected he was about to find out, and braced herself for the assault. Might as well cave in to the building hysteria. It would be a release of sorts, something she needed after that kiss. It had been sweet, but frustratingly brief, and had left her wanting more. But that wasn't what he'd needed then.

  Now, however, she could feel his mood changing.

  "Apologise." A tone of voice she hadn't heard him use before – calm, but with a silky, deadly edge. She shivered, briefly and then stuck out her tongue.

  "No."

  "No?"

  "I'm not ticklish," she gasped when he hauled her towards him. She slid forward, and her wet skirt went the other way, hiking itself almost to her waist. She managed a token tug, knowing he was openly ogling her exposed thighs. And that she was moving them in a way that would make him want to look.

  It was almost comical. Him holding her foot, her lying practically at his. She wasn't sure how much he could see of her in the gloom, but she could feel the energy coming off him in waves. The sexual predator and the prey. Only she wasn't sure which of them was which. Every time she wriggled her legs his grip on her foot tightened and his breathing became a little more uneven. If they didn't stop this soon, neither of them would want to.

  * * * *

  Taylor narrowed his eyes, trying to focus on her gorgeous legs. The invitation couldn't be clearer. She was making no effort to cover up, and the sight of her white lace underwear made him pulse with need. Danielle wriggled again, reminding him that he still had hold of her foot, and she hadn't apologised for tickling him. He ran his thumb lightly across the arch, causing her to convulse in an explosive giggle.

  "Are you going to apologise?"

  "No."

  She certainly had spirit. Knowing what he was, a cold-blooded killer, and still letting him do this to her. For a moment he found her trust in him so touching it almost disarmed him. But, not quite. This was a challenge, and he wasn't one to back down.

  "You're asking for it, Danielle."

  "I know."

  No hesitation in her voice, nothing but a simple honesty. She'd caught the double meaning, and told him what she wanted. What they both wanted.

  So here they were at the point of no return. The mood shifted subtly from playful banter to one of surrender to the inevitable.

  He heard her quiet sigh when his lips touched her ankle and his tongue traced a lazy, wet trail along her calf. When he couldn't go any farther he slid from the seat to his knees and pushed apart her thighs so he could continue kissing and lapping at her salty flesh. His hand followed the wet trail and, all the while, she remained so still and quiet, as if she didn't want to break the spell.

  Taylor breathed in the almost overwhelming scent of her, kneeling up to grope for her in the darkness. When Danielle caught him by his broken arm he bit back the pain as his mouth found hers in a kiss that made him forget everything but the sweet, wet slide of her lips and tongue. She kissed him with exquisite care and such a depth of emotion it almost made him weep. He wanted to go slow and taste every inch of her, already knowing that, even if he made love to her all night, it still wouldn't be enough.

  "Danielle," he whispered when she finally let him go. "I want to learn you from the inside out, but this will to lead to nothing but heartache."

  "Don't want to hear that. You'll break it anyway, might as well do it this way." Danielle kissed him again, a little frantic, now. He gave back with the same desperation, knowing he should stop. After this he'd never forget her.

  "Me too," he managed shakily.

  The final barrier fell away. If he didn't finish this he'd never forgive himself.

  Chapter 7

  It was exactly what she'd been afraid of. Nothing in her life would ever match this, a situation so unlikely she might have been dreaming. Uncomfortable, hot and sweaty, and on the verge of having sex with a self-confessed killer – yet everything about the way he touched her seemed so right. In between breathless kisses she murmured his name over and over. A name she'd learned only a few hours ago.

  It's him. Somewhere in the back of her fogged-up brain the thought took root. It's not what he's doing, it's because it's him doing it. That was what made this so different. Somehow in the way he touched her, kissed her so reverently and with such need, he managed to say things she'd never heard before, leaving her limp and helpless with wanting him.

  Crazy yes. Regrets, none. Taylor stopped to catch his breath. Danielle slid from the seat and onto his lap, needing to be closer still. She heard his surprised grunt. Pushed him back, reached for his belt and opened it with shaking fingers. He undid the button, she pulled down the zipper. Then she was touching him, running frantic fingers over the hot, hard length of h
im, making him groan and suck in a sharp breath, knowing she must be hurting his arm, they were pressed together so tightly, but she needed him too much.

  "Wait, love, there are condoms."

  "Where? Where are they?"

  "Carrier bag. On the seat, opposite. Let me…"

  "No." Pushing him down when he tried to rise, she reached over, upending the plastic bag, spilling the contents onto the floor. "There. Put it on."

  It was almost a demand, the delay so frustrating she wanted to scream. And then, at last, he was lifting her, filling her and she was trying to remember a time when they weren't doing this. A time when she had no idea he existed. Was it only this morning they first met?

  The sheer relief of it made hot tears sting her eyes. With a groan, Taylor thrust again and she pressed her face against his neck and clung to him, uncaring that she probably looked and sounded like a crazy woman. She'd happily go crazy if it felt like this.

  "Taylor. Oh god, Taylor." Desperate kisses punctuated the words. "We don't have enough time for how much I need you right now."

  "I know. Me too."

  The words came out as jerky, staccato sounds as he ground into her, hardly able to move in the tight space, the seats pressing into their backs. He came with a dark, shuddering groan, telling her over and over that he needed her and wanted her. Promising he'd never forget her.

  Biting her lip to force back the tears, Danielle tried to imagine they were on that beach right now, just as she'd imagined. Warm, and safe. He wasn't wanted for murder. She didn't have a life to go back to that didn't include him.

  She tried but the picture just wouldn't come.

  * * * *

  Danielle was holding him so tightly, he couldn't move. Much as he loved holding her, his broken arm couldn't be ignored for much longer. The pain threatened to override the lingering waves of pleasure still lapping at his senses. Taylor fought to hang on to the pleasure, to savour it, but he could tell Danielle was crying, and trying to hide it, and the thought of her shedding sweet tears for a worthless wretch like him made him feel like sliding into despair all over again.