This little bit of heaven had set him on the right path, but Danielle was too vibrant and full of life for him to expect her to follow. She was willing, no doubt of that. Trouble was that he could never ask it of her. Redeemed or not, he didn't have much of a life to look forward to. If he could do what he needed to get the file – and it was a big if – the best he could hope for was a new identity. An obscure life hidden in some quiet corner of the world, always with the risk that someone with a grudge would find him. Governments, the criminal underworld, organised crime neither forgave nor forgot, and they'd get him. One day when he wasn't looking. Not the life for her.
He brushed the hair from Danielle's face and traced a finger down her nose, across her mouth, her chin, hoping she'd wake up. This time together was definitely too precious to waste sleeping.
She stirred and stretched out her arms, arching her bare breasts enticingly towards him. In the soft morning light, half-naked and with the crazy tangle of hair forming a golden pool around her head, she looked like something other-worldly. A divine gift sent to sooth his shattered soul. Only a madman would refuse this.
Catching one of her hands, he placed a lingering kiss on the palm and watched her mouth curve into a lazy smile as she moved from the world of dreams to waking. He turned his attention to her wrist and kissed it slowly, thoughtfully, learning how she tasted first thing in the morning.
Without realising, she gave him the greatest gift of all. Her trust in him. Her belief that something could be salvaged from his shipwrecked life. With her eyes still closed, Danielle moulded herself to him, pushing him on to his side so he wouldn't have to lean on his broken arm. Her calf slid sensuously around his thigh. She pulled him down for a soul-searching kiss and her lips were warm and sweet and made him forget who he was.
Just for a few moments he could imagine he was Mr Ordinary, with the wife, the house, the kids and the dog. And a job that didn't involve spilling people's brains with a high-powered rifle, or watching their lives drain away when he cut their throats. A life that didn't involve hiding in the shadows, so ashamed of what he'd become he no longer recognised himself.
As he slipped inside her welcoming heat and abandoned himself to the incredible feel of her surrounding him, he desperately wanted to be that man. And just for a short while, as the flames of passion flared and consumed them both, he was.
* * *
Danielle dreamed of drowning in kisses. A warm mouth caressed her, a smooth tongue slid against hers. Someone moaned softly and her skin caught fire at the touch of gentle hands stroking sensitive flesh. A deep, husky voice enticed and seduced with words of dark passion. Swept her away with the wonderful feeling of abandonment that comes when you are so completely overwhelmed that all you can do is go with it and trust you'll survive.
He made love to her in her dream, and when her eyes fluttered open she thought she must still be dreaming. It was too good, too perfect. Like nothing she'd ever felt before. He touched every part of her, and she knew it was his goodbye.
Taylor shifted away and Danielle sat up, running fingers through her hair, rubbing eyes gritty with lack of sleep, adjusting to the new day. A day that would be the most difficult she'd ever faced. She glanced at her watch. Already eight o'clock. Rescue teams would be out looking for the plane. They probably didn't expect to find survivors, but they were going to find one.
A guarded expression clouded Taylor's face as he handed over her clothes. Danielle had no idea what he was thinking and felt surprisingly self-conscious in the cold morning light. She dressed quickly with Taylor staring at her, his brow slightly furrowed, as if trying to puzzle something out.
His finger hooked under her chin and she stayed very still while he studied her intently, staring into his dark blue eyes, trying to show him how she felt. Tried to pour into that look all the love she dared not speak, because surely it was too soon to be talking of love? How could she be falling in love with a man she'd only met yesterday? Things like that only happened in books and films, not in real life. It didn't, she told herself firmly, and then felt panic rising in her chest because maybe it was true, and it did happen in real life, and it was happening to her.
The scent of him was already familiar. Danielle slipped her arms around his back and pressed her face against his neck, inhaling on a shaky breath.
"You must go. You know that," she whispered against his damp skin. "I don't want you to go, but you must." Even as she said the words that would send him away, she held on to him with a quiet desperation. Go? Stay? Two impossible choices. One only marginally better than the other. Both of them offering a good possibility of him being killed. She couldn't bear it. Tears fell once again, and this time she didn't think she'd be able to stop them.
* *
As he listened to her quiet sobs, Taylor felt as if his heart might finally do what it had been threatening for the past two years, and shatter beyond repair. For an all too brief moment after the crash, he'd really believed the Fates had taken pity on him and decided to cut him a very much needed break. Not only that, they'd thrown Danielle into the bargain and made him feel something akin to hope. But they'd merely been playing with him. He realised that now. Showing him a tantalising glimpse of what might have been, and now that he'd seen it and lived it, they were tearing it away from him.
He had to know perfect happiness to feel perfect despair, and he knew now that he would be in hell regardless. Needed to pay for those sins, and then some. And that death wish he'd been nursing for so long was still there, lingering in the back of his mind, squashing down the hope, trampling on any dreams of a future. It hadn't gone away, only taken a brief holiday.
He wound a handful of Danielle's hair around his fist, pulling it too tight, causing her to look up at him with tear-blinded eyes, and he kissed her hard and long, bruising her lips with the intensity of his need. He tasted tears, and didn't know whose they were.
* * *
He was giving up again. Danielle could feel it, almost as if she could read his thoughts. How could she let him go like this? No telling what he might do. The thought frightened her beyond belief. She'd never been depressed before, but she'd watched a close friend cycle in and out of hope and despair. Had spent hours on the phone convincing her that life was worth living, and it was that contact with another human being that had saved her.
It was what Taylor needed. Only she didn't have days, just a few hours – maybe not even that – to convince him he wasn't alone, he could get his life back, and that she would be waiting for him when he did. More than anything, she had to let him know that this was worth the fight.
Time for her to be the strong one again. She wiped away the tears, and took his hand in hers.
"Taylor?"
Yesterday she hadn't really known what to do other than hold him. Now she knew exactly what he needed.
"Please, you can do this, and I'll wait for you, no matter how long it takes."
Taylor pulled his hand from hers and wiped his forearm across his eyes. He sniffed and shook his head. "Hell, I'm a wreck, Danielle. I should be dead now. Had it all worked out and wanted it. Then you came along, and I was glad I wasn't." He looked sideways at her, lifted his hand and dropped it back to his lap. "And now I want to be again."
"Why?" Danielle's heart started a heavy, panicked thudding. What if I can't convince him? What then?
"Because I'm tired of it all. I'll never get anywhere near that file, and without it I can't have a life or be with you. So what's the point?"
"The point is..." She angled her head and placed a soft kiss on his lips. "This." She did it again. "And this. Don't you feel it? Isn't it worth fighting for?"
Taylor turned away, covered his face with his arm and leaned back against the seat. "That just makes it worse, don't you see? Knowing what it could be like, and knowing I can't have it. I actually woke up happy this morning. For the first time in so long, I woke up and heard the birds singing, and I sat and looked at you and felt like a love-struck te
enager all over again. But this isn't real life." He dropped his arm and stared at the roof of the plane. "That's what's waiting out there for us out there."
"And you'll get yours back. You've got to believe it."
"It's not just the file. It's me. All those things I've done. I can't take them back. Can't say sorry. I have to live with it. And it's hard, too bloody hard."
"I know it's hard. Come here." Danielle tried to gather him to her. He resisted and pulled away.
"Please, Taylor, let me." She traced the line of his arm, tugging gently until he gave up and let her pull him in for a hug. She wasn't sure who needed it more at that moment. All this talk of giving up was scaring her to death. She wanted him to leave, but part of him seemed to have gone from her already. She needed to get it back before she could let him go properly.
"Look." How do I play this, gentle or stern? She didn't know if he needed to be pushed or pulled, only that what she said next was important.
"I'll come with you."
"You can't. Too dangerous."
"Yes, I know I'd be a liability. I'd come if I could, though. You need to know that. I believe you're still a good man. You're just a bit lost, that's all."
She let him take it in, holding him quietly while he fiddled with the fabric of her blouse, bunching it in his hand, letting it go. It might not be love, but she felt as if both of them had taken a tentative first step towards something important. Too unfair to burden him with such talk yet. One step at a time.
"Tell me which beach, Taylor. I'll meet you there on a date we can both remember. Your birthday. When is it?"
"August the fifteenth." His hand continued its restless exploration. "Yours?"
She breathed a sigh of relief. At least he sounded vaguely rational again. "August too, the second. That gives you four months. Will it be enough?"
"Danielle..."
"Will it be enough? Answer me. We could leave it till next year, but I'll be there whenever you want me to be. Say you'll try."
"I wish I had your strength and determination, love. You're scary when you get going."
"Better believe that. It's why I'm so good at what I do." She took his hand again, lacing her fingers in his, gripping tightly. "See this. We have a connection, you and me. I don't know why, and I'm not stopping to question it, but" - she looked away because the words sounded so melodramatic. "I think I was meant to save you."
He brought their intertwined fingers up to his mouth and kissed the back of her hand. "I think you were, too. And you might have. I just don't know. "
"Stop with the 'I don't know'. You will meet me on that beach. Say it. Promise me right now. Say the words."
A resigned sigh, a long look. "I wish I'd met you before all this. I can't promise you, but I'll try. Will that do?"
It would have to. He couldn't make that kind of promise. Anything could happen in the next four months. He might not even be alive by then. No, don't go there. He will be. But he'd try, and it was more than she'd hoped for at the start of the conversation.
"I want you to think of me every night at ten o' clock, and I'll be thinking of you. Wait." Reaching under her hair, she unclipped her plain gold chain. "Wear this for me, so you won't forget."
He looked at the chain, then at her. Eventually, when she was beginning to think he wouldn't take it, he dipped his head forward and let her fasten it around his neck.
"Then you have this," he said, and pulled the signet ring from his little finger. He slipped it onto the third finger of her left hand.
Danielle studied the ornate crest on the face of the ring with astonishment. "You're not a lord or anything, are you? Because, American here, so seriously impressed."
"There's a title somewhere in the family. It's a load of pretentious crap anyway."
"No, it's beautiful. Lady Danielle." She mimicked his accent, then bit her lip, realising what she'd said. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say that."
"I wish you could be." Taylor gave the ring one last look and touched the gold chain she'd given him. "I'll think of you every night at ten o' clock."
"And I'll do the same." Her voice cracked. "So we won't be apart really, will we?"
* * * *
Taylor watched Danielle searching her carry-on, emptying the contents on the floor, muttering about packing him supplies, lengthening the strap so it would be more comfortable for his larger frame. If only he could feel her enthusiasm for what he had to do. There was a way of getting the file back. That hadn't really been the problem. He knew where it was, heavily guarded, of course. The problem was what he had to do to get it.
One more job. The diplomat and his family had been taken care of. He hadn't told her there was always someone willing to step into a dead man's shoes, to make a name for themselves. But there were always other, similarly messy jobs. If he begged they'd be prepared to bargain and, if he was lucky, hand over the file. As long as he kept his back properly covered this time, he'd be safe enough.
Watching Danielle strip the businessman's billfold of the cash and stuff it into the bag, he thought she'd have made one hell of a spy. And Catch 22 didn't even come close to covering it. If he didn't do the job they'd want in exchange for the file he couldn't be with Danielle. If he did, he'd lose his soul again and become that monster he'd come to hate. She deserved better than that.
What alternative did he have? The best he could do was walk out of her life and never come back, despite the hurt it would cause her. She hadn't mentioned a boyfriend, but a woman like her must have one. Probably some sophisticated business type. Someone who could give her the house with the dog and the kids. Taylor shuddered. Christ, he wanted her. Part of him wanted her so much it was willing to do that job. Take a risk she'd never find out. But could she ever forgive him if she did?
* * * *
He needed to change. Danielle found a white tee-shirt with a more discreet logo in her bag and threw it to him. "You'd better put this on. That one's just a big ad for where you've been."
Taylor caught it, nodding in approval. "Do you have a whole store in there?"
"Perks of the job. Reps give me samples. I usually hand them out to friends. Will that fit?"
"Should do. Will you help me?"
"Try and stop me." Danielle pasted on a smile and hopped up. Time seemed to be speeding up, moving relentlessly towards the moment when he'd walk out of her life. Soon this interlude would be nothing more than a dream. The thought made her grab hold of him in panic. Still so much she didn't know about him, so much she wanted to find out. Rescue could come at any moment, and there were still places she hadn't touched him. "Come here," she said tugging at his tee-shirt, slipping her hands under the hem.
She pulled up the soft cotton, fingertips gliding over the smoothness of his skin, the scars, feeling the powerful muscles flex in response to her touch. A hard man, undoubtedly, someone not to be messed with. A killer with a heart of ice, which somewhere along the line had melted and left him wondering who the hell he really was. The same man whose kisses were soft as down.
The tee-shirt fluttered to the floor. Danielle lifted her hands to Taylor's face and carefully traced his features, learning him by touch as well as sight. Knowing that if she didn't imprint him in her mind, the memory would fade too quickly for her to hold on to. Oh, she'd never forget him, but she wanted the memory to be clear and sharp, not a vague impression of someone who'd touched her then walked out of her life.
And she wanted him to do the same. Selfish though it was, she didn't want him to forget her, either. Whether he'd meet her on that beach, she still didn't know. Better to seal the memory now than rely on the promise of a future that might never happen.
"What colour are my eyes, Taylor?"
"They're grey," he said, taking her face in one hand and holding her still. "Darker round the edges, a little misty, kind, understanding."
"Yours are the colour of the sea, just off the coast of Bali. Have you ever been to Bali?"
"Yes, I have."
"How did you get this?" she asked outlining the scar that skimmed his hairline, refusing to contemplate whether Bali had been business or pleasure.
"Fell off a roof when I was a kid. How about you?"
"How about me, what?" Danielle looked up at him, puzzled.
"Scars, distinguishing marks. What about you?"
"Nothing, I've led a very boring life compared to you. Unless you count this." Danielle took his hand and placed it over her heart.
For a moment he stared at it. "Oh," he said very softly before pulling her against him in a crushing hug. "Shit, Danielle, I never meant for this to happen to either of us. I'm so sorry."
"You're sorry we made love?"
"No, not that. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. I just wish…"
"I know. Don't say it, Taylor. I wish it too. You can't stay, and you can't take me with you?" It came out as a question, even though she already knew the answer.
Taylor shook his head and she turned away. He caught her, turned her back. "I would if it was possible. You know that, don't you?"
Danielle nodded and closed her eyes. Drawing it out like this was unfair to both of them, especially him. Hadn't she told herself to be strong? When she looked at him again, she realised she already knew everything she needed to know. The strong, capable hand gently lifting the hair away from the back of her neck and winding it around his fingers was also the hand that had pulled the trigger and ended, how many lives? Yet the remorse was written clearly in his sad eyes. He'd been willing to lay down his own life by way of atonement. How long would it take for the slate to be wiped clean? Danielle guessed a lifetime. Not something a person could do alone.
"You'll never escape if we don't stop doing this." She pulled away reluctantly, and picked up the clean tee-shirt from the seat. Being businesslike about all this was hard, but what she was good at and what he needed. So she helped him on with the shirt, smoothed it in place, and pronounced him ready.
Setting Him Free Page 7