Hiding Jessica (23 page)

Her head came down, and this time she kissed him, long and slow. Her tongue traced the outline of his lips, experimenting and tasting as the nervousness subsided and her passion returned ten-fold. Her hips rotated against his, brushing against his rigid length until they both gasped.

There was one last moment of hesitation, one last moment of doubt. But then she let the raging fire guide her, and ever so slowly, slid down onto him.

Mitch’s jaw clenched, his breath torn from him as he slid inside. He felt at once as if he wanted to plunge fiercely inside her, ending it all in a mind-splintering explosion, and also wanted the moment to stretch out forever, easing in, gentle and sure. He watched her own brown eyes darken with the pleasure, and was filled with blatant masculine satisfaction.

She whispered his name softly, biting her lower lip as the sensations rocked through her. The tension kept building, the ache so fierce, she thought it might consume her.

“Easy,” Mitch said, his hands coming to her hips to guide her. Slowly he eased his hips in and out, prolonging the pleasure until beads of sweat appeared on her brow and her eyes burned with the need.

“It’s okay,” he assured her, watching her tremble with glittering eyes. “Take it, Jess. Allow yourself this pleasure.”

Her eyes closed, her head falling back and before she could think again, he suddenly changed the pace entirely, plunging into her with a passionate savagery that threw her over the edge. Her back arched, his name wrung from her lips as the fire convulsed and exploded through her veins. And his own hoarse cry told her she was not alone. He followed her over the edge, joining with her in joy and ecstasy.

She collapsed on top of him, her body still shivering from the aftermath. She could feel the light sheen of sweat covering his body, and knew it covered her, as well. She would have moved, but all motion seemed much too difficult, and the feel of her cheek pressed against his pounding heartbeat much too comfortable.

Slowly, leisurely, his hand caressed her back, then came up to cup her cheek.

He didn’t say anything, just listened to the sound of her breathing ease back down to lethargy. His own body felt suddenly exhausted, all the tension and strain of the past few days blazed fiercely away. The release went beyond muscle and bone, until even his mind seemed suddenly cleansed and at peace.

At this one moment, nothing at all mattered but this woman lying so relaxed and quiet above him. It occurred to him that nothing at all had ever felt so right. Ever so gently, his thumb brushed her cheek, coming away with a tinge of moisture.

Sweat? Tears? He didn’t know and simply held her closer. Content and worn, his eyes slowly drifted down. With his arms wrapped around her, he slipped into slumber.

Jess knew the minute he fell asleep. She could hear it in the soothing rhythm of his heartbeat, in the low easy tones of his breathing. Her own body felt the exhaustion. Her muscles seemed to have turned to Jell-O, her bones to have melted into nothing. It would be so easy to just lie in the warmth of his arms and listen to his heartbeat.

In all of her life, she’d never felt what she felt now.

And it scared her more than she’d ever been scared before.

Slowly her eyes opened to stare starkly at the opposite wall. She’d wanted him. She’d needed him. And he’d given her things she wasn’t supposed to have, made her feel things she wasn’t supposed to feel. In this one instant she felt safe. In this one instant she felt comfortable.

She felt...

She shut the thought away, blocking it out completely. It didn’t matter, she reminded herself. This man, this moment—none of it mattered. She knew what she had to do. She’d known it from the beginning.

Slowly, before she could lose her courage, she slipped out of the warmth of his arms. Mitch stirred, his eyes drifting slowly open.

“I’m just going to the bathroom,” she whispered, having to bite her cheek to keep from protesting her own lie. He nodded, his eyes lowering once more as his powerful body returned to much-needed rest. She hung her head, and for one awful moment she thought she might not be able to go through with it.

She bit her lip, hating herself for her own weakness. When had she let him get to her like this? Her life had been laid out long ago, her decisions clear from the very beginning. If she stayed with this man, he would only get hurt as everyone else had been hurt. Bitterly, she forced the images of Bill and Jamie into her mind once more. Too many people had paid the price; she could not let it happen again.

She picked up her clothes on her way to the bathroom, careful not to make a sound. Her hands slid into the duffel bag, finding a thick wad of cash, and she took a handful without bothering to count. She disappeared into the bathroom.

She took a quick shower, wishing the water could cleanse her mind as easily as it did her body. She would be sore tomorrow, and the ache would only be a painful reminder of the things she shouldn’t have done. She flushed against the stinging spray. Had she really been that wanton? Had she really touched him like that, bit him like that? And how in the world had he ever made her feel so good?

She shivered slightly and stepped out of the shower without turning off the spray. Slower than was necessary, she pulled on her clothes. She left her wet hair down, not bothering with another attempt at a braid; she could still remember the feel of his hands tangling in her hair the last time when he’d kissed her.

The small bathroom was thick with the steam by the time she was done, her heavy sweater damp and clinging. Even then she paused with her hand on the doorknob.

Once more she could remember the feel of him sliding slowly into her. Once more she could remember the sound of her name, low and hoarse on his lips.

“Let me please you, Jess. Trust me, Jess. Just this once, trust me.”

She opened the bathroom door and stepped out. She risked one glance at the bed. Mitch was still sleeping, sprawled out across the bed with the comforter half thrown over himself as if he’d awoken just enough to realize he was cold. The shower still sounded steady and calm in the background. She counted on it to deceive his normally uncanny instincts.

Her hand went to the doorknob; she was surprised to see it shaking so much. Once more she hesitated.

But it wasn’t worth it anymore, she thought suddenly, vehemently. She’d lost sight of her vision somewhere along the way. She was supposed to use her new identity to get out and live on her own. All by herself, where no one could hurt her, where she could hurt no one.

Especially not the strong, capable man sleeping so soundly on the bed.

She squared her shoulders, her eyes becoming cool and controlled while all expression left her face. Jessica Gavornée be damned. Jess McMoran be damned. When it all boiled down, she was simply the Ice Angel, and she could do anything.

Minutes later, she was in the parking lot, opening the rental-car door. Even if Mitch woke up now, he wouldn’t have any instant means of following her.

She had the car, and only she knew where she was going.

After all, she had a very important meeting to make.

But as she slipped the car into Reverse, and drove out to the interstate, she could suddenly see in her mind Mitch coming awake, reaching out a large hand for her, discovering himself suddenly alone. She could see the darkening of his eyes, the clenching of his jaw, when he found how she duped him.

Somewhere along the four-hour drive to eastern Connecticut, the Ice Angel learned to cry.

Chapter 12

H
e awoke abruptly, his heart thundering in his chest as his sixth sense blazed with sudden urgency. On instinct he rolled for his gun, only to discover himself naked and weaponless on the bed. His body stilled entirely, his mind spiraling inward as all senses came alive.

He was completely naked, his legs still tangled in the comforter as his eyes spied his jeans piled up on the floor. His gun remained in the duffel bag, a good five steps away. His head arched up toward the bathroom. The sound of running water. Jess was showering. But immediately he frowned, that idea sparking his mind with jagged inconsistency. And then it came to him: her clothes were no longer on the floor and his subconscious said the shower had been running a long, long time.

In one fluid motion he rolled out of the bed. He dragged on his jeans while trying to cross the room, one hand still working the button fly while the other threw open the bathroom door. The thick steam choked him; he had to wave his arm to penetrate. Almost viciously he yanked back the shower curtain. The sharp clenching of his jaw was all the emotion he allowed.

Working in overdrive, he grabbed his gun from the bag as he ran out the door. A woman gasped as he pounded down the hall, clad only in half-buttoned jeans, armed with a gun. He ignored her, his bare feet pummeling down the stairs as he flew out to the parking lot. Gravel dug into the unprotected skin as he hit the pavement, but he barely noticed.

He had eyes only for the empty parking space that confirmed what he already knew. And then he did allow himself emotion—one dark, savage oath that didn’t even come close to summing up how he felt.

She was gone.
Damn it, she was gone!

Hotel security scurried out, clearly alarmed to see a half-naked man standing wild and armed in the parking lot. One look at Mitch’s dark face and the barely restrained fury there, and the plump uniformed officer dropped back a step. Mitch saw the motion, and it pulled him back to reality. Forcing his shoulders to relax, he tucked the gun into his jeans, muttering he was a police officer under his breath and passing by without giving the man enough time to question it.

He returned to the room, scowling down at his bloody feet, gauged and scratched by the gravel. He grabbed a wet washcloth to clean them, and sat down hard on the bed.

Damn it all to hell.

His heart slowed some, the immediate urgency passing to leave him only with a strange tightness in his chest. Almost absently, he placed the washcloth on his right foot and found that he was grateful for the pain. It gave him something to focus on. Something concrete, something real. Something other than the horrible feeling of dread building in the pit of his stomach.

Some part of him had known this would happen. Hell, just two nights ago he’d caught her trying to sneak away. He’d demanded then to know why, and she’d never given him a satisfactory answer. Jessica Gavornée had been a riddle from the very beginning, the carefully constructed Ice Angel who never gave any of her secrets away. But he’d tried, God knows he’d tried. And today...

He shook his head. God, he truly was the fool. He’d told her he would keep her safe. He’d sworn to himself that he would save her in spite of herself. Yet, in the end, she’d shown far greater control than he. Hell, she’d come to him in a blaze of passion, then left his bed without so much as a backward glance.

He forced himself to take a deep breath. He hated the feeling, the tight unbearable feeling in his chest as if a part deep inside truly hurt. Nothing hurt, damn it, except his pride. All along, his interest had been professional. And while sleeping with her had hardly been the best thing to do, she’d needed him and he’d needed her. He still believed that. And so they’d come together, offering each other very elemental comfort.

He’d been in such situations before; he knew how they worked. While hardly a man for the meaningless flings so many of his cohorts enjoyed, Mitch had known his fair share of women. He’d cared about them all in one form or another. He was the kind of man who cared about everyone. But then the need had passed and everyone moved on—no need for hysterics or hurt feelings. It was simply the way things worked.

So there was no reason to feel as though he’d suddenly been kicked in the gut. He’d been duped and made out to be a fool, but only because after one week of being with the Ice Angel, he should have known her better. He should have solved her riddles and unburied her secrets. He should have gained her trust.

Yet, somehow, some way, he’d thought he’d touched her. He’d thought...

He shook the notion away, feeling all at once uncomfortable and not himself. His interest in Jess was purely professional. Always had been. And damn it, he needed that professionalism back. Jess was out there somewhere alone. And he had to find her before Capruccio did.

After one week with the woman, he still had no idea what her true agenda was. She’d run, but where was she running to? Or who was she running from?

But then another thought struck him and he smiled a grim smile. He knew how to find her, all right.

Because while he didn’t know all of the Ice Angel’s secrets, he knew the man who did.

* * *

She drove like a bat out of hell, averaging a good eighty miles per hour. And every fifteen minutes her eyes would pop to the rearview mirror as if suddenly Mitch would swoop down upon her bumper, his brown eyes black with the rage of betrayal. And then her foot would flatten out on the gas pedal, as if somehow she could outdrive his presence, outdrive her own guilt.

It was for the best, she reminded herself. She was back to her original plan, out on her own. And no one would get hurt anymore. No one, at least, except herself as the horrible, jagged pain knifing through her stomach could attest.

At eight, a little ways into Connecticut, the exhaustion overcame the panicked adrenaline and she almost drove off the road. Giving in, she took the next exit and drove a couple of miles to a cheap roadside motel. There she booked two rooms, refusing to look the huge, cigar-smoking hotel manager in the eyes. She paid in cash, having counted out the amount in the car so she wouldn’t appear conspicuous by presenting an entire wad of money.

Her eyelids half-closed, she selected one of the rooms at random, shutting all the curtains tightly and double-checking the locks. Then, and only then, she lowered herself fully clothed onto the rickety bed.

She slept in a matter of minutes.

But with the sleep came the dreams; only, this time they were a confused mix-match of past and present. Her father loomed above, his face contorted in rage as one meaty fist drew back. Except suddenly it was Mitch, his dark eyes glittering black and his jaw tense. But then his face collapsed into a contortion of anguish, his arms reaching out to her until she felt the tears on her own cheeks.