Ice Blue (26 page)

Without a word he picked her up and set her on the shallow edge of the sink, shocking her into silence. With one hand he yanked off her pants and underwear, and she heard the rasp of his zipper, and then he was inside her, pushing against her so hard that her back slammed up against the mirror.

He looked almost brutal in the dim light, and when he took his hand from her mouth, he kissed her, breathing into her. Moving, pushing deep inside her, and her response shocking, immediate.

Instinctively, she grasped the edge of the tiny sink to brace herself when he pulled her legs up around his hips. But then she let go, holding on to him instead, letting him fuck her, not caring, taking in deep, sweet gasps of air as her lungs opened and the hammering of her heart beat in time with the hammering of his cock.

He pulled almost all the way out, and she whimpered, reaching for his hips, trying to pull him back inside her, more, now. She needed the full thrust of him, needed the oblivion, needed not to think, just to feel him, throbbing, pushing, and her legs tightened around him.

"Don't scream," he said in her ear, a hot, hungry whisper. He said other things, words she didn't understand, but she only climbed higher. "Don't make a sound."

He lifted her off the sink, pulling her down onto him, and she felt her body explode, every muscle and cell expanding into fiery pleasure. She opened her mouth and made no sound at all as she came, just an endless, arching silence, until he followed, spilling inside her, and only then a faint whimper escaped from her throat.

He pulled out of her, setting her down on the tiny patch of flooring, and she trembled, feeling the dampness on her thighs. She didn't want to look at him, but if she turned away she'd have to see herself in the mirror, and that was even worse. She leaned against the bulkhead and closed her eyes, shivering.

She expected him to leave her. She heard the zip of his pants, and expected him to step away from her, leave her alone in the bathroom to pull herself together. Instead, his hands were very gentle as he moved her out of the way, running water into the tiny sink.

And then his hands were between her legs, and he was washing her, and she was too shocked to do anything more than let him. He tossed the paper towels, then took her discarded clothes from the floor and put them on her, waiting patiently as she lifted one foot, then the other. She was trembling, weak, totally compliant, and when he finished he wet another paper towel and washed her face with it, gently, like a lover.

She stared up at him, her eyes numb in disbelief. "We're landing in two more hours," he said. "Come back to your seat and try to sleep."

She couldn't say a word. She wanted to scream at him. Why had he done that? Why had she let him? In truth, she hadn't been in any shape to stop him, and now she could breathe again.

She just wasn't sure she wanted to.

Everyone was still asleep when he opened the bathroom door, and though she had to hold on to the wall to keep from falling, she made it back into her own seat in one piece. And then she couldn't move. She did nothing when he leaned over and fastened her seat belt. Did nothing when he kissed her, a deep, drugging, openmouthed kiss. "It was just a fuck, Summer," he whispered. "To take your mind off things."

She stared up into his dark, merciless eyes, and for a moment she thought she saw something else in their black depths. Something human.

But that was impossible. And even more impossible, she closed her eyes and slept.

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W
hen Summer opened her eyes again the plane was already on the ground. She hadn't worn a watch in days, and she felt as if her brain was stuffed with cotton candy—sticky and impenetrable. Maybe the stress of the last few days had caught up with her; maybe it was just the worst case of jet lag known to man. Her eyes focused on Taka, who was holding her hand, looking calm and beautiful, despite the fact that he needed a shave. As if nothing had happened in the bathroom. Had she dreamed it?

She jerked her hand away, and he let it go easily enough, turning to look at her. "You're awake," he said, the faintest hint of a smile on his face. "You slept well, after all."

She didn't want to think about why. "What time is it?" Her voice was stiff.

"Does it matter? Local time is two in the afternoon. You slept almost ten hours altogether. You were having nightmares, so I held your hand until you calmed down."

Was he going to pretend they hadn't had sex? And why was he making excuses about holding her hand? Had she really just dreamed it? "Did you sleep?"

"Yes."

"Then maybe you'll be less likely to kill someone," she managed to mutter.

A faint shadow crossed his face. "Some people do speak English here," he murmured. "You need to watch what you say."

"They won't think I'm serious," she said. And then she looked at him. He was still and beautiful in the artificial light of the jet as it taxied toward the terminal, but there was an almost predatory air about him. Many people might think he was harmless. They would be wrong. She'd seen his face in the dim light of the tiny bathroom, seen the darkness in his eyes. She could still feel him between her legs, proof that she hadn't been dreaming. But if he wanted to pretend it never happened, that would make life easier for her, as well. She was adept at playing games—she was Lianne's daughter, after all.

"What next?" She changed the subject.

If he was surprised she was just letting it go, he didn't show it. "Next we go through customs and you keep your mouth shut, nice obedient wife that you are. Then we'll pick up our luggage—"

"What luggage?" she interrupted. "You mean the—?" She stopped before the words came out, startled by the blaze in his dark eyes. "Sorry," she muttered.

"Maybe I'd just better talk and you listen," he said. "It's safer that way. We'll pick up the luggage, which includes your suitcase, mine and my golf clubs, which will be packed very carefully because they're extremely valuable. From there we'll go to the Oceana Air first class lounge and shower and change before my cousin Reno arrives to take us into Tokyo. Understood?"

"Yes," she said with unexpected meekness. "I'll behave myself."

His faint snort was oddly elegant. "Just do what I tell you, keep your face down and your mouth shut, and we'll be fine."

She could hear the liquid flow of Japanese around her, and she felt a sudden wave of such intense, nostalgic longing that she felt a burning in her eyes. Hana used to speak to her Japanese, sing her songs, comfort her when she'd hurt herself. Such an odd language, able to sound so harsh and angry and so soft and lyrical. Words were coming back to her, words she'd forgotten she knew.

"
Hai
," she said. "
Wakarimasu
. I understand."

He stared at her in complete horror. "You speak Japanese?"

She shook her head. "No. Only a little from when Hana lived with us."

"And you just decided to tell me that now?"

"I'd forgotten."

"Forget again."

"Wouldn't your wife know some Japanese?" she countered. "I would think—"

"Don't think, don't talk. You're my American wife, we live in Seattle and this is your first trip to Japan. You know nothing of the language except for a few kinky things I've said to you when we have sex."

She could feel the color flood her face. She wanted to hit him, but presumably American wives didn't hit their Japanese husbands, any more than they talked or thought. "Yes, dear," she said in her snottiest voice.

He ignored her sarcasm, unfastening his seat belt, reaching over to unfasten hers when she didn't move. She batted at his hands and unclasped the buckle herself, pushing out of her seat. For a moment she felt dizzy, disoriented. But then, that had become the norm for her. She was half a world away from everything she'd ever known, and whatever lay back there was in ruins. At least her sister was safe. Summer needed to hold on to that fact, like some kind of beacon.

The flight attendants were hovering, and for the first time she could see how they fluttered around Taka. Did Japanese wives get jealous? Was flirting expected?

Apparently not. Taka turned to her, sliding his arm around her waist, and it felt strong and warm, so wonderful that for a moment she forgot the other time he'd held her with his arm around her waist, touched her, and she just wanted to lean her head against him. "Come along, darling," he said in a voice pitched just loud enough for those around him to hear. "Time to meet your new family."

She looked up at him, startled. There was a brief, bitter look in his eyes that was quickly masked. "They'll love you just as I do," he added with only slightly exaggerated fondness.

Which meant she was toast. "I'm looking forward to it," she replied sweetly. "Taka-chan," she added, using the affectionate term.

The flight attendants made soft, approving noises, as Taka glared at her. He leaned down and whispered in her ear in Japanese, something people close to them could hear. The giggles were louder now as he pulled away, and Summer smiled fondly up at him, wishing she was wearing high heels that she could tromp on his instep. She had no idea what he'd said, but whatever it was was clearly smutty.

"Let's go,
darling
," she said through gritted teeth. And she let him lead her off the plane, into a new world that was hardly more foreign than the life she'd been living for the last few days.

He was waiting for her in the first class lounge when she finally emerged from the changing room, and he didn't look up. It gave her a moment to watch him, unobserved. He looked different. He'd showered and shaved, and his long hair was tied neatly in the back. He was wearing a dark suit, possibly the best looking suit she'd ever seen. He appeared remote and elegant, as if in entering his native country he'd absorbed it, becoming more of a stranger than ever.

The hard-shell golf case was beside him, the treasures of the Hayashi family safe inside such a mundane container, and he was reading a Japanese newspaper, looking like any normal man waiting patiently for his wife. If you didn't look into his dark, merciless eyes.

He folded the newspaper and looked up. Of course he'd known she'd been watching him—he was aware of everything. But that didn't mean she didn't have some surprises in store for him. If she hadn't been looking for it she might not have noticed his reaction, but it was as strong as she'd expected it to be.

Her Italian leather high heels were silent on the thick carpet. For a moment she hadn't been sure whether she should put them on, but the attendants were wearing their shoes, and she assumed that the first class lounge was essentially international territory. And besides, they made her legs look terrific in the stockings that could be nothing less than silk.

Stockings, and lacy underwear that made Victoria's Secret look like Wal-Mart. All fitting perfectly beneath the trim Anna Sui red wool dress. There was even Chanel makeup and perfume in the suitcase provided. Instead of her usual braid, she'd tucked her hair up in a discreet, elegant chignon. She looked as foreign and as beautiful as this unknown country, from the diamond studs in her ears to the diamond ring he'd shoved on her hand just before they'd reached customs. She was Susan Elizabeth Komoru, about to meet her Japanese in-laws for the first time. It was no wonder she was nervous.

He rose, and for once he didn't tower over her. The three-inch heels brought her closer to her baby sister's height, though still a bit shorter than Taka.

The shower had revived her, brought her brain back to life, and with it all her doubts and emotions. She shoved them to the recesses of her mind—she had to deal with this one minute at a time, and the startled look in his eyes, quickly masked, was reward enough.

He stood, staring at her for a long moment. "What?" she demanded in a low voice. "You didn't think I could clean up well?"

He put his hand on the side of her neck, and she didn't jerk away, couldn't. He pressed his beautiful mouth against hers, briefly, and she could feel her body rise to his touch, her lips clinging for a moment.

And then he released her. "My family will love you," he said, the image of sincerity. "Particularly my mother. She's waited so long to be a grandmother." He put his long-fingered hand on Summer's flat stomach, and she jumped, nervous. Aroused.

She didn't know whether he was trying to rattle her or simply lure her into playing the part completely. She didn't like it, though she wasn't quite sure why. Maybe because the reality of it would have been so piercingly sweet.

She gathered the only defense she had left. "I hope so, Taka-chan," she said.

There was an odd gentleness in his smile. "You're far too easy to love, Su-chan." His affectionate name for her was a worthy comeback. Harder to bear, because he made it sound so believable. He stepped back, breaking their contact. "My cousin should be here by now," he added. "If you're ready?"

He couldn't hold on to her, the hard-shell golf case and his own suitcase. She could run when they reached the main part of the terminal, and he'd have to choose between the Hayashi treasure or her.

But she'd accepted the fact that she wasn't going to run. She was trapped in a foreign land with a man who killed, but he was still her best chance at staying alive. Besides, where would she go? She had the fake passport, credit cards and a wad of paper money in the Coach handbag that was part of what she could only think of as a disguise. She had a minimal knowledge of the language, and even in the U.S., where she had all her resources, she had been helpless when she came up against Takashi and the Shirosama.