On Thin Ice (22 page)

“No.”

“You don’t welsh on a debt of honor, Sister Beth.”

“I’ll pay you the extra two hundred thousand.”

“We’re up to three if you count the bra you’re going to have to hand over when I take you back to your room. And no deal. Some things are worth more than money.”

“You’re a degenerate.”

“True enough, but we’ll get to that later. In the meantime strip off those jeans and hand over the panties.”

She didn’t move. He seemed lazy, relaxed, but there was no humor in his hard eyes. They were dark, intent, and predatory and she knew he wasn’t going to back down.

And then he smiled at her, like a Bengal tiger sizing up a stray lamb. “I’ll tell you what, my angel. All or nothing.”

“What do you mean?”

“You can deal. You’ve told me you know how to cheat, though I have yet to see any proof. I won’t even look in case you fumble. You win, you get all your money back, including the reward for delivering you out of the jungle, and you get to keep your underwear to yourself.”

“And if you win?”

“You know the answer to that. Time’s up. We have unfinished business no matter how much you want to deny it. Time to stop running away. Deal.”

She picked up the hand and began to shuffle.

MacGowan leaned back, watching her fiddle with the cards. She did so obsessively, stopping at one point to examine the deck, front and back, looking for anomalies. There were none – his ability to cheat more devious than that.

He had no idea why he would win this particular hand, a hand he wouldn’t even touch. A bloody fortune was riding on it, a large enough amount to ensure a comfortable stretch of time, though with his tastes nothing would last forever. Money came and money went. The Committee, for all its abandoning him like flotsam, paid him obscenely well. He had twice the amount he was wagering in a bank in the Cayman Islands. And he was going to make damned sure he was compensated for those years in captivity. Though killing Peter Madsen might make collecting that back pay a little difficult.

He looked at her. He’d been hoping the memory of that wretched time in the foul apartment might have dissipated some of his roaring lust. Instead he couldn’t stop thinking about her, couldn’t stop remembering the feel of her beneath him. Her hands, clutching at him as he rocked against her, her mouth underneath his, the feel of her, the smell of her skin, the taste …

She’d been doing her absolute best to keep him at a distance. Her devotion to that told him all he needed to know, even without catching her staring at him when she thought he wouldn’t notice.

She refused to flirt, refused to let him anywhere inside the walls she’d erected around herself. They might never have shared that desperate trip out of the jungle, the narrow cot in the cabin, the bone-shaking kiss in the hotel hallway. He understood – he had the same walls around him and no one was getting inside them.

“Don’t look so worried, Sister Beth,” he said, lightly mocking. “I’m only talking about a good, nasty fuck. We’ll both be the better for it.”

He expected an argument, but she ignored him. Shuffling. Shuffling. He knew she’d take the wager. She might even try to cheat. He’d watched her deal from the bottom of the deck before and she wasn’t that bad. No match for him, of course, but not bad. It wouldn’t do her any good, and neither would dithering. He was going to have her tonight, and she knew it. Wanted it, against her better judgment.

He stopped for a moment, considering whether his overwhelming need for her was clouding his perceptions. Maybe he was fooling himself into thinking she wanted him as much as he wanted her.

No. There were some things he knew. What lay between them was unstoppable, unbreakable, and there’d be no peace for either of them until it was done.

She glanced up at him, and he looked into her deceptively calm eyes. The pull, the demand was there like a dark, living thing between them, and she didn’t even seem to recognize it. That, or she chose to ignore it.

“You’re going to have to face the fact that you want this, you know,” he said suddenly, his patience beginning to wear thin.

“Want what?” The riffling sound of the cards was loud in the charged silence.

“Sex. With me.”

She slapped the cards down. “This game is over.”

“No, it isn’t.”

She picked them up again, and began to shuffle, ignoring him, and something snapped.

“If you shuffle those fucking cards one more time I’m going to throw them overboard,” he snarled.

“Fine.”

“Deal.”

He saw the flash of uncertainty in her eyes, and then her mouth thinned. “Fine,” she said again. And she dealt the cards, fast, neat, no attempt at stacking the deck.

“We’re agreed on the stakes?” he said, looking at the cards that lay face down on the scarred old table.

She was afraid, he realized with sudden shock. It should have made him back off. But he was like a wolf who’d found his mate, and he wasn’t about to let her go so easily. Not when her fear was irrational and misplaced. He wasn’t going to hurt her, and deep inside she had to know it.

“Yes.” Her voice didn’t shake. Her hand did.

“You first.”

She picked up the cards, looked at them, then spread them out on the table. A full house, eights and jacks. She didn’t bother to hide her relief, and the look she gave him was triumphant. “Too bad,” she said lightly.

“Don’t you want to look at my hand?”

“Even you aren’t that lucky.” She flipped the cards over, one at a time. Ten of spades, jack of spades, queen of spades, the bitch goddess of the card deck and his personal favorite. He relaxed, knowing he had her.

Her hand stilled and her fear was back, running neck and neck with his anticipation. King of spades. Ace of spades.

“Royal flush,” she said bleakly.

“Yes.” It would be spades, he thought, not the juicy red hearts. What lay between them was darkness and pain, not valentine’s day.

He rose, and held out his hand to her. If she refused, tried to bargain, he told himself he’d walk away. She was way too much trouble. The sex would be lousy with a semi-virgin like Sister Beth, and he just wasn’t interested in a challenge at the moment.

Fuck that. He couldn’t walk away. Sane or not, he wanted her too badly. He waited, not saying anything.

She looked up at him, trying to hide the fear that danced in the back of her eyes. She put her hand in his and rose from the table.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

He hadn’t been in her cabin since he’d first brought her there. The bunk was small, the size of a twin bed, but it would do. It was neatly made, her extra clothes folded on a chair.

“Do you want the underwear I’m currently wearing or could I talk you into taking a fresh pair?”

“Tell you what,” he said in a deliberately relaxed voice. “Since in effect I beat the pants off you, you can keep your underwear. I’m much more interested in what’s inside.”

He saw the sudden flare of anger in her eyes. “Since when? I haven’t seen any sign of it since we’ve been on this wretched boat.”

“Ship,” he corrected her. “Have you felt neglected, sweetheart? I was giving you time to recover from my over-enthusiastic play-acting.”

“I’m not an innocent,” she said. “I understand male bodies, and despite what you say, I’m far from a virgin. As you’ve reminded me so often, it’s been three years since you’ve … since you’ve made love, and one can’t help how one’s body reacts on occasion.”

“No, one can’t, can one?” he mocked her gently. “How far?”

“I beg your pardon?”

This was ridiculous. They were standing in her cabin, when he’d much rather be horizontal. “How far from a virgin?”

“You want names, occasions, duration of relationships?” she shot back.

“I’d like to know what I’m dealing with when I get you on your back. You’re so fucking skittish I’m wondering if the Guiding Light got to you after all.”

“No.”

“Were you sexually abused as a child?”

Her face paled, but her response was immediate, and he suspected, truthful. “God, no.”

“Then what? You’ve been kidnapped, twice, you’ve fallen off a cliff, had a knife held to your throat, fought off drugged-out rapists, watched god knows how many men die, and yet you’re looking at me like I’m the big bad wolf.”

“Close enough.”

“You think I’m going to eat you, little girl?” he said softly.

“I think you’re going to … upset me.”

“Now that’s a euphemism I’ve never heard before. Look at it this way – you came down to Callivera to minister to the needy and the disadvantaged. Consider this an act of charity.”

“You’re not disadvantaged.”

“Three years.” This wasn’t going the way he’d planned. He wanted her to loosen up, but she was just getting tighter and tighter. “Just answer me one question, and then I’ll leave you alone.”

“You will?” He heard the relief in her voice. Did he also hear disappointment?

“This thing between us. This pull. Is it my imagination?”

She looked at him and lied. Flat out lied. “Yes.”

He moved past her, opened the door, and walked out.

The night air was cool on his heated skin, and he stood on the deserted deck, staring out at the inky-black ocean. He’d had enough. He wanted to get roaring, stinking drunk, and then pass out for the rest of the voyage rather than breathe in the infuriatingly tantalizing scent of Sister Beth, the purported non-virgin of the year. There were a number of problems with that plan. First, he had no alcohol. Second, even if he did he was incapable of passing out, which he figured was his father’s legacy to him. He knew how to drink, hard, and he knew how to pass it by without a second thought. He just didn’t know how to pass out. Third, he was sharing his room with a teenage boy, rendering dedicated drunkenness difficult to achieve.

As for Sister Beth … he’d never forced a woman in his life, and he wasn’t about to start now. But one thing was abundantly clear. He couldn’t be around her, not right now, without putting his hands on her. He’d keep his distance, and once they got to Spain he’d put her on a plane and out of his life.

He breathed in the fresh salt air, trying to relax his shoulders. His entire body felt wound as tightly as a clock spring, and he knew if anyone made the mistake of coming up to him he’d either snap his head off or hit him. No one would make the mistake of approaching him. People steered clear of him when he was in this kind of mood, instinctively recognizing danger. He could clear a sidewalk or a room when he was like this.

He lifted his head, staring into the bleak night. How far was Spain? One day away? Two? He’d waited as long as he could, and he knew why. He didn’t want the temptation of having too much time with her. One night, two at the most, and then
adios
.

Served him right. In the end it was for the best – he was going to get through life very well without ever having a taste of Sister Beth. After all, the most tempting things were usually the most dangerous. At this point he could dump her and forget her, quite easily, thank you very much. After sex it might be harder to walk away.

What would she do if he stormed back down the gangway, shoved open her door and took her? He’d be like his da, without the hitting. No, she was going to have to accept that she wanted it too. At this point he was done asking. She would have to come to him, and that wasn’t going to happen.

He took in another deep breath. He was calm now. No longer shaking with frustration. He was under control. He turned, and slammed his fist into the bulkhead, hard.

He looked down. He hadn’t broken anything, but the skin had split across his knuckles and he was bleeding. And an idiot.

And then he saw her, standing still and quiet in the moonlight, and as swiftly as it had come the rage left him.

“What are you doing?” Her voice was low, husky.

He considered it. “Being a bloody fool.”

“I should bandage that.”

“No.” He didn’t want to look at her, all silver in the moonlight. “You’ve done enough.”

“I haven’t even checked your knife wound.”

“It’s fine. Go back to bed.”

“Your hand is bleeding.”

He wheeled around, the anger rising again. “For fuck’s sake leave me alone! I’ve had as much of you tonight as I can take.”

She didn’t flinch from his anger. “I thought you wanted more,” she said. She crossed the few feet of the deck, put her cool hand on the side of his neck, and kissed him, a soft, lingering kiss. And then she turned and walked away.

Beth could barely breathe. She had sat in her cabin, telling herself she’d done the right thing, she was glad he’d left, she didn’t want or need what little he could give her. She didn’t need anything. She would make it even. She would give him the money, all the money. She could go out and buy some silly bra and panties and send them to him, gift-wrapped, and he’d laugh and think of her with less anger.

She could do it. She could hide. She was afraid of him, afraid of his big, strong body, afraid of his hands on her, afraid of losing herself so completely she’d never come back. She’d learned early on that the world took away the things, the people that she cared about. She was terrified to risk it again.

But what was the risk? He would go anyway. He wasn’t offering her a relationship, he told her. Just the best sex of her life. Wasn’t it past time she experienced it?

She knew he hadn’t gone back to his cabin, but the dining hall was empty. Which left the deck. She’d climbed up, into the cool night air, and seen him smash his fist into the iron bulk-head, and she almost turned and ran from the ever-present violence that was a part of him. But he’d seen her, and his expression had been unpromising.

I can do this, she told herself, hoping he wouldn’t see how nervous she was. “I thought you wanted more,” she said. And she put her mouth against his, a soft, trembling kiss, feeling the hard line of his lips, before walking away.

He caught up with her outside her doorway, when she almost gave up. He said nothing, simply pulled her into his arms, against his strong, hard body, and his hand slid beneath her hair, tilting her face up to his. “No more running away?” His voice was rough.