Setting Him Free (4 page)

Taylor checked the bodies for signs of life, found
the business-man's mangled phone, wondering where the pilots and
the second policeman were. Knowing that they needed to get the dead
away from the plane before they attracted any wild animals.

Danielle's eyes widened in silent question when he
reappeared. She moved tentatively towards him as he shook his head.
Watching her face crumple a little as she fought back the tears, he
envied the compassion she had to spare for complete strangers,
while he was struggling to feel anything at all. He knew that he
needed to keep this woman safe, but beyond that – nothing. No
thought for himself. Right now she was all he had. His only reason
to be here.

She had no idea how much he needed her.

* * * *

Danielle didn't cry – it would open floodgates that
couldn't easily be closed. There weren't enough tears for what
she'd seen in there.

"You were right," she said quietly, "I shouldn't have
looked. But I'm glad I did. I'd only have spent the whole time
worrying that one of them was still alive."

"I know. Try not to think about it."

Danielle pressed her lips together and nodded. Death
had never walked so closely to her before. Only pure luck separated
her fate from that of the battered and broken bodies all around
them.

"You've pulled off your sling," she said clicking her
tongue as if Taylor were a naughty child. "After all my hard work."
Reaching out to smooth it back into place, she busied herself with
the mundane – the rest was almost too much to comprehend.

She fretted over him, and he stayed very still, as if
he understood her need to anchor herself somehow. To feel something
warm and real, not cold and dead like the others around them. With
the sling back in place, her hands continued moving across his
chest, gliding over the soft cotton of his tee-shirt, feeling his
hard muscles twitching beneath them.

Is it really me doing this
? she thought. It
felt unreal, like watching herself in a movie.

But there he was, warm and hard beneath her fingers.
With wide-eyed fascination, she watched her hand skim over his
shoulders, and only now was their situation really sinking in.

"We're alive, Taylor."

"Yes."

She shivered when his hand moved too and his
feather-light touch left a trail of goosebumps from her wrist to
her shoulder. Breathing was suddenly an effort for both of them.
She could feel his chest rising and falling, and when she looked up
his face was set, entirely focused on the movement of his hand.

More than sexual, it was an affirmation. Proof that
she wasn't imagining this. He really was alive. Which meant that
she must be too, or how could she be feeling this? They'd both
survived. Luck or destiny? Who knew? Who cared? The two of them
were here, and the others weren't. Danielle thought she'd been
alive before, but was only just realising what being alive meant.
How it really felt.

She circled her arms around Taylor's waist and
pressed her cheek to his chest. Listening to the steady thudding of
his heart, she realised that normal rules didn't apply any more. A
dead body lay just a few feet away and all she could think of was
the hot, hard man in her arms. The feel of his hand moving over her
skin. The tangy smell of his damp tee-shirt filling her senses.

One move, that's all it would take. Danielle closed
her eyes. This was a dangerous attraction.

* * * *

Christ, the feel of her hands
. Pure lust
coursed through Taylor. When she'd fixed his arm, it had been
vaguely erotic. Small pulses of feeling, drowsily relaxing. Her
nearness, the way her fingers fluttered over his skin, her scent,
they'd worked on his senses in a pleasurable, controllable way. But
this, her hands moving over him, sure and determined, the force of
it slammed him in the gut, and he wanted to have her, right there
in the aisle, with the dead body next to them. Hard and fast, until
she screamed out his name. It would be good, something they both
needed, and - he squashed the feeling down - unfortunately,
something they'd both probably regret like hell.

Her skin felt deliciously soft under his roving hand,
which had no business being there, doing that. She wasn't stopping
him and he was having a hard time stopping himself. His fingers
moved towards the curve of her shoulder and slipped under the open
collar of her blouse. He caressed her slowly, deliberately, needing
to prove to himself that he did still have control. That he could
resist this wild, primitive feeling as long as he had to. But when
she laid her head so trustingly against his chest, he felt suddenly
lost. When they finally said goodbye he would never forget this
woman.

Sliding his palm to the middle of her back, he pulled
her close and let her feel exactly what she was doing to him.

Why couldn't I have met her before all this
?
She might have saved me.
He rubbed his cheek against her
hair, making her tremble.

She might still.

* * * *

"What do we do now Taylor?"

Danielle leaned back. Her hands stayed where they
were, lightly resting on his hips. Every passing moment brought a
new awareness of danger, and she needed this reassurance he offered
so freely. He made a circle of safety with his arms, and she
stepped into it, without hesitation. Would she have felt like this
if it had been one of the others who had survived and Taylor who'd
died? She would have helped any of the survivors without pause, but
this was different. More than just two people thrown together in a
dangerous situation. They'd known each other a couple of hours, so
why did she already feel as if she'd been in this man's arms a
lifetime?

She caught a flash of something in his eyes, flaring
for a split second before he masked it. Her breath caught, and her
fingers tightened on his hips. Intense longing with an edge of
unashamed lust told her he wanted her as much as she wanted
him.

Too tempting. They both stood on the very edge of
control, and she thought fleetingly about giving in. Who would
know? Who was there to judge whether this was right or wrong?

The problem wasn't that and he knew it too. With a
sigh of regret and a smile that caused small crinkles at the corner
of his eyes, he lifted his hand and touched his palm gently to her
cheek. Danielle caught it with hers and held it there. Whatever
happened, they couldn't be together. If they started anything now,
all they'd have would be memories. Better to step away now, and
save both of them the heartache. To persuade him to run she needed
to be detached. Emotion would only cloud the issue.

Stepping back was hard. His eyes narrowed when she
let go of his hand and moved away. With a small nod of
understanding, he turned his attention to the dead policeman.
"Reckon we need to move him."

Danielle hugged herself while Taylor walked over to
the body and searched through the policeman's jacket. A small
feeling of panic welled up inside her when he methodically stripped
the corpse of its personal possessions. Wallet, watch, ring, was he
stealing them? Had she been wrong about him after all? He held the
items out to her.

"Find a bag or something to keep these in. Going to
need them for ID."

She hesitated for a moment before taking them. Relief
filtered through the panic. Of course, the next-of-kin would want
the things back. They'd need to know that their loved ones really
had been on the plane.

"There's a carrier-bag in my hand luggage." Danielle
accepted the items, thinking they looked sad sitting there in her
hands. These few things that said nothing about who the dead man
really was. "Do you need to get the rest?"

"In a bit." Taylor had hold of the body and with a
tug, rolled it to the floor. Using his good arm, he grabbed the
back of the man's collar and dragged the corpse the few feet to the
exit door. After a few moments of struggling with the catch, he
shoved at the door with his shoulder. It gave with a sharp crack
and the body rolled unceremoniously over the edge. Taylor stepped
back, letting the door close again under its own momentum.

The body hit the ground with a soft thud. Danielle
looked away because she didn't want Taylor to see the look of
horror on her face. How could he be so cold, so disrespectful? A
human being, probably someone's husband and father, treated now
like no more than a sack of potatoes.

When she turned back, Taylor was wiping his hands on
the back of the seat. He caught her expression.

"Sorry, Danielle. It needed doing." He continued
wiping his hands, face impassive. "He's dead, and he'll attract
flies or maybe something bigger. Trust me. I know what I'm doing."
He turned to face her.

Yes, she could see that. All this death and gore
didn't seem to bother him in the slightest and she had to wonder
how someone could get to a stage where none of this touched them.
The front of his tee-shirt and the sling were streaked with the
man's blood now. It made her stomach churn.

"You've got blood all over you." She pointed to his
chest, remembering how she'd touched him and shuddering at the
thought of touching him now.

Taylor grabbed the bottom of his tee-shirt, looked at
it, and pulled a face. "Need to get this off." He glanced at her
almost apologetically. "Could you help?"

Danielle's fingers trembled. Whether from the idea of
touching him again, or because of the blood, she wasn't sure.
Maybe both.
How did they remove the shirt without hurting
his arm? No problem slipping it off his good arm, but getting it
past the sling was another matter. The last thing she expected was
to hear the giggle that escaped him when her fingers brushed over
his side. A strange sound to be coming out of such a hard-looking
man. She raised her eyebrows in astonishment, and couldn't resist.
Her hand went back to his side and, sure enough, there it was
again, along with a wriggle of his hips as he tried to evade
her.

"Hey, cut that out!"

Danielle moved her hand again, then away quickly,
smiling at the way she'd made him flinch. Totally inappropriate
behaviour for two people who, only a few moments ago, had been
preoccupied with dumping a dead body out of the door of a crashed
plane. Or for two people who were becoming more and more attracted
to each other with every passing moment. They were making their own
rules now. The dead man was already out of her mind. She pushed the
tee-shirt up, and over Taylor's head, and pondered how to get it
past the sling.

Taylor hissed in a breath when she slipped the shirt
down his broken arm. He raised a hand to show that he was okay.
Danielle felt her cheeks heating up at the sight before her. Lean
and powerful, hard, a few jagged scars standing out in relief.
Exactly how she'd imagined he'd look.

Another tee-shirt,
she thought, frantically
wondering where she might find one big enough for him. She caught
sight of her carry-on, which was stuffed with giveaways. She
dropped to her knees and rummaged through.

"There," she said, holding up a white tee-shirt
emblazoned with the
Tropicana
logo. "This should fit. Let's
get it on you."

Taylor backed sharply away, one hand raised to ward
off the offending garment. "You have to be kidding. Look, I'm okay
without a shirt. It's hardly cold."

"Don't be such a baby," Danielle scolded, a hand
threaded through the neck of the tee-shirt. "Get your head in
there."

"I'm fine, really I am."

The poor man looked as if he might make a run for it,
but what could she say
? I need you to put this on because the
sight of your bare chest makes me want to throw myself at you?
Because those rippling muscles are doing funny things to my insides
and I want to start touching you and never stop?

"Just get it on, will you? Believe me, you need this
on."

She wasn't sure if he'd caught her meaning. He
relented and bowed his head so she could slip the clean shirt over.
Not as tricky as getting the stained one off, although the ritual
was the same. Fingers grazing sensitive flesh, and heat. She was so
hot her cheeks were on fire.

Luckily, the shirt made him look utterly ridiculous
and broke the tension. With his good arm held out, he stood for her
approval and, as she tried to stifle a giggle, she realised that it
just didn't make him look silly, it made him look normal. Like any
other tourist. If he'd wanted to disappear, he could have, easily.
Why on earth was he at the Tropicana dressed in that black
get-up, advertising to the world that he was there?
The black
didn't look like a costume or a disguise. It looked like him.

He'd set himself up, she realised with a jolt. Wanted
to be caught. But why?

Taylor disappeared again through the gap in the
wrecked front of the plane, saying only that he wanted to sort out
the rest of the passengers. Danielle didn't ask questions. She made
her way to the galley and busied herself foraging for food instead.
Taylor obviously knew what he was doing. The details, she didn't
want to know.

Laughing inwardly at the fact that they'd already
reverted to primal roles, she opened the small refrigerator and
assessed the meagre contents. A milk carton, some rather
sorry-looking vacuum-packed sandwiches, an assortment of canned
soft drinks and a stack of gourmet cheese slices. Not much, but
they ought to eat the fresh food before it spoiled in the heat. She
grabbed a tray and loaded it with a meal of sorts, hoping Taylor
wouldn't reappear covered in blood again. The thought made her
stomach turn over.

Thank God she wasn't alone. She muttered a quick
prayer of thanks. Waiting alone for rescue surrounded by maimed
corpses didn't bear thinking about.