On Thin Ice (25 page)

God, how was she going to look him in the eye and not think about him inside her?

It was already late morning, and she’d tried very hard never to be a coward. The longer she put off facing him the worse it was going to be. With a final surge she pushed out of bed and headed for the shower.

It was probably the oddest shower of her life, she thought afterward. Some parts of her were sore – her thigh muscles, for example. Other parts were still exquisitely sensitive – if she brushed the washcloth against her skin it set off a rush of heat and excitement.

She turned the water colder and finished quickly, using the towel to pat rather than rub her skin. It wasn’t until she was dressed in her baggiest jeans, now baggier from her infrequent meals, and an oversize t-shirt proclaiming “Go ahead, make my day,” that she realized the boat wasn’t moving. At all.

She ran over to the porthole and let out an involuntary shriek of joy. They’d docked.

She raced out of her cabin, taking the gangway at record speed, emerging on the deck flushed with pleasure, momentarily forgetting her embarrassment over the night before. MacGowan and Dylan were standing at one end, watching the unloading, and it took all her effort not to run towards them, bouncing up and down with joy. After the first few days she’d managed, but eating still hadn’t been a pleasure. But now they were on dry land, in a world of olives and tapas and heavenly spices. Some of the very best food in the world.

They saw her, and Dylan waved enthusiastically, signaling her to join them. MacGowan was watching her with perfect indifference, and she knew her fears had been right. He wanted to pretend it hadn’t happened.

She should want the same thing. It would be much too embarrassing to deal with such a momentous happening in public, particularly since it wasn’t going to be repeated. It was much better if it were relegated to the level of unimportant events, easily forgotten.

“We’ve landed,” she said with a cheery smile when she joined them. MacGowan didn’t look her way - he was watching the horizon with what she thought of as his hawk-gaze. Always looking for trouble, when he didn’t realize trouble had just walked up to him.

What would he do if she just went up and kissed him? The thought amused her enough to lighten her dark mood. He’d probably react like she had earlier when he’d come near her. Oh, it was tempting, just to watch him squirm. But he was right. Least said, soonest mended and all that.

Except that she didn’t particularly hold with that philosophy. If there was something that needed to be dealt with then she would much rather talk it out instead of letting it fester beneath the surface.

And come to think of it, she didn’t particularly want to forget about it. Not when she looked at MacGowan’s tall, spare figure, his averted face, the long strands of multi-color hair glistening in the sunlight.

“We can get off in another hour, once the first bit of cargo is off-loaded,” he said, his eyes still trained on the milling crowd. “I’m meeting someone at a middle-eastern restaurant in the western section of town. From then on you won’t need me any more.”

It was going to be like that, was it? “What about the money we owe you?”

At that he did glance her way, his gray eyes flinty. “You and I are even. Dylan’s family doesn’t want him anywhere near them, so I’m guessing they’re not going to reward me for bringing him down off the mountain. It’s up to you, but I would think you’d be ready to get away from me.”

There wasn’t anything she could say to that. He was right, whether she liked it or not. “Fine,” she said, not bothering to hide her irritation, and she turned on her heel and stomped away as best she could in flip flops. She only hoped he’d broken his goddamned hand, she thought furiously, throwing the small amount of clothes she’d brought with her into the small carryall. She didn’t need him, not any more. He hadn’t bothered to ask her, but she had money and credit cards stashed inside her mattress, and she’d been carrying it with her since they left the mission. She could take Dylan with her and he could go fuck himself.

“We need to talk.”

“Fuck!” Beth said, jumping back. “What are you doing here? And don’t sneak up on me – I don’t like it.”

He was looking sober, distant, but there was just a trace of amusement in his eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you curse before, Sister Beth.”

“If you call me Sister Beth one more time you’ll get more than cursing from me,” she said in a dangerous tone. “What do you want?”

“I didn’t use a condom. I don’t suppose you’re on birth control pills.”

Oh, God. Not only was she going to have to talk about it, she was going to have to discuss embarrassing details. “No,” she said shortly, resisting the impulse to say “what do you think, asshole?” “Am I going to die from some horrible disease?”

“I wouldn’t know, but if you do you won’t have gotten it from me. I’m always very careful, and it’s been three …”

“Years, yes, I know.” She finished the sentence for him. “Then we don’t need to worry.”

“There’s always the off-chance you might get pregnant.”

His words hit her like a sledgehammer, and she turned away from him, rather than let him see her expression. “I would have thought you’d have had a vasectomy.”

His surprise didn’t improve matters. “Why should I? I haven’t made up my mind yet.”

So he might want children some time in his life. Just not with her. She had years of practice perfecting her calm expression, and it was in place when she turned back to him. Looking him in the eyes, so he’d believe her. “It’s highly unlikely. It’s at completely the wrong time in my cycle, but if by any chance it happens I’ll be sure to get in touch with you. Assuming you can be found.” She would do no such thing. If she happened to get pregnant, and right then she had absolutely no idea where she was in her cycle or how fertile she might be, then he was the very last person she’d inform.

“I can be found,” he said. He looked as if he wanted to say something else, and she waited, patient and calm. It was no wonder he called her Sister Beth, she thought. She
was
a goddamned nun. That was probably part of the problem. He’d already told her he liked experienced sex, hadn’t he? And she’d been shy and uninventive and just let him do what he wanted. He’d been bored by her. If he’d liked it he wouldn’t have been so quick to get rid of her.

Strange, that the most powerful experience of her life meant so little to him, like scratching an itch. Strange, and so hurtful she didn’t even want to think about it. It was no more than she’d expected.

If he’d give her a chance she could do better. Now that she knew she could actually enjoy it she could relax enough to …

No. She was never having sex again in her life. Not if it made her feel as awful as she did right now, hating him, her body longing for him, her nipples tightening. “Go away, MacGowan,” she said calmly. “I have things to do.”

He wasn’t used to being dismissed. Suck it up, she thought, furious. “Be on the deck in fifteen minutes.”

“Aye, aye, sir.”

Getting through customs on her fake passport was surprisingly easy. Whoever did the forgery was very good, though she wasn’t crazy about coming into France as Mrs. Finn MacAllister. Her lawyers would be able to handle any issues with the fake passports, both for her and for Dylan. They didn’t need MacGowan. They were going to be just fine, thank you very much.

Just fine.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

All right, so he couldn’t stop thinking about her, MacGowan told himself savagely. Nothing wrong with that. It was the first pussy he’d had in god knew how long, and it was no wonder he kept hearing her, seeing her, tasting her. The sex should have been lousy – she really was not much than a virgin, and he’d outgrown adolescent fumbling a long time ago.

But there’d been something irresistible about her shyness. Her surprise at her own reactions, and the way she’d held nothing back. Who the hell had she slept with, that they’d left her so cold and uncertain? Women were worth the trouble, Beth was worth the trouble, that and more. She deserved someone who’d take the time with her, who knew when to be rough and when to be gentle, to be hard and tender. For some reason the two of them had been in odd accord – she hadn’t flinched from anything he’d done. That responsiveness had fired his own, and he kept getting hard at the worst moments, thinking of her, confronting her in her room, talking with Dylan.

God, he needed to get rid of her, fast. He could look after Dylan. But Sister Beth … Beth … needed to be out of sight and out of mind.

The question was, how long would it take to get her out of his mind?

“Dude,” Dylan inquired with the sex-sniffing acuity of all randy teenage boys, “did you two fuck?”

They were already off the freighter, moving through the crowded docks at a steady pace, and he kept his expression impassive. One swift glance told him Beth was blushing, so he did his best to distract the little shit. “None of your business, kid.”

“It’s my business if that’s why you’re dumping us.”

He heard the note of strain in the kid’s voice, and realized he’d missed Dylan’s neediness. MacGowan had been on his own for years when he was Dylan’s age, in a much rougher world than Dylan had ever had to deal with. Dylan had always been cocooned by his parents’ money, even if they themselves had been missing. It was a far cry from his own teenage years in the slums of Belfast, trying to avoid his father’s martyrdom.

But the kid needed a reassurance that was simple to give. “I’m not dumping you. Beth has got money coming out her ass, and she doesn’t need us any more. All she has to do is make a phone call and she can be back in her mink-lined womb. You can hang with me if you want, until we figure out what you want to do.” He knew from the time they’d shared in captivity that the kid’s parents had abandoned him. MacGowan knew something about that. He was damned if he was going to dump the kid as well.

“Yeah,” Dylan said, his voice a little rough. He cleared his throat, gathering his bravado back around him. “Yeah, sounds like a plan.”

“Good.” He glanced at Beth. The color that had stained her cheekbones was gone now, leaving her pale and still, and he suddenly remembered her beneath him, that coolness vanished in heat and passion and blistering completion.

Stop thinking about it
, he ordered himself, and his wayward cock. Not that his cock could think. Obviously, given that letting his cock take the lead only ended up with him getting screwed.

“What are you laughing at?” Dylan asked.

“The stupid-ass things I do,” he replied, not loud enough that Beth could hear him. She was trailing behind them, and he knew a sudden uneasiness. With any luck they’d left their trouble behind in Callivera. The Guiding Light was too disorganized to have connections in Europe, and Sully had been alone. He’d been careful about covering up their escape, but the CIA could alternate between being laughingly incompetent and almost as good as he was. There was always the chance they’d tracked them to the Martha Rose, though he was comfortably certain no one had been there when they docked.

The last time he was going to lead his little chicks to safety, he thought, steering them through the alleyways and side streets near the docks. He was reasonably sure they weren’t being followed, but he wasn’t a man to take unnecessary chances, and once they reached Mazza he could concentrate on his own plans. The Middle Eastern restaurant was small and unprepossessing, but the place was a safe haven for any Committee operatives in need of a quick exit or entrance into Europe.

The day was cold and overcast, winter closing down around Europe. He was relatively impervious to the weather after living through the night time chill and day-time steam bath with La Luz, and he barely noticed the cold, but Beth looked pinched, miserable, and he realized she was shivering. She was wearing a t-shirt and she still had on those damned flip flops. Without thinking he stripped off his heavy shirt and dumped it on her shoulders. She just as quickly shrugged it off, tossing it back at him.

“I don’t need it. I’m fine.”

Damn, she sounded so cool and impersonal. If it wasn’t so annoying he’d be impressed. “You’ll wear it,” he growled, throwing it back to her.

She caught it by instinct, then shoved it back at him. “No.”

He’d been looking for the excuse to put his hands on her, he realized. It was fast and it wasn’t pretty, but he was much stronger than she was. A moment later she was wearing the shirt, and he was fastening the buttons on the front, ignoring her glare as his hands brushed against her breasts. He shouldn’t have, but he couldn’t help it. He hadn’t had enough of her the night before. It should have been, but it wasn’t.

He gave her a surreptitious glance. Beth wasn’t a one-night stand kind of woman, and he wasn’t a relationship kind of man. His need for autonomy was stronger than his lust, or so he’d thought. Now that it was too late he was rethinking things, wondering if there was any way to get one last taste of her.

Put it out of your mind, boy-o
, he told himself. Pissing her off and rejecting her was probably the smartest thing he’d ever done. There was no coming back from that.

Mazza was perfectly situated, seemingly at the end of a blind alley, with hidden tunnels underneath leading to the ancient sewers and the rest of the city. It hadn’t changed much since the last time he’d been there. A little older, a little shabbier, the three-story building looked as if it were leaning against the other equally-decrepit buildings on the right side of the alley. It probably was.

 The place was dark and shuttered, metal gates across the front, but he knew someone would be there. By the time they reached the entrance a man was already pushing the gates open.

“MacGowan,” the stranger greeted him. “We’ve been expecting you.”

The unease blossomed, and he could have kicked himself. He’d been so distracted by Beth Pennington that he hadn’t been paying enough attention to his instincts, which were now on high alert.

“Who are you? Where’s Castalbo?”