An Inconvenient Husband (16 page)

Her teeth were
chattering. "To KL. To a hotel. I... I was going to ask a f...friend of
mine to contact my father so we could figure something out."

Blake cursed under his
breath. "Your father has enough to worry about right now!" He slammed
the door and moved out of sight. A moment later he opened the other door and
slid into the passenger seat. He handed her a thermos bottle. "Drink
this," he ordered. There was no cup, so she drank it straight from the
neck. It was coffee liberally laced with whiskey. Oh, God, and that on an empty
stomach. It was not too hot and she gulped down a good quantity before handing
it back. He took a few swallows himself and put it down.

She drew in a deep
breath, clenched her hands in her lap and tried to look determined. "I'm
not staying with you anymore!"

"You have no
choice," he said harshly. "Don't act like a spoiled brat."

"I hate
you," she said in a low, trembling voice, feeling close to tears, feeling
helpless and unable to tolerate being at the mercy of this man. She wanted her
money, her purse, her passport, her clothes. She wanted to get out— not only
away from Blake, but out of the country, back to Washington, as far away as
possible from him.

"I know," he
said flatly. "God knows why. Here, have some more."

She drank more of the
coffee, wincing as she slug-a- lugged it down. She couldn't stop shivering. She
couldn't get warm.

"What the hell
was I going to tell your father?" he demanded furiously. "That you
found it necessary to escape in the middle of the night like some prison
inmate? That you had perished in the damned jungle?"

She tightened her
hands. "Don't exaggerate," she said, mimicking words he'd said to her
a hundred times in the past. She was beginning to feel a little warmer,
beginning to feel a little stronger. "I had no intention whatever to
perish in the jungle." It sounded good. It sounded confident. As if she
knew all the secrets of jungle survival. Which of course she didn't, but she
was tired of his making her feel stupid. Not that she hadn't been stupid, but—

"Who do you think
was going to find you here? And when?"

His autocratic
behavior rallied all her defenses. She faced him, straightening her back and
giving him a challenging look. "Maybe some
orang asli
hunters with
blow pipes would have wandered by. They might have adopted me and I could have
lived with them and learned their ways." Good Lord, where do I get this
stuff from? she wondered, not able to stop herself. "Imagine the
adventure!" she went on. "Then one day, some four or five years
later, we would accidentally come across a Malay
kampung
and I would find
my way back to modern civilization." She was warming to the subject,
fueled by coffee and whiskey. "Just think about the book I could write
then! I'd become famous! I'd go on talk shows and book tours. They'd make a
movie out of the book and I'd become filthy rich! Just think about—" He
made a tortured sound—half groan, half laugh. "Oh, God, spare me your
fantasies."

"It could happen!
And now that you have found me, you're spoiling it all! Just go away and leave
me alone!"

"Shut up,"
he ordered, pulling her roughly into his arms and kissing her fiercely.

She went limp in the
warmth of his embrace. The comfort of his body so close, the strength of his
arms supporting her disarmed the bravado that had fired her words. A sob broke
loose, then another—big, heaving sobs she had no way to fight. He held her
tightly, saying nothing, just holding her against him as if he were never going
to let go of her again. She didn't know she had so many tears. They kept coming
and coming from places she didn't even know existed. Tears of relief, tears of
anger, tears of a bottomless grief.

"Oh, God,
Nicky," he whispered in her ear when she'd finally stopped crying.
"What am I going to do with you?"

He'd brought gas in a jerry
can and poured it into the tank, but the car was unimpressed and refused to
give any sign of life. They drove back to the house in the dilapidated pickup
truck normally used for hauling tanks of cooking gas and other supplies.

"How did you know
I was gone?" she asked, trying to see his expression in the dark.

He looked straight
ahead, both hands on the steering wheel. "I woke up with a start. I had no
idea why, except that I had this eerie premonition something was wrong. I
couldn't figure out what. I tried to go back to sleep, but I couldn't. Finally,
I got up and checked your bedroom and saw that you weren't there."

"And then you
found the Land Cruiser missing," she guessed.

He nodded. "With
very little gas left in it. I knew you hadn't filled it because there's a leak
in the hose and there were no fresh spots. You wouldn't even have made it to
Paradise Mountain, so I went tearing after you in this thing, but I didn't see
you stranded anywhere. I knew the only thing that could have happened was that
you'd got on the wrong trail before you even reached the village. And I was
right."

She shivered and
hugged herself. "I didn't know there was another trail. I hadn't seen it
before, but I must have just taken it without even noticing."

"You'd only come
that direction once and it's easy to miss the right track in the dark because
of the angle it curves and the way the lights shine straight ahead onto this
one."

"Where does it
lead to?"

"Nowhere. It
wanders around the mountain and turns back on itself. It's there for study and
research."

He seemed his normal
self again. He spoke calmly and without anger. Back at the house she had a warm
shower and put on a terry bathrobe that belonged to Lisette.

Blake came into the
corridor as she emerged from the bathroom. "I made you some mint
tea," he told her. "Come along." He put his arm around her
shoulders and propelled her into his bedroom right across from the bathroom.
And she, like an obedient schoolgirl, allowed him to.

She glanced at the big
rumpled bed, the air catching in her throat. A steaming cup of tea stood on the
bedside table, the minty fragrance filling the room.

"Get under the
covers," he instructed.

"This isn't my
bed."

"No, it
isn't." He pulled his T-shirt off over his head and tossed it on a chair.
"Yours isn't big enough for both of us. I want you where I can keep an eye
on you in case you decide to try and make another escape.''

She stared at his bare
chest. He couldn't possibly be serious. One bad mistake per night was about
enough. She gave a short laugh. "You're just saying that."

"Yes, I am."
He moved toward her and without ceremony unbelted her robe and pulled it off
her shoulders. "Now get into bed and drink your tea." He held back
the sheet and blanket and nudged her down matter-of-factly.

Her heart beating
frantically, she sat up against the pillows and drew the covers up under her
arms. He handed her the tea. She took it and sipped it, knowing this was crazy,
knowing she should have just walked out and not allow him to take charge of her
like this.

Knowing she was
exactly where she wanted to be.

He stripped off the
rest of his clothes without preamble. She looked at his naked body, that
strong, familiar body—beautiful and aroused. Her heart lurched helplessly and
it was suddenly hard to breathe. Her hands trembled as she lifted the cup to
her mouth and sipped at the tea.

He got into bed next
to her. He took the half-empty cup form her hands, put it down and switched off
the light. Then he reached out and pulled her up against him as if it were the
most ordinary thing to do.

Once, of course, it
had been.

And even now, even
with her mind going crazy and her thoughts in turmoil, even now it felt good
and right. She fit against him as she had before: perfectly.

"When a woman is
scared and cold," Blake murmured against her ear, "the best place for
her to be is in the arms of a man."

The remark was totally
uncharacteristic of him and she made a choking sound of surprise. "Mr.
Chauvinist. And you're that man?"

"As far as I
know, I'm the only one in the house."

"But I'm not
scared and cold anymore."

"Then pretend you
are."

"I don't want to
make love to you," she muttered feebly. It was a lie, of course. Why else
was she in his bed? Why else was she lying naked in his arms?

"Then don't. Just
go to sleep." His arms tightened around her, pressing her closer yet
against is warm, aroused body.

She gave a soft moan.
"You're not serious."

"No, I'm
not."

"You're trying to
seduce me," she muttered, her lips brushing against the warm skin of his
neck.

"I'm glad you're
catching on." He eased his hold on her a little and lifted his head to
look into her face. "And if you think this is convenient—if you think it's
convenient for me to get shocked out of my skin to find you gone, to chase you
in the dead of night in the middle of the damned jungle, not knowing where you
are... if you think all that is a
convenient
way to get
you in my bed, you'd better think twice."

Her lungs ached for
air. She sucked in a shaky breath. "Then why bother?"

He groaned.
"Because I want you. Because this situation is driving me crazy, and
because I must have no pride at all."

Moonlight spilled
through the open window, onto the bed, onto his face. She saw the faint grimace
of self- derision.

"Pride? What does
pride have to do with it?"

He gave a low,
frustrated sound in his throat. "I don't want to discuss it. In fact, I
don't want to talk at all. I don't even want to think." His mouth crushed
down on hers, hot and urgent. There was a world of need and passion in that
kiss—a need and passion reflecting her own. His body was tense and restless as
it moved against her. He lifted his face away from hers. "All I want to do
right now," he said huskily, "is kiss you all over and ravish you.
But if you truly don't want to, Nicky, you'd better go now."

Her heart pounded
wildly against her ribs.
Don't let him do this to you,
a little
voice inside her warned.
Go! Now!

She lay very still,
gazing up at him, seeing the raw hunger in his eyes, a hunger contained by
sheer force of will.

If she moved now, away
from him, he would let her go. She was free to get up and leave the room. He
didn't want her if she didn't want him. She realized she was barely breathing.
Emotions clogged her throat. She wanted him more than she'd ever wanted him
before— her body aching, yearning. She wanted his hands stroking and caressing
her, his mouth kissing her all over. She wanted the fire only he had ever
stirred up inside her. And she wanted to touch him and kiss him and feel his
body tremble under her hands.

She wanted to feel
that magical connection between them again, the wholeness of belonging.

"Nicky?" he
said softly. "I know you well enough to know you want this, too. We both
need this. We can't go on the way it's been these last few days. It's too
damned... nerve-racking."

She nodded, pressing
her face against his chest, feeling the hair tickling her mouth, her cheeks.
That's why she had taken off in the middle of the night. Because she couldn't
stand it anymore, because she was going crazy.

"And your running
away from me is no solution," he added. "You know that."

"Yes," she
whispered. "I—" Her voice faltered and tears filled her eyes.

"You scared the
hell out of me, you know that?"

"I'm sorry,"
she said thickly. She fought against the emotion swelling inside. She felt his
hand on her breast, a gentle touch that sent a fresh rush of tingling warmth
through her.

"Nicky?" His
voice sounded strangled. "Tell me what you want."

"I want us to
make love," she said tremulously, pushing away everything in her mind—the
memories of anguish and loneliness, the warning bells, the angry little voices.

Something broke loose
in him—she felt the tremor pass through him, the easing of tension held in
check with effort. No more restraint now as he kissed her mouth with reckless
passion. No more restraint as he touched her breasts, kissing them one at a
time, urgently, but never rough.

"I wished for
this so much," he whispered. "So much."

"Yes." Her
voice was barely a whisper. She ran her hands through his hair, feeling her
breasts swell against his mouth. Her nerves tingled, her blood sang, her body
danced.

She lost herself in
the feelings, the freeing of inhibitions, touching and caressing his body all
over, kissing him with an abandon fed by a fierce longing that no longer wanted
to be repressed.

He whispered her name.
"You feel so good, so good..."

She clung to him,
drowning in a frenzy of need, letting herself go. Time and place receded,
blurred, and she was aware of only him and the magic between them—the hunger
that needed to be stilled, the wildfire that needed to be doused.