Kiss Me While I sleep (35 page)

Since he had turned off the car’s interior lights, too, there was no telltale light when Lily opened her door just enough for her to slide out; she sort of slithered, rather than getting out and standing up the way she normally would. With his brights blinding the occupants of the Fiat to that slight movement, they didn’t see her leave the car and, still crouching down, move around to the rear.

Swain slipped low behind the steering wheel, positioning it so it blocked the top part of the headlights shining in his eyes. With that small difference in the glare, he could see the shapes of three heads in the Fiat.

The Fiat crept closer. When twenty feet separated the two cars, it stopped. To see if he could get Bernard to follow suit, he killed the brights on the Mercedes. The bright headlights had played a part, but now that part was finished. A few seconds later, the lights on the Fiat dimmed.

Well, thank God. At least now they weren’t all blinded. He checked his rearview mirrors, but couldn’t spot Lily anywhere.

The passenger door of the Fiat opened and a tall, heavyset man with a short dark beard got out. “Who are you?”

Swain stepped out of the Mercedes, George Blanc’s briefcase in his left hand. He didn’t like not having the engine block for cover, but took some comfort in the fact that the other guy had only a car door between him and a bullet, too-which wasn’t saying much. A bullet went through a car door like a hot knife through butter. The only part of a car that provided much protection was the motor. “Swain. Who are you?”

“Bernard.”

Swain said, “I have the money.”

Bernard said, “I have the merchandise.”

Jesus. It was all Swain could do not to roll his eyes. They sounded like a bad spy movie.

He wore his weapon in a shoulder holster under his leather coat, which was why he’d kept his right hand free. He was acutely aware, though, of the two other men sitting in the Fiat.

Bernard didn’t have a weapon in his hands, but Swain was damn certain the two men in the car did.

Bernard didn’t have
anything
in his hands. “Where’s the merchandise?” Swain asked.

“In the car.”

“Let’s see it.”

Bernard turned back to the car and opened one of the passenger doors. He pulled out a small duffel bag that was bulging with something. Until Swain saw for himself, he wasn’t assuming the bag was full of plastique.

“Open the bag,” he instructed.

Bernard grunted and set the bag on the ground, then unzipped it. The headlights from the two cars plainly showed the bricklike contents, wrapped in cellophane. “Take one out,” Swain said. “From the bottom, please. Then unwrap it.”

Bernard made an impatient sound, but he reached into the duffel, scrabbled around, and pulled out one of the bricks. He tore off the cellophane covering.

“Now pinch off a corner and roll it between your fingers,” Swain instructed.

“It’s new,” Bernard said resentfully.

“I don’t know that, do I?”

Another impatient noise. Bernard tore a corner from the brick of plastique and rolled it into a ball. “There, you see? It is still malleable.”

“Good. I appreciate your honesty,” Swain said with heavy irony. He opened the briefcase to show the money inside. American dollars, as specified, eighty thousand of them. Why did no one want payment in euros? He closed the briefcase and latched it.

Bernard stuck the ball of plastique back on its mother brick, and dropped it into the duffel. A slow smile moved across his face. “Thank you, monsieur. I will take the money now, and if you’re very careful, all will go well-”

“Monsieur.” The voice was Lily’s, so quiet that only he and Bernard could hear it. “Look down.”

He froze at the intrusion of that unexpected voice. He glanced down, but couldn’t see anything; the headlights prevented it.

“You can’t see me, can you?” Lily’s voice was so low that if he hadn’t known she was a woman, Swain wouldn’t have been able to tell. “But I can see you. At this angle, I am afraid that my best shot is at your testicles. The bullet would angle upward, of course, tear out your bladder and colon, part of your intestines. You might live, but the question is, would you want to?”

“What do you want?” Bernard croaked, though of course he knew.

“Just the merchandise,” Swain said. He felt as if he might croak the words himself. Lily’s threat had made his blood run cold. “The money is yours. We aren’t cheats, and we don’t like to be cheated. Very calmly, we will make the exchange. Then you will tell your driver to back the car away, and you will walk beside it. Do not get in the car until it is at the end of the block. Is that understood?”

As long as Bernard wasn’t in the car, he was a clear target. -Walking alongside it was a guarantee that his driver wouldn’t ram the Mercedes while Lily was still under it. The Mercedes was heavier, but a solid blow by the Fiat would still slide it some distance.

Warily Bernard approached. “Do not do anything!” he said, raising his voice for the benefit of his cohorts in the Fiat.

Swain extended the briefcase with his left hand, and Bernard extended the duffel bag with his left. Swain let go of the briefcase and for a split second Bernard was holding both briefcase and bag, but then Swain’s left hand closed over the duffel’s strap and he took custody of the bag. His right hand was inside his coat.

Bernard backed away, clutching the briefcase. “We have honored our agreement,” he babbled. “There is no need to panic.”

“I’m not panicking,” Swain said calmly. “But your car isn’t backing up, either, so a panic attack could be coming on.”

“Idiot!” Bernard said fiercely, whether to his driver or Swain was a toss-up. “Back up to the corner, slowly. Do not shoot!” He was probably imagining a hot bullet plowing into his crotch.

“Lily,” Swain hissed. “Get out from under the car, now!”

“I already am,” she said from the other side of the car as she opened the door and slid inside.

Shit, she hadn’t waited to see if Bernard did what he was told, but then how many men would ignore that particular threat? Swain tossed the duffel bag into her lap, then swiftly got in and slammed the transmission in reverse, spinning the car around with a sharp turn of the wheel, then accelerating with a squeal of rubber. Behind them, a car door slammed; there was a high-pitched whine as the Fiat’s engine was revved up and it took off in pursuit. Swain thought it sounded like a sewing machine. Then a sharp crack sounded behind them.

“The fucker’s shooting at us,” Swain said grimly. If he had to change cars again, he was going to be seriously pissed.

“That’s okay,” Lily said, lowering the window and rising to her knees. “I’m shooting back.” Shooting from a moving platform at a moving target was more along the line of asking for a miracle than using any real skill, but she levered herself half out of the window, steadied herself as best she was able, and squeezed off a carefully aimed shot. Behind them, the Fiat swerved wildly before once more straightening out, telling them that she’d scored at least a windshield.

Swain put the gas pedal to the floorboard and let all the horses run. The Fiat rapidly fell behind, and Swain snickered as he imagined them all pedaling frantically, knees working up and down.

“What’s so funny?” Lily asked.

“If I’d still been driving the sewing machine, we’d never have made it.”

“You scare the hell out of me,” swain said crossly, stripping off his leather coat and tossing it across the bed, then shrugging out of his shoulder holster.

“Why is that?” Lily asked mildly, succumbing to an impulse she had every time she saw his coat. She picked it up and stroked the butter-soft leather, then slipped it on. The garment was too large, of course, hanging off her shoulders, and the sleeves reached way past her hands, but it was warm from his body and the feel of the leather was so scrumptious she almost purred.

“What are you doing?” he asked, diverted.

“Trying on your coat,” she replied, giving him a look that said
Duh.
What did it look like she was doing?

“Like there was any way it was going to fit?”

“No, I just wanted to feel it.” She pulled the edges together and stepped in front of the mirror, then had to laugh at her reflection. She was still wearing the mustache and black street clothes, and the knit cap pulled down over her hair. She looked like a cross between a street punk and Charlie Chaplin.

Gingerly she peeled off the mustache and latex, then removed the knit cap and ran her hands through her hair to fluff it. She still looked like a clown, so she removed the coat and tossed it back on the bed, then sat down and began removing her boots.

“Why do I scare you?” she asked, returning to his previous statement.

“
You
don’t scare me; I’m scared
for
you. Though my balls did draw up when you told Bernard where you were going to shoot him, but I guess any man would have that reaction. Scared the hell out of
him,
anyway. Jesus, Lily, what if the Fiat had rammed the car while you were under it? Do you know how-What are you doing?”

“Taking off my clothes,” she said with that
Duh
look again. She was down to her underwear and she unhooked her bra and dropped it on the bed, then skimmed out of her panties. Totally naked, she picked up his coat again and slipped it on, then walked back to the mirror.

There, that was more like it. The coat still swallowed her, but now it looked sexy, with her tousled hair and bare legs. She put her hands into the pockets and hunched her shoulders, then rolled her neck. She turned around to get a back view. “I love this coat,” she crooned, lifting the hem just enough to show the beginning curve of her ass. She felt breathless and a little too hot, as if someone had raised the thermostat setting in the room. She lifted the hem higher.

“You can have it,” he said hoarsely. His eyes were glazed. He came up behind her and gripped her buttocks in both hands. “You just can’t ever wear it when you have other clothes on.”

“That’s awfully limiting.” She had all she could do not to pant Her nipples were so hard they ached, and he hadn’t even touched them. Where had this intense sexual need come from? She didn’t know, but she felt as if she would die if he didn’t enter her.

“Take it or leave it.” His palms were hot as he kneaded the rounded cheeks.

“Well, okay, I’ll take it.” She took her hands out of the pockets and stroked the sleeves. “You drive a hard bargain.”

“That’s not all I drive that’s hard,” he muttered, reaching between them to unzip his fly. “Bend over.”

Because she was all but melting, her inner muscles clenched tight against the surging lust that gripped her, she bent over and braced her hands against the wall, going up on her tiptoes while he bent his knees. She caught her breath as he worked the broad head of his penis into her, then with a long, steady push sank to the hilt. He gripped her hips, anchoring her as he pulled back and thrust again.

Her feet almost came off the floor, and her head bumped the wall. He swore and slid one arm around her hips, holding her to him as he swung her around and took her to the bed. He didn’t pull out, didn’t change their basic positions, just bent her over the bed and began pumping.

Normally she needed direct stimulation in order to climax, but she was so ready for him just the friction of those long strokes was doing it for her. There was something about the combination of adrenaline, the sensuous leather on her bare skin, the knowledge that she was naked except for his coat, while he was still fully clothed, the primitive position, that was sending her responses soaring. She clenched her legs together, tightening herself around him, and the feel of that next stroke squeezing him deep into her was all that was needed. Choking back a scream, she buried her face against the bedspread and gripped fistfuls of fabric as the spasms of release shook every muscle in her body.

Swain leaned over her, bracing his hands on each side of her shoulders, driving so strongly that the impact of each thrust shuddered through her. He made a guttural sound, his penis growing impossibly hard; then he began short-stroking and his back arched and he began to climax, gripping her hips hard and grinding against her.

Five minutes later, they both managed to stir. “Don’t move,” he said thickly, drawing back and sliding the leather coat up so he could look at her bottom. He groaned and shuddered. “Oh, yeah, I think I’ve just discovered a fetish.”

“Mine or yours?” she managed to say. Little lightning bolts were still zinging through her and she suspected the same thing was happening to him, because he hadn’t softened very much.

“God, who cares?” He blew out a breath and gripped her buttocks hard, spreading the cheeks and dragging his thumbs down the crease until they met where her sensitive flesh was stretched tightly around his erection.

Her entire body flexed at the sensation as he massaged her; then gradually she relaxed under the soothing ministration. “This is depraved,” she murmured sleepily. “We were shot at tonight; we should be upset, not turned on.”

“Adrenaline does funny things to the system, and you have to burn it off somehow. But if this is how you react, I’ll start shooting at you myself.”

She shook with laughter, making him slip out of her. Groaning, he straightened and began to pull off his clothes. “C’mon, let’s take a quick shower. I worked up a sweat.”