Setting Him Free (7 page)

"What if I said I didn't want to be rescued?"

She spoke so quietly that he leaned down and tilted
his head in question. Danielle blinked and turned away. When she
turned back he wasn't sure if it was rain or tears making her eyes
shine. "Can't stay here," he said, gently, because suddenly she
felt like the fragile one, like a little lost bird quivering in his
hands.

"I know," she replied and stepped away.

Taylor followed her back to the plane, amazed at her
capacity to keep going after all that had happened. Her resolute
stride and the way she pulled him back into the plane when he found
it more difficult to climb back in than he had to jump out, made
him smile fondly, even as he caught his breath and rode out the
wave of pain in his broken arm.

"I need a drink." Danielle's mood lightened and look
of child-like glee crossed her face at the sight of the refreshment
cart tucked away at the back of the plane. "What can I get you,
sir?"

Taylor followed her and reached for the whisky
bottle. Danielle dropped to her knees and rifled through the
contents of the small cupboard underneath the cart. While he poured
himself a generous glass of Scotch, she filled her arms with cans
of cocktails.

"Blue Lagoon, Pina Colada, what's it going to
be?"

Taylor held up his glass.

"Boring. I'm trying every one of these. Sure you
don't want one?"

"I'll stick to this, thanks." Taylor picked up the
bottle and tucked it under his arm. "So where's the party?"

Danielle got to her feet, balancing the cans in the
crook of her elbow. "Not much room for dancing, is there? How about
here?" she said pointing to the pair of double, facing seats at the
very back of the plane. "Wait, I'll get us some snacks."

"There'll be a towel in the galley. Want to dry
off?"

"No," she said and shook her head like a wet dog,
spraying droplets all around her.

Taylor took a big swig of whisky, welcoming the burn
in his throat. He sat and tipped back his head. "You're crazy, do
you know that?"

"So I've been told."

Danielle slipped into the seat opposite, and threw
him a bag of nuts. It hit him squarely on the head since he was
unable to field it without spilling his drink. Rainwater dripped
into his eye from his wet hair. He wiped it away with his elbow.
"Hey, what's with you all of a sudden? Found some happy pills?"

"No," she said and popped the tab on a can. "Just an
extreme reaction to an extreme situation." Danielle planted her
feet on the seat next to him, and then downed her cocktail in one.
"I don't know. I just feel a bit crazy all of a sudden. I wish we
had music so we could dance. Want me to fix you a fresh sling?"

Taylor shook his head, understanding perfectly how
she was swinging between despair and elation while trying make
sense of their situation. Right now she was definitely on an
up.
Putting on a brave face, bravado, whatever you wanted to
call it.

And then he remembered the kiss, and her
disappointment when he'd pulled back instead of doing what he'd
really wanted to do, which was to kiss her senseless so she'd put
up no resistance when he made love to her. It would have been
cheating, somehow, when she was so vulnerable, and feeling so sorry
for him.

Shaking his head, he thought he might as well join
her in happy-land. Here there was nowhere to run and no-one to run
from. They could just be themselves. He almost found himself
wishing they did have some music so that he
could
dance with
her. He was definitely feeling more peaceful and relaxed than a man
in his situation should be. That would be her doing. The way she'd
held him, and just let him be, had been exactly what he needed.
After two years of slowly turning into a ghost he suddenly felt
real again. When she looked at him it felt as if she could really
see him, and, for the first time in what seemed like an age, Taylor
let a small spark of hope ignite deep in his heart.

Why this, why now? Of all the bizarre twists and
turns of the past few years, this was the only one that had made
him stop and think instead of wanting to run. Almost as if an
unseen hand had grabbed him by the collar, swung him around and set
him down on a completely different path. The question was, what did
he do next? He knew what he wanted to do, and he knew what he ought
to do.

But he had no idea which path he should choose.

* * * *

Danielle popped another can and took a big swig,
grateful for the temporary high of the alcohol. The interior of the
plane looked a little hazy and another drink would probably send
her to sleep, but Taylor was smiling indulgently and she liked
seeing him smile. So she wriggled her toes and wiggled her
shoulders, then wrinkled her face as she caught a whiff of sweaty
armpit despite their impromptu shower.

Taylor laughed out loud this time. The sound warmed
her deep inside. Laughter was good medicine, and something she
suspected he hadn't indulged in the past few years. Toeing off her
sandals, she moved her foot to rest beside his thigh. Merely a
comforting touch, the alcohol making her bold. With a devilish grin
she slid her foot up Taylor's side and tickled him with her
toes.

Taylor spluttered, almost dropping his glass. Unable
to put it down, he was almost helpless, so she took full advantage
and tickled him again. Flirting with him, she realised. Making
something happen.

"You little..." He drained the glass in one and sent
it with a sharp flick under the seat. In a blur of movement, a hand
circled her ankle. Danielle bit back the hysterical scream that
nearly came out full-force, barely able to make him out in the dim
light. His expression at that moment told her exactly who was now
in charge. Eyebrows raised, a hint of a smirk evident, Taylor
straightened slowly and, still holding on, he contemplated the
foot. Danielle made a futile attempt to back up in her seat, but
Taylor had her firm. There was nowhere to go.

He raised his eyes to her. She stared back, her own
eyes wide, heart racing in anticipation of his next move. She was
ticklish too, as she suspected he was about to find out, and braced
herself for the assault. Might as well cave in to the building
hysteria. It would be a release of sorts, something she needed
after that kiss. It had been sweet, but frustratingly brief, and
had left her wanting more. But that wasn't what he'd needed
then.

Now, however, she could feel his mood changing.

"Apologise." A tone of voice she hadn't heard him use
before – calm, but with a silky, deadly edge. She shivered, briefly
and then stuck out her tongue.

"No."

"No?"

"I'm not ticklish," she gasped when he hauled her
towards him. She slid forward, and her wet skirt went the other
way, hiking itself almost to her waist. She managed a token tug,
knowing he was openly ogling her exposed thighs. And that she was
moving them in a way that would make him want to look.

It was almost comical. Him holding her foot, her
lying practically at his. She wasn't sure how much he could see of
her in the gloom, but she could feel the energy coming off him in
waves. The sexual predator and the prey. Only she wasn't sure which
of them was which. Every time she wriggled her legs his grip on her
foot tightened and his breathing became a little more uneven. If
they didn't stop this soon, neither of them would want to.

* * * *

Taylor narrowed his eyes, trying to focus on her
gorgeous legs. The invitation couldn't be clearer. She was making
no effort to cover up, and the sight of her white lace underwear
made him pulse with need. Danielle wriggled again, reminding him
that he still had hold of her foot, and she hadn't apologised for
tickling him. He ran his thumb lightly across the arch, causing her
to convulse in an explosive giggle.

"Are you going to apologise?"

"No."

She certainly had spirit. Knowing what he was, a
cold-blooded killer, and still letting him do this to her. For a
moment he found her trust in him so touching it almost disarmed
him. But, not quite. This was a challenge, and he wasn't one to
back down.

"You're asking for it, Danielle."

"I know."

No hesitation in her voice, nothing but a simple
honesty. She'd caught the double meaning, and told him what she
wanted. What they both wanted.

So here they were at the point of no return. The mood
shifted subtly from playful banter to one of surrender to the
inevitable.

He heard her quiet sigh when his lips touched her
ankle and his tongue traced a lazy, wet trail along her calf. When
he couldn't go any farther he slid from the seat to his knees and
pushed apart her thighs so he could continue kissing and lapping at
her salty flesh. His hand followed the wet trail and, all the
while, she remained so still and quiet, as if she didn't want to
break the spell.

Taylor breathed in the almost overwhelming scent of
her, kneeling up to grope for her in the darkness. When Danielle
caught him by his broken arm he bit back the pain as his mouth
found hers in a kiss that made him forget everything but the sweet,
wet slide of her lips and tongue. She kissed him with exquisite
care and such a depth of emotion it almost made him weep. He wanted
to go slow and taste every inch of her, already knowing that, even
if he made love to her all night, it still wouldn't be enough.

"Danielle," he whispered when she finally let him go.
"I want to learn you from the inside out, but this will to lead to
nothing but heartache."

"Don't want to hear that. You'll break it anyway,
might as well do it this way." Danielle kissed him again, a little
frantic, now. He gave back with the same desperation, knowing he
should stop. After this he'd never forget her.

"Me too," he managed shakily.

The final barrier fell away. If he didn't finish this
he'd never forgive himself.

It was exactly what she'd been afraid of. Nothing in
her life would ever match this, a situation so unlikely she might
have been dreaming. Uncomfortable, hot and sweaty, and on the verge
of having sex with a self-confessed killer – yet everything about
the way he touched her seemed so right. In between breathless
kisses she murmured his name over and over. A name she'd learned
only a few hours ago.

It's him.
Somewhere in the back of her
fogged-up brain the thought took root.
It's not what he's doing,
it's because it's him doing it.
That was what made this so
different. Somehow in the way he touched her, kissed her so
reverently and with such need, he managed to say things she'd never
heard before, leaving her limp and helpless with wanting him.

Crazy yes. Regrets, none. Taylor stopped to catch his
breath. Danielle slid from the seat and onto his lap, needing to be
closer still. She heard his surprised grunt. Pushed him back,
reached for his belt and opened it with shaking fingers. He undid
the button, she pulled down the zipper. Then she was touching
him,
running frantic fingers over the hot, hard length of
him, making him groan and suck in a sharp breath, knowing she must
be hurting his arm, they were pressed together so tightly, but she
needed him too much.

"Wait, love, there are condoms."

"Where? Where are they?"

"Carrier bag. On the seat, opposite. Let me…"

"No." Pushing him down when he tried to rise, she
reached over, upending the plastic bag, spilling the contents onto
the floor. "There. Put it on."

It was almost a demand, the delay so frustrating she
wanted to scream. And then, at last, he was lifting her, filling
her and she was trying to remember a time when they weren't doing
this. A time when she had no idea he existed. Was it only this
morning they first met?

The sheer relief of it made hot tears sting her eyes.
With a groan, Taylor thrust again and she pressed her face against
his neck and clung to him, uncaring that she probably looked and
sounded like a crazy woman. She'd happily go crazy if it felt like
this.

"Taylor. Oh god, Taylor." Desperate kisses punctuated
the words. "We don't have enough time for how much I need you right
now."

"I know. Me too."

The words came out as jerky, staccato sounds as he
ground into her, hardly able to move in the tight space, the seats
pressing into their backs. He came with a dark, shuddering groan,
telling her over and over that he needed her and wanted her.
Promising he'd never forget her.

Biting her lip to force back the tears, Danielle
tried to imagine they were on that beach right now, just as she'd
imagined. Warm, and safe. He wasn't wanted for murder. She didn't
have a life to go back to that didn't include him.

She tried but the picture just wouldn't come.

* * * *

Danielle was holding him so tightly, he couldn't
move. Much as he loved holding her, his broken arm couldn't be
ignored for much longer. The pain threatened to override the
lingering waves of pleasure still lapping at his senses. Taylor
fought to hang on to the pleasure, to savour it, but he could tell
Danielle was crying, and trying to hide it, and the thought of her
shedding sweet tears for a worthless wretch like him made him feel
like sliding into despair all over again.

"Don't cry, sweetheart." He slid his fingers into her
hair, lifting her head from his shoulder. His night vision was
good, and now adjusted to the dark he could just about make her
out. "Let me tell you how amazing that was. How there aren't words
to tell you how I feel about it."

"Yes?" It was no more than a shaky whisper.

"Yes." He brushed a kiss against each of her cheeks
and tasted the salty tears. "You know what? I think I died in the
crash, and this is my own special heaven. Can't for the life of me
work out what I did to deserve it, though."