Fire & Ice (15 page)

She took as long in the shower as she could, scrubbing every inch of her body. Trying to ignore the fact that he'd used the soap on his body. On the parts of his body that had been inside her body. Again and again. And again.

She hurt. She didn't remember making any protest, but a hot, soaking bath would have made her more comfortable. By the time she turned off the shower her skin was pink from scrubbing. At least the silk pants were loose-fitting—tight jeans would have been an agony she didn't want to think about.

She was just getting ready to leave the bathroom when she smelled the coffee, and for the first time in her life the smell of coffee made her sick. In this hermetically sealed modern building the only way the smell of coffee would reach her would be if someone had brought it into the suite.

She had to face him sooner or later. She looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her short hair was damp and curling slightly around her face. She looked at her mouth, and an even more awful memory came back to her. With all the things he did to her, all the things she'd willingly participated in, he'd never kissed her. Not once.

It was enough of a shock to give her the courage to face him. She walked out of the bathroom, to see him lounging on the sofa, a paper cup of Star-bucks in his hand, a second one on the table.

He lifted his head, looking at her, and there was something about his cool, lazy expression that warned her things were about to get a lot worse.

He didn't say a word when she came forward and picked up the coffee, and the silence was making her want to scream. “This is for me?”

“Yes.”

More silence. “I found the clothes you got me,” she said, then could have kicked herself for such an inane statement.

He tilted his head to one side. Mocking Reno was back, and he'd even found another pair of sunglasses that were now perched on top of his flaming hair. “Obviously,” he said. “I take it you've gotten over your traumatic experience.”

“Which one?” The words came out unbidden, and his smile was cool and unpleasant.

“Take your pick, Jilly. I don't know which was worse for you—blowing a man's head off or blowing—”

“Don't!”

“Though actually you didn't blow me, did you? You just lay back and enjoyed yourself. Except you're not thinking it was that enjoyable after all, am I right?”

“I don't know what I'm thinking.”

He put his feet on the floor, and she backed up nervously. He laughed. “Don't worry. I'm not going to touch you again. I make it a practice to keep away from virgins.”

“I wasn't.. .I mean, not really.”

“There's no such thing as a semivirgin.”

“Actually, there is, but I'm not about to explain it to you. You're acting as if I did something terrible to you.”

“Instead of the other way around? You're forgetting one thing. I didn't offer. You asked.”

“What?”

'“Make it stop,'“ he said, echoing her words. “So I did what you asked. I made it stop. A very big mistake.”

She just stared at him. The coffee was warm in her hand, the smell teasing her. But she couldn't move.

“What do you mean?”

He gave her his lazy smile. “I mean, that when I'm looking for sex, I prefer a woman who knows what she's doing.”

She could feel her face whiten. He leaned back again, nonchalant. “You know why I hate American women?”

“No.” She could still talk. Amazing.

“Because my mother was American. She thought it would be fun to play yakuza royalty for a while, but then she tired of it, and she left me with my grandfather and never came back. Poor, poor little Hiromasa with his abandonment issues and his mommy fixation.” He took another sip of his coffee and smiled at her, that cruel, ugly smirk that she'd hoped was gone. “So every now and then I like to fuck American women so I can fuck my mother. And then tell them to fuck off.”

She threw the coffee at him. The top came off and the hot liquid went flying, soaking his new white shirt.

“I told you not to do that,” he said in an even voice. “I don't like being hit or having things thrown at me. I tend to react badly.”

“As opposed to what?” She'd managed to find her voice and her fury.

He rose and headed for the bathroom at a lazy stroll, pulling off his jacket and the coffee-stained white shirt as he went. Exposing his chest and his back. And the scratch marks. “I'll give you this one,” he said as he headed into the bathroom. “But next time I'll hit you back.”

He closed the door, and she heard the water running.

Her shoes were by the door. It took her less than a moment to slip them on. And then she was out the door, closing it quietly behind her, and she never looked back.

Reno looked at his reflection in the mirror as he wiped the coffee off. He'd set things straight; she knew exactly where she stood. Last night was only an aberration, a one-night stand, the sort of thing he excelled at. It meant absolutely nothing.

And the added side benefit—unless she was a masochist, she'd be completely over him, which is just the way he wanted it. He never wanted another night like last night. When he couldn't get enough of

her , no matter how he pushed it, no matter what he lured her into doing. It wasn't enough. It would never be enough, and that scared the hell out of him.

Attacking a woman's sexuality was always an effective way to get rid of an unwanted leftover. There's no way she'd ever let down her defenses with him again—he'd scarred her too deeply. He had no doubt she hated him more than she thought she had the capacity to hate. He could have told her otherwise. Humans, even the least experienced, had an infinite capacity for hate.

Hating him was the best thing he could do for her. She'd be able to turn her back on everything that had happened in

Japan. And he could turn his back on her.

He shoved a hand through the spiky red hair. Yeah, he was a real hard-ass, he thought, putting his sunglasses back on his nose. She didn't need to see that his eyes were a dead giveaway if she had the chance to look closely enough. He didn't need or want anyone, ever. And this momentary insanity would be over as soon as he managed to dump her.

Hitomi's men would be on the lookout for him, but there were at least three secret entrances to the compound, made for a last-minute escape, and he doubted Hitomi had found them. Even Ojiisan's bodyguard, Kobayashi, didn't know of their existence.

She'd do what he told her now—he'd managed to strip away any remaining defenses when he'd stripped away her clothes. She'd stay put while he went out to reconnoiter, and if he had any doubts, he'd cut the electric cord off a lamp and tie her up.

But frankly, he'd rather not do that. For a number of reasons, not the least of which was that it would turn him on. And he wasn't going near her, ever again. She was far too dangerous to his peace of mind.

His new white shirt was ruined, but he'd bought several, and he headed out into the living area, shirtless, ready to set things straight.

The room was deserted. Once more he'd underestimated her. She'd taken off, rather than spend another minute with him. And if he didn't catch up with her, and fast, she might have no more minutes left in her life.

Holy motherfucker, what an idiot he'd been. You never went in with more firepower than you needed, and he could have scared her off without bringing out the big guns. But for the first time in his life he'd been frightened, of her, of what he was feeling for her, and he'd miscalculated.

He was shoving his feet into his cowboy boots, pulling on a clean shirt as he stumbled out the door of the hotel room.

He was going to kill her when he found her.

The snow was falling more heavily when he left the hotel. He'd checked with the front desk—no one had seen the tall gaijin leave, and she tended to stand out in a crowd. If she'd gone outside, she'd be easy enough to find. He ran out onto the sidewalk, searching through the throngs of people getting out of work. No tall, blond gaijins anywhere, and he had no idea which way she could have headed. She had no money, no identification, not even a coat, and the silk clothes he'd bought her had been an impulse on his part, a stupid one. She'd be freezing.

He pulled out his cell and began texting—he was going to need help if he stood any chance of finding her, and Kyo was his first choice.

A meaty fist appeared in front of him, picking the cell phone out of his hand and dropping it on the sidewalk. Kobayashi, always light on his feet, loomed over him. “You need to come to the compound.”

He was faster than Kobayashi, and he didn't see anyone else around who could stop him. “I don't think so. I'm not walking into a trap.”

“Yes, you are, young master. You would never stand by and see someone you loved be tortured and killed.”

“My grandfather can withstand torture.”

“I'm talking about your gaijin. Hitomi-san has her and there's nothing your grandfather can't do about it. If I don't bring you back with me, he's going to start cutting pieces off.”

Odd, he could see his breath, but he wasn't cold. He looked at Kobayashi, murder in his eyes. “You touch her...”

“No one will touch her, Hiromasa-san. Not if you come back. She has no value on her own; her only worth is to get you and Taka to come. If you don't care enough, Hitomi-san will get rid of her.” He gave Reno a sorrowful look. “You should know I would never betray your grandfather. He has always known that something was going on, and he has had me go along with them. Your warning only gave him more proof. Your grandfather is smarter and stronger than five Hitomi-sans. You should know that.”

“Then why did you let them take her?”

Kobayashi shook his head. “She is of little worth to your grandfather and none to me. If I do not bring you back, they will kill her, and they will know I failed. They will no longer trust me. You need to come back with me, young master. Or Hitomi will win me and your grandfather will fall.”

There'd never been any real question. “What do they want with me?”

“Hitomi-san has said he will trade the girl's life for yours. He thinks you are sentimental enough to make such a bargain. I told him he was wrong, but he took her anyway, and he's awaiting word from me. If you refuse, he will kill the girl and then he will go for your grandfather, and I will not be there to stop him.” There were tears in Kobayashi's eyes. “Please, Hiromasa-san. You're the only one who has any chance of stopping him.”

Reno looked at him for a long, silent moment. And then he bowed. “Tell Hitomi-san I'm coming,” he said. And if he even touches her little finger, I'll rip his heart out.”

For a moment Kobayashi looked disapproving. “Your grandfather will never approve. Look at the shame and trouble your worthless mother brought to the family. If you choose to marry a gaijin like your father—”

“I'm not marrying anyone!” he protested, truly horrified.

Kobayashi did not look appeased. “Your grandfather will be very unhappy. His days are not long, and you are his favorite grandson.”

“I'm his only grandson,” Reno said. “And I'm not going to let anything happen to the old man. Or to Jilly Lovitz. Is that understood?”

Kobayashi bowed in agreement, lower than Reno would have expected. Maybe it was true that the old man would eventually die, but that wasn't going to happen for many years, no matter how frail he'd suddenly become. He'd outlive Hitomi-san and his fellow traitors—hell, he'd outlive them all.

“Tell them I'm coming,” Reno said wearily.

“They already know, young master.” He jerked his head toward the black sedan waiting by the curb, one of many at the upscale hotel.

No time to get in touch with Kyo, no time for backup of any sort. If he was going to keep Jilly alive, he was going to have to walk into the lion's den, just like that stupid story he'd learned in the Bible class he'd been forced to go to to learn some of his mother's culture. A waste of time, even if there were occasionally good stories.

He nodded. “Let's go, then.” He yanked his long red braid from underneath his jacket, letting it hang loose down his back, put his sunglasses back on his nose and composed his face into a faint sneer. And then he strolled toward the sedan at a leisurely pace. Ready to do battle.

Why didn't she
ever learn not to run away when things were difficult? Jilly thought. Not that there was anything else to do but think—she was tied up and dumped in some kind of a storeroom, filled with boxes and one narrow cot. Just to make sure she couldn't investigate, they'd tied her to the cot, and while she could probably hop across the room, dragging the metal bed with her, it didn't seem to be worth the effort.

How stupid could she have been? Almost three years ago she'd done the same damned thing in California. She'd run away from people sent to protect her, straight into the arms of a madman, and if it weren't for Isobel Lambert and the Committee she would have been brainwashed or dead or both.

And now she'd done it again. No matter how hurt, how angry she was, she still should have stayed with Reno. He was the only one who had managed to keep her relatively safe, from everyone else, if not from him. She could have given him the cold, silent treatment. Reno was unbelievably tough, but even the strongest man eventually cracked under the silent treatment. Even her ruthless father quailed.

But no, she had to run out of the room, straight into the arms of what could only be Hitomi's men. She was learning to tell yakuza from a distance—they wore garish suits and had carefully arranged hair, the polar opposite of Reno's red-dyed mane and black leather. But there was no mistaking the coldness in their eyes, the way they carried themselves.

She hadn't even gotten to the elevator. In fact, she couldn't remember exactly what had happened. Someone had put a cloth over her face, and everything went dark. They must have used chloroform or something equally nasty, because the next thing she remembered she was alone in this cold, dark room, bound and gagged. Presumably back in the huge cement warehouse that provided the front for Ojiisan's headquarters.

Were they going to kill her? If so, why were they waiting?

At least Reno would be relieved—she was no longer his problem. If she had any sense at all, she'd be much more upset about the fact that she'd been kidnapped and would most likely be killed. Not still obsessing over the night she spent with Reno in her bed.

Then again, she'd learned one thing in the past few days. Being a child brainiac with an astronomical IQ didn't do a spit of good if she had absolutely no common sense. And where Reno was concerned, she was brain-dead.

Whoever had tied the ropes was far too good at it—it probably came from practice. They weren't tight enough to cut off the circulation, and she could move her muscles enough to keep from cramping up. But there was absolutely no way in hell she could even begin to untie them.

She looked at her bound wrists. Maybe she could try her teeth
....

Unbidden came the memory of Reno suggesting she undo his fundoshi with her teeth. She dropped her head down on her knees with a groan. It was bad enough being kidnapped and, probably, eventually murdered. Did she have to be haunted by the biggest mistake in the history of the world?

Though, maybe it wasn't that big a mistake. She'd never expected anything from him, and the fact that they'd had mind-shattering sex could be construed as a good thing. At least she wasn't going to die a semivirgin, even if she'd been as bad at sex as he'd told her.

But if she'd been that bad, that uninspiring, then why had he come back to her, over and over again? Why hadn't he walked away?

She lifted her head from her knees, leaning back against the wall with a groan. There was no way she was going to make sense of it, make peace with it. She wasn't going to be seeing him again—that was at least one small blessing of being kidnapped by a Japanese gangster. She could live out whatever days or hours she had left knowing she'd never have to look at his far-too-pretty face.

The door to the storeroom opened, and one of the blank-faced men appeared. Except that he was young, probably younger than Reno. He had a nasty-looking knife in one hand, and she wondered if it was going to be over that quickly. Why had they even bothered bringing her here if they were going to kill her so quickly?

If they thought she was going to go down without a fight, they were wrong. She waited until he got close enough, and then she kicked out with her bound legs, trying to knock him off balance.

He scrambled to his feet and backhanded her across the face, hard, and she saw nothing but a red haze for a moment before she shook her head to clear it. He was already slicing through the ropes, not through her. Okay, she could put up with being slugged if it meant she got to live for a while longer. She wasn't big on going gently into that dark night.

He hauled her to her feet, smart enough not to cut the ropes on her ankles while she could still kick him in the head. He only came up to her shoulder, and he had a sullen expression and a slick, black pompadour, but she didn't make the mistake of underestimating him. He was the one who held the knife.

He leaned down and sliced through her ankle bonds, roughly, the blade nicking her skin as he jumped away, wisely not trusting her. She was considering making a run for it when he put the knife away, only to pull out a small, serviceable-looking gun instead. Maybe not; he was probably a decent shot and she didn't want to die with a bullet in her back, running away.

Without a word he pushed her out into the barren hallway, gesturing for her to precede him. For a moment she didn't move, wondering exactly what he'd do, but then she thought better of it. Her face still stung from his backhanded blow— yakuza-boy would not hesitate to hit her again to get her to do what he wanted. So she put her head down and began walking.

The hall was ill-lit and cold, and it looked like the corridor she and Reno had run down, stark and empty, the kind of corridor a trapped rat might race down. That eerie, trapped sense got worse as she turned the comer three times, at her captor's prodding, and each corridor looked exactly the same.