No Place to Run (16 page)

He smiled and automatically glanced down at her belly, which was pressed to his side.

“I’ll get you something to eat as soon as we’re on our way again.”

She didn’t question him further. Didn’t ask where they were going or how long it would take. She just settled against him and rested.

They got out of the cab, and Sam put Sophie into the front seat of a black Ford Expedition. Then he unlocked the back and pulled up the flooring to survey the small arsenal stashed there.

He holstered a Glock, popped the clip into one of the assault rifles, then pulled out the sat phone and a small GPS unit. He put the flooring back down and then walked back to get into the driver’s seat.

Sophie’s eyes widened briefly when she took in the rifle, but she didn’t say a word as he laid it barrel-down between their seats.

“We’re not going far today,” he told her as he cranked the engine. “I’ve sent Steele and his team ahead to recon. We’ll stay behind them until he gives me the all clear. Thought you might like hot food, a hot bath and a comfortable bed.”

Her hands shook in her lap and she looked up at him, her eyes stark and hollow.

“That would be absolutely wonderful.”

He reached for her hand, curling his fingers around hers as he pulled onto the highway. For a moment her hand lay limply in his, until finally she threaded her fingers tighter into his and held on.

THEY pulled into a roadside motel a few hours later. It wasn’t the Ritz, but it wasn’t a dive either. At the moment, Sophie didn’t care as long as nothing crawled on her and it had running water and a decent bed. In fact, the bed didn’t even have to be decent.

Surprisingly, she was pain-free, and she could actually move her arm in varying degrees without irritating her wound. She still ached from head to toe, but she was looser now, and if she could get another hot bath, it would go a long way in restoring her fortitude.

Sam returned with keys, and they walked to a room on the very end. The only suite the motel boasted, but it advertised a Jacuzzi tub, so she was all over that.

“I’ll run you a bath, and you can soak while I order food. Do you have a preference?” Sam asked. “I’ll get the bags out of the truck so you’ll have clean clothes to change into.”

Her brow crinkled. “Bags? We didn’t bring any bags.”

He smiled. “Taken care of.”

Her mouth gaped open. “But how?”

“Always pays to be prepared.”

She shook her head. He was feeding her a line of crap. Someone had to have packed the truck for them. Probably one of his many team members.

“Come on. I’ll help you into the tub and then leave you to it,” he said as he guided her toward the bathroom.

She stopped and put a hand on his arm. “I can do it. I’m okay.”

He stared at her a moment, then nodded. “Okay then. I’ll take care of the bags and getting food.”

She didn’t spend as much time in the tub as she had at Sam’s mom and dad’s. She could hear him outside the bathroom, and she was filled with a restless urgency to get back to him.

Other than stiffness and a little residual soreness, her wound didn’t bother her as much as she had thought it would, given that she’d been shot. She tested the ridge of the stitched seam with her fingers and examined it in the mirror. It was slightly puckered, a little swollen around the sutures, but there was no angry redness to denote infection. Those antibiotic shots Donovan had given her had done the trick.

She towel-dried her hair and then realized that Sam hadn’t brought in a change of clothes for her. Her baggy pants and T-shirt lay on the floor soaking up the water she’d dripped from the shower.

With a sigh, she wrapped a towel around her and cracked open the bathroom door. She didn’t see Sam, so she pushed farther into the room, craning her neck to see around the doorway.

She saw Sam the same time he looked up and saw her. There was a spark in his eyes, and he quickly looked away but then lifted his gaze once more as if he couldn’t resist.

“I uhm don’t have any clothes,” she murmured.

He moved to the bed and rummaged in one of the bags there before pulling out a pair of jeans, underwear, and a shirt. He circled around the end of the bed and stalked toward her with purposeful steps.

She almost backed away. She felt small and vulnerable, and he was looking at her just like he’d looked at her all those nights they’d spent in another hotel.

He stopped just a foot in front of her, so close that his heat reached out and circled her like the damp towel she wore so close to her breast.

The clothes were in his hand, but he didn’t move to give them to her and she didn’t reach for them.

His gaze was so intense. So penetrating. She felt naked. So itchy and alive. She swallowed, but nothing she did ridded her of the knot in her throat. It ached like she ached.

The clothes dropped silently to the floor. His hands cupped her bare shoulders. His fingers caressed her skin.

Slowly and with infinite tenderness his mouth descended over hers. His breath danced across her skin, and then he captured her lips in a long,
hot
kiss. Time melted away like ice on a summer day. She was back in his arms in the hotel room where they met after she left the bar each night.

He’d always waited for her, pulling her into his arms as soon as she walked through the door. Their clothes flew and they reacted desperately to the passion that existed between them.

She’d give anything to go back to those precious nights she’d spent in his arms. But she’d always known she couldn’t have forever.

Yet now, under the heat of his lips, she clung to him, wanting him so badly that the ache far surpassed the pain of her injuries.

He jerked away and took a step back, running his hand through his hair in agitation. “Goddamn it, Sophie. What you do to me.”

Her lips pursed and she stared at him, hoping he’d shrivel under the force of her glare.

“I didn’t make you kiss me. You wanted me every bit as much as I wanted you. Don’t make excuses. Shut up and take responsibility.”

He lifted one eyebrow and then his gaze smoldered. He took a step forward, and she instinctively backed away.

His hands smoothed up her shoulders, carefully skimming over her bandaged arm, until he cupped her face in his palms.

“You’re absolutely right,” he murmured. “I’ll own up to the fact that right now I want to make love to you more than I want anything else. It’s stupid. Insane, even, but there you have it. For now I’ll take responsibility for the fact that I’m going to kiss you again.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat just as his lips descended again. She melted into his arms, giving herself fully to his embrace.

A low moan rose from her throat, swelling painfully before it rushed into his mouth. She wanted to touch him, to hold him against her, to know that nothing bad would ever happen to her while she was in his arms.

“Tell me we can’t make love, Soph,” he murmured against her lips. The pet name he’d used so many times when he was on top of her, inside her, beside her or wrapped around her, sounded so sweet to her ears. She was starved for him. “There’s too much unresolved between us. We shouldn’t—we can’t—make love.”

She sighed unhappily and stared up at him as his thumbs caressed the corners of her mouth. Her face was still tenderly cupped in his hands, and she didn’t want to break that connection for any reason.

“Why can’t we?” she whispered. “I’ve missed you so much, Sam. I’ve stayed awake so many nights aching for you to hold me again, to kiss me and make love to me like you did before.”

He closed his eyes and leaned in until his forehead rested against hers. “You’re hurt. This is crazy.”

She tilted back just enough that she could brush her lips over his. “I’m okay, Sam. I need you. Please say you’ve thought about me even just once.”

“Shit, Sophie.”

He sounded angry. He pulled away, his expression grim. “I’ve thought about you. I’ve thought about you a hell of a lot more than once. I wish I hadn’t. But goddamn it, you disappeared. I came back for you and you were gone.”

Pain—worse than the knife—sliced through her chest. Would things have been different if she had been there when he came back? Not that it had even been possible. She’d made choices—not difficult choices—but she’d made them, and now she had to live with the consequences.

“I’ve thought about you too,” she whispered. “All the time.”

She turned away and closed her eyes as helplessness fell over her. Regret knotted her throat into a tight channel. She squeezed air painfully past it until pain was all she could assimilate.

A knock sounded at the hotel door. Sam touched her shoulder then leaned down to retrieve her fallen clothes.

“Go into the bathroom and get dressed. I’ll get the food.”

She reached for the clothes without looking at him. Then she retreated into the bathroom and closed the door. She leaned against the old wood, hating herself for the silent tears streaking down her cheeks.

She couldn’t go back. She wouldn’t if she could. What was done was done, and the price she’d paid was high. Maybe too high.

Wiping at her face with the back of her arm, she dropped the towel and sorted through the bundle of stuff Sam had given her. There were panties and a bra in the correct size. This time she snapped the clips on the bra and just pulled it over her head the best she could.

A few minutes later, clean and attired in better fitting clothes, she took a deep breath and went back into the room.

The smell of food wafted through her nostrils and her mouth watered. There was an array of food spread out over the bed. A steaming pizza, two salads, a tray of cold cuts and cartons of Chinese takeout.

She stood at the side of the bed, not knowing where to start first.

“Dig in,” Sam said.

He took a seat on the edge of the bed and picked up a slice of the pepperoni pizza.

“I get half that,” she said in a rush, pointing to the pizza.

He chuckled and picked up a paper plate to hand to her. “Tell you what. You get what you want. I’ll take cleanup duty.”

She took the plate and quickly went down the row piling food onto it. When she had no more room, she hesitated, studying to find what she could put back.

Sam laughed again and handed her another plate. “It’s not going anywhere, Sophie. Sit down and eat.”

Feeling like a moron, she edged onto the bed and shoved aside the tray of minisandwiches.

She attacked the pizza first because it was piping hot, and while lukewarm pizza was good, it was better when the cheese was all melty.

“God, this is good,” she said on a moan.

He looked curiously at her. “How long has it been since you ate decently?”

Her cheeks flamed. “A few days. I didn’t dare stop to eat. I was too busy trying to stay ahead of the people chasing me. But I’d be starving anyway. I’m not one of these dainty, delicate pregnant types. I think I could eat my weight at every meal. I’ll be a walrus by the time I deliver.”

His gaze slipped over her body, and she found herself blushing.

“You could certainly stand to gain a few pounds. Your belly pooches out like a volleyball. There’s nothing else to you.”

“Boobs,” she mumbled around a second slice of pizza. “Boobs are huge now. I hate it. I feel like I’m incubating aliens and they’re ready to hatch.”

He stared at her in astonishment for a moment before throwing his head back to laugh.

“I think the aliens are perfect.”

“You would,” she muttered.

She ate until she feared she was going to bust her gut. Her belly felt so tight that it was all she could do to move. She flopped back on the bed and closed her eyes, letting contentment wash over her.

Then she had to laugh because as contentment went, this wasn’t exactly ideal. She was stuck on the run in a motel, with a man she lusted over with every girly hormone in her pregnant body. A man whose child she was carrying. A man who didn’t trust her and seemed to fight with himself over whether he liked her or didn’t like her.

Then there was the fact that her uncle’s men were breathing down her neck, she’d killed her father, and she’d stolen access to his entire fortune.

When she fucked up, she went whole hog.

“What are we doing, Sam?” she asked softly. “Where are we going?”

“I told you. A KGI safe house.”

She made a sound of frustration. “And what happens then? You can’t tell me you don’t have a plan. Where do I fit in?”

“I told you I’d protect you and our child,” he said in an even tone. A tone that could have been used with anyone. A tone that told her he wasn’t giving anything away.

She rolled away and got awkwardly from the bed. She went to the window because there was nowhere else to go. Her fingers curled and uncurled, denting her palm when her nails dug into her skin.

“Why won’t you tell me anything?”

She hated the pleading sound of her own voice. It sounded needy and pathetic. Where was the woman who’d coldly planned her father’s murder and her escape?

She dropped her head down, regretting that she’d conjured the image of her father slipping to the floor, his blood running over the polished floor.

She may have hated the bastard, but the idea that she’d so easily pulled the trigger frightened her. Was she more like him than she thought?

“Come to bed, Soph.”

Sam’s low voice fluttered across her neck, so soft and entreating. She shivered and clutched her arms protectively over her chest.

His hands slid over her shoulders and he pulled her back against him. Then his lips whispered just below her ear. A simple, delicate kiss that conveyed more than words the heavy regret between them.

“Come to bed,” he said again.

She let him lead her away from the window. The food was gone and the covers were pulled back. He kept his gaze down, but he carefully eased her down onto the mattress before tucking her in as he would a child.