Ice Blue (Ice 3)

She stared up at him, her eyes numb in disbelief. “We’re landing in two more hours,” he said. “Come back to your seat and try to sleep.”

She couldn’t say a word. She wanted to scream at him. Why had he done that? Why had she let him? In truth, she hadn’t been in any shape to stop him, and now she could breathe again.

She just wasn’t sure she wanted to.

Everyone was still asleep when he opened the bathroom door, and though she had to hold on to the wall to keep from falling, she made it back into her own seat in one piece. And then she couldn’t move. She did nothing when he leaned over and fastened her seat belt. Did nothing when he kissed her, a deep, drugging, openmouthed kiss. “It was just a fuck, Summer,” he whispered. “To take your mind off things.”

She stared up into his dark, merciless eyes, and for a moment she thought she saw something else in their black depths. Something human.

But that was impossible. And even more impossible, she closed her eyes and slept.

20

When Summer opened her eyes again the plane was already on the ground. She hadn’t worn a watch in days, and she felt as if her brain was stuffed with cotton candy—sticky and impenetrable. Maybe the stress of the last few days had caught up with her; maybe it was just the worst case of jet lag known to man. Her eyes focused on Taka, who was holding her hand, looking calm and beautiful, despite the fact that he needed a shave. As if nothing had happened in the bathroom. Had she dreamed it?

She jerked her hand away, and he let it go easily enough, turning to look at her. “You’re awake,” he said, the faintest hint of a smile on his face. “You slept well, after all.”

She didn’t want to think about why. “What time is it?” Her voice was stiff.

“Does it matter? Local time is two in the afternoon. You slept almost ten hours altogether. You were having nightmares, so I held your hand until you calmed down.”

Was he going to pretend they hadn’t had sex? And why was he making excuses about holding her hand? Had she really just dreamed it? “Did you sleep?”

“Yes.”

“Then maybe you’ll be less likely to kill someone,” she managed to mutter.

A faint shadow crossed his face. “Some people do speak English here,” he murmured. “You need to watch what you say.”

“They won’t think I’m serious,” she said. And then she looked at him. He was still and beautiful in the artificial light of the jet as it taxied toward the terminal, but there was an almost predatory air about him. Many people might think he was harmless. They would be wrong. She’d seen his face in the dim light of the tiny bat

hroom, seen the darkness in his eyes. She could still feel him between her legs, proof that she hadn’t been dreaming. But if he wanted to pretend it never happened, that would make life easier for her, as well. She was adept at playing games—she was Lianne’s daughter, after all.

“What next?” She changed the subject.

If he was surprised she was just letting it go, he didn’t show it. “Next we go through customs and you keep your mouth shut, nice obedient wife that you are. Then we’ll pick up our luggage—”

“What luggage?” she interrupted. “You mean the—?” She stopped before the words came out, startled by the blaze in his dark eyes. “Sorry,” she muttered.

“Maybe I’d just better talk and you listen,” he said. “It’s safer that way. We’ll pick up the luggage, which includes your suitcase, mine and my golf clubs, which will be packed very carefully because they’re extremely valuable. From there we’ll go to the Oceana Air first class lounge and shower and change before my cousin Reno arrives to take us into Tokyo. Understood?”

“Yes,” she said with unexpected meekness. “I’ll behave myself.”

His faint snort was oddly elegant. “Just do what I tell you, keep your face down and your mouth shut, and we’ll be fine.”

She could hear the liquid flow of Japanese around her, and she felt a sudden wave of such intense, nostalgic longing that she felt a burning in her eyes. Hana used to speak to her Japanese, sing her songs, comfort her when she’d hurt herself. Such an odd language, able to sound so harsh and angry and so soft and lyrical. Words were coming back to her, words she’d forgotten she knew.

“Hai,” she said. “Wakarimasu. I understand.”

He stared at her in complete horror. “You speak Japanese?”

She shook her head. “No. Only a little from when Hana lived with us.”

“And you just decided to tell me that now?”

“I’d forgotten.”

“Forget again.”