She was past fighting him. He shifted, and she expected him to set her down on the narrow bed. Instead he simply lay down beside her, keeping her firmly in his arms, his hands still stroking her. She knew she should tell him to get the hell away from her, but for some reason she couldn’t loosen the grip she had on his shirt, and she gave in. Some things were just too hard to fight.
She woke once in the middle of the night, certain she was going to lose the small amount of food he’d managed to get in her. But he held her, whispering to her, calming her, and she was able to fall back asleep, safe in his arms. And when she awoke next the sun was shining, her stomach was calm, and he was gone.
Barringer was playing solitaire. With real cards, not on the computer. You couldn’t cheat on a computer, and he intended to win at any cost, even when he played against himself, even when there were no stakes at all but his knowledge that he was in control.
He felt the rumble in his chest pocket and he jumped. It was that cell phone they insisted he carry. He did his best to keep from giving out the number. He didn’t like it, and not even the knowledge that it could keep his operatives tethered to him was enough to make him comfortable with it.
He reached into his chest pocket and pulled it out. Even worse, it wasn’t a phone call but a text message, one he couldn’t read without his glasses. He grumbled beneath his breath, fished out the glasses and read.
It was from his man in Callavera. “Sully dead. Target escaped. Any orders?”
He didn’t know how to delete messages, so he simply put it back in his pocket, resisting the strange impulse to throw the phone. He never cursed, never lost his temper. It was a set-back, he told himself, but nothing was ever out of reach if you were patient enough. Not even Thomas Killian.
He’d need to make sure they’d gotten on the freighter. It was due to land in Spain in six days. Plenty of time to come up with a new plan.
MacGowan was instructing Dylan in some of the finer points of playing poker when Sister Beth emerged from her cabin, pale but stalwart. It looked as if the worst of her seasickness had passed, and she was nibbling on one of the hard biscuits he’d left in her room.
They were sitting on a small section of the deck that the captain had grudgingly cleared for them, and he had his sunglasses on, hiding his gaze from her. She didn’t need to see his eyes. If she did she’d know he was just a hair’s breadth from throwing her down on the deck and shagging the hell out of her, and she was in no shape for even the suggestion of his animal lusts.
Maybe it would have been better if he’d been able to spend a couple of hours with a cheerful professional, but La Luz had put paid to that idea. He’d been planning to go out once he’d gotten the paperwork done . . .
Who the fuck was he trying to fool? Himself? If he’d wanted to get fucked so badly he would have gone straight for that and not bothered with the steak. He may as well admit the truth. He hadn’t wanted just anyone to take care of the raging need that drove him. He’d wanted Beth.
He could have had her. He could have told her the men were watching too closely – he could have brought them into the room. He could have had her any way he could, with or without an audience.
But some stupid-ass strain of decency, that he would have thought was long-banished, had reared its ugly head, just as his cock had, and he couldn’t do it to her.
So instead he’d lost it and come all over her, no doubt completing her disgust of the male sex in general and him in particular. He’d felt her shudder in his arms, and while he would have loved to think it was nascent desire, he was probably wrong.
“You look like you’re feeling more human,” he observed in an even voice. He hadn’t dared stay with her, not after she’d rubbed up against him in her sleep like a hungry kitten looking for its mother.
She ignored him, as he’d expected, but to his surprise she went over to Dylan and put her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly.
Dylan turned beet red. “Dude!” he protested.
She released him, giving him the warm, open smile she’d never given MacGowan and probably never would, and he wanted to take the kid and pitch him over the side of the ship. “I’m just glad you’re alive,” she said. She finally looked at MacGowan, her blue eyes revealing nothing. “Is this a private game or can anyone play?”
He raised an eyebrow. “You think you’re up to it, Sister Beth? I’m already dealing with one rank amateur and I don’t usually make allowances for beginners.”
“Dude!” Dylan began.
“Shut up.”
“No quarter given?” Beth was unfazed. “Fine with me. You want to waive the reward you’re demanding for getting me out of that hellhole?”
“Hell, no. You may cheat. We’ll play for something a little less crucial to my future comfort. Strip poker?”
“Dude!”
“Not you,” MacGowan reassured Dylan. “Your scrawny ass holds no interest for me.”
“Good thing, since we’re sharing a cabin,” Dylan grumbled.
MacGowan hid his smile. “What do you say, Sister Beth?”
Her gaze was cool and unpromising. “I think I’d rather win something that interested me, and I’ve already seen you naked.”
“You have?” Dylan was clearly horrified.