Ice Storm (Ice 4)

“Believe it or not, I’m lost. I figure we can just spend the rest of the night here and wait until it gets light or the rain stops, whichever comes first.” His voice was deep, soothing in the darkness.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“What for? It’s not your fault I kept driving when I didn’t know where the hell I was going. Go back to sleep.”

She could always fake it. The night had grown colder, the rain icy and driving, and she was wearing only a T-shirt and one of her light gypsy skirts. Her bare toes were freezing, but it was too dark for him to see her shiver.

“You’re cold,” he said. His night vision was clearly better than hers. “Stay put and I’ll get one of the sleeping bags to wrap around you.” He started to open the door, and she put out her hand to stop him.

“You’ll get soaked,” she protested.

“I don’t mind.”

“You’ll only make me colder.”

She heard his laugh. “Point taken. I can reach in the back and find a blanket.”

“Okay,” she said. And then wished she hadn’t. He turned in the seat, brushing against her, and she wasn’t cold at all. A moment later he’d turned, no longer touching her, and she didn’t know what was worse.

“Why don’t you climb into the rear?” he said. “I don’t think I’d fit, but you might be able to get comfortable.”

“That’s not fair….”

“Sure it is. That way I have the whole front seat to stretch out in.”

The front seat of a Citroën 2 CV wasn’t much bigger than a rabbit hutch, but there was no question he’d have more room without her. “Okay,” she said, reaching for the door.

He put his hands on her, hauling her back. It was far from the first time he’d touched her, but in the dark, in the cavelike interior of the small car, it somehow felt more intimate. “If I’m not allowed out in the rain, neither are you,” he said. “Climb over the seat.”

“It would be a lot easier…”

His big hands were on her waist, and she was over the high-backed split bench seat a moment later, landing with a thud in the back. “There,” he said, shifting his long body to the passenger side. There was an edge to his voice, one she wasn’t used to hearing. “Now go to sleep.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Nothing.”

She’d been around grumpy men befo

re; just because she hadn’t seen Killian in this particular mood before didn’t mean she couldn’t handle it. After all, he’d lost his girlfriend, had spent the last few hours driving in heavy rain and was probably cold, hungry and uncomfortable. And no man she’d ever known was cheerful when admitting he was lost.

“All right,” she said, hunching down on the small seat. She could just manage to curl up, and she tucked her hands under her head, closing her eyes and ignoring the cold.

Only to have something come sailing over the seat. The blanket he’d dragged into the front for her. “Wrap yourself up,” he said, still sounding testy. “You’re cold.”

“You keep it. I’ve got more space back there, and you’re cold, too.”

“I’m wearing more than that skimpy little outfit you’ve got on.”

“Skimpy little outfit?” she echoed, annoyed. “It was hot earlier today.”

“It’s cold now. And if you’re going to try hitchhiking around France you might at least wear a bra. I’m not always going to be around to save you.”

She sat up, pissed off and embarrassed at the same time. “I don’t need a bra,” she said. “It’s just one more piece of laundry to deal with, and I’m not so well endowed that I need to bind myself—”

“It would make life easier on me if you did,” he grumbled.

“What?”