Anne Stuart's Out-of-Print Gems

by Anne Stuart

  He’d unbuttoned his shirt against the incessant heat of his body, and her breasts through the thin cotton jersey were hard, pebbled, and he knew damned well it wasn’t from the cold. She jerked away, rattled, and he was just as glad she couldn’t see his face. She’d already warned him she didn’t like it when he smirked, and he had little doubt he had a full-fledged smirk across his face.

  “Tell me when you’re in,” she said between her teeth. “I wouldn’t want to slam the door on your foot.”

  He climbed in quickly, knowing she’d probably be tempted to do just that. “All set.”

  She muttered something beneath her breath, slammed the door and returned to the driver’s seat. The desk clerk was still watching, and Daniel had no doubt he’d made note of the license plate number. The powers that be were already on their trail, and Daniel wasn’t quite ready to deal with them. Not until he had a better idea of the limits and extents of his new body.

  He turned back, glancing at the dark sedan parked two doors down from their room. That car hadn’t been there before. He didn’t like the looks of it—the smoked windows, the heavy steel. That car’s presence wasn’t a coincidence.

  The desk clerk had picked up the telephone. “Get a move on, Molloy,” Daniel said.

  She didn’t wast her time arguing. Putting Jackson’s car in gear, she took off, taking the corner at a dangerous speed, racing out into the night.

  Daniel looked back. The door to the adjoining room opened, and he could see someone in a uniform that looked suspiciously familiar. Cole Slaughter. He glanced back at the sedan, trying to gauge whether it was powerful enough to catch up with them.

  He stared at it, blinked and scrunched his nose absently.

  The explosion sent Jackson’s car skidding across the pavement. Suzanna swore as she tried to regain control, spinning the steering wheel and pumping the brakes desperately. They were heading sideways for a streetlight, and at their speed Daniel doubted they’d be able to avoid it.

  But at the last minute she pulled out of the spin, straightened the wheels and took off into the night.

  Leaving the anonymous sedan engulfed in flames.

  Chapter Eight

  “Oh, no.” The voice beside her was hushed, literally disembodied, and yet distractingly solid. When Suzanna slammed her foot down on the accelerator, the car shot forward and she continued driving, hunched forward over the steering wheel like a bat out of hell.

  An apt figure of speech. The flames shot into the sky behind them, sending ghoulish shadows across the road ahead. Suzanna yanked the wheel, turned into an alleyway and sped onward, away from the sight, the sound, the smell of the burning automobile.

  She waited until they were out on the highway, away from the small town with its orange sky. “Was anyone in the car?” she asked quietly.

  She didn’t dare glance at the empty seat beside her. If she thought about it she’d be completely freaked out. Better to just be pragmatic about the whole thing. So the man beside her was invisible. Stranger things had been known to happen. She wasn’t sure what, but they must have.

  “I don’t think so,” the voice said after a moment’s silence.

  She couldn’t resist. She glanced over at the empty seat, then swerved. “Do you have to wear your seat belt?” she demanded, thoroughly rattled.

  The shoulder harness hung suspended in midair, the lap belt buckled across an invisible lap. “Habit,” the voice said, and she heard the click of the seat belt releasing.

  “Forget it. Do it up,” she said, staring ahead of her. “I imagine you could get hurt if I managed to crash this sucker, and right now I’m feeling disturbed enough to do just that.”

  “Then slow down.”

  “Back seat driver,” she muttered, nevertheless doing as he suggested. “What happened with that car? Was it another bomb?”

  Silence for a moment. “Sorry, I was shaking my head. I don’t think it was a bomb, any more than the other two were.” He paused. “I think I did it.”

  “This is definitely weird,” she muttered under her breath, not daring to look in his direction. “So how do you think you did it?”

  “I don’t know. Then again, I don’t know how I got invisible, or how strong I am, or anything else. I’m learning as I go along. All I know is cars have exploded after I’ve stared at them.”

  “But every car you look at doesn’t explode.”

  “No. There has to be more to it than that.” She heard the faint creak of the seat, and she could only guess that he was shifting around, trying to get more comfortable. “We need to get away from everybody, so I can experiment.”

  “I don’t know that anyone’s going to be volunteering their car for the sake of science,” she pointed out.

  “This one will do nicely. The sooner we get rid of it the better.”

  “And how do you intend to replace it?”

  Silence again. “Just drive,” he muttered. “Head towards the mountains. Route 2A.”

  “Do you know where we’re going?”

  “Yes.”

  She waited for more clarification, but there was utter silence. She’d never realized how much she relied upon body language and facial expressions to read people. “All right,” she said finally. “Mind if I turn on the radio? Sitting next to you gives me the creeps.”

  She startled him into laughing. It was a very sexy laugh, but then, she’d already known that about him. For an arrogant, starchy scientist, Dr. Daniel Crompton was extremely sexy. At least, as far as she was concerned, and she should have known better. That wry amusement in his voice traveled down her spine to lodge somewhere low in her belly, and she wanted to squirm.

  “Go right ahead,” he said. “I’ll try not to be intrusive.”

  “That shouldn’t be too much of a challenge,” she shot back.

  The radio didn’t improve matters. Whoever was programming the music on the only station that came in clearly must have had an overload of hormones. The playlist was a hardheaded woman’s nightmare. Chris Isaak was doing his werewolf impersonation on “Wicked Game,” his voice sinuous and insinuating. That was followed by Marvin Gaye and “Sexual Healing,” which had Suzanna shifting in the bucket seat and wishing to God she could see what Crompton’s reaction to all this was.

  The final song was Bruce Springsteen’s “Fire.” At that point Suzanna leaned over and turned the music off, thoroughly shaken. An unseen hand brushed hers, and the music came on again, slowly rocking, entirely suggestive.

  “I want to hear it,” he said.

  “I don’t.”

  “Tough. The irony is irresistible.”

  “Buy the CD then.”

  “I own it.”

  She turned to stare at him in surprise, seeing only her reflection in the passenger window. She turned back, cursing under her breath. “I saw your apartment, Dr. Crompton. You don’t even own a CD player, and the only disk I saw was Neil Diamond’s Greatest Hits. You live like a monk, and I can’t say much for your taste in music.”

  Again that damnably sexy chuckle. “If you choose to believe that, go right ahead, Molloy.”

  “You’re beginning to piss me off. Are you going to stay invisible, or will I be able to see you long enough to hit you?” she demanded.

  “I have no idea. I changed back at eight this morning. Maybe in two minutes I’ll be visible again.”

  She glanced at the digital clock on the dashboard. Seven fifty-eight. Bruce was finishing up, and Suzanna felt uncomfortably warm. Not that she wasn’t used to it. From the first moment she’d been around Daniel Crompton she’d felt her temperature rise, and it wasn’t just the furnacelike heat that emanated from his skin, seen and unseen. She had to face it, the man made her hot.

  The radio station took pity on her, launching into a spiel for the kind of car she’d never be able to afford and wouldn’t have wanted, anyway, and the seconds ticked away. “One minute to go,” his disembodied voice murmured.

  Then came an ad for laxatives, and
Suzanna felt herself cool off. Until, God help her, a sultry male voice started discussing condoms.

  The clock clicked to 8:00 p.m. Dr. Daniel Crompton remained invisible.

  “So much for that theory,” Suzanna said, hoping to drown out the conversation on latex sensitivity.

  “Damn,” he muttered. “I don’t think I like the thought of remaining invisible.”

  She had a sudden, horrifying thought. “Are you wearing anything?”

  She didn’t have to see his grin to know it was there. “Interesting question, Molloy. What were you imagining?”

  “How come I can’t see your clothes? You aren’t wearing the stuff that got dowsed with the slime, I know. Did you…I don’t want to know.”

  She thought she’d already been unnerved enough, but the notion that he might be sitting next to her in the cozy front seat of the compact car, that long, elegant body of his undressed, was enough to make her want to drive off the road. Especially with the condom ad now over and Wilson Pickett coming on with “In the Midnight Hour.”

  “Don’t panic, Molloy. Whatever I put on—or in—my body seems to disappear. If I just hold it, it seems to float through space. I’m still dressed.”

  “It could prove embarrassing if you were to suddenly rematerialize,” she said in her coolest voice.

  “For whom? You or me? Besides, I’m completely material now. You just can’t see me. Much as you—damn.” His voice suddenly sharpened, and there was no missing the thread of pain.

  Suzanna slammed on the brakes, staring at the empty passenger seat. “What’s wrong? Don’t just sit there, Daniel, say something! Are you hurt? Are you…”

  Before she could finish her sentence she saw the outline, vague, indistinct, slowly coming into focus. She’d forgotten how tall he was, and how he would crowd into the tiny seat of a compact car. She’d forgotten how long his legs were, too. He had an arm across his flat stomach, and as his face came into view there was no missing the expression of pain.

  “Damn,” he muttered again, closing his eyes.

  “It hurts, Daniel?” she asked softly.

  “Every time.”

  “How much?”

  His eyes flew open, and he glared at her. “Enough to make your sadistic little soul happy, Molloy.” He glanced down at his body. “I take it I’m visible again?”

  “Can’t you tell?”

  “Not for certain. I look just a bit out of focus.” He slid down in the seat with a weary sigh. “Three past eight.”

  “Maybe you’ll stay invisible for longer and longer,” she suggested. Having him beside her, suddenly visible, should have been reassuring. Instead, she found herself even more edgy.

  “More likely the clocks aren’t synchroized,” he drawled.

  “Why six to eight o’clock?”

  “Why invisible?” he countered. “God only knows. Keep driving, Molloy. The sooner we get to my place, the sooner I can start working on some answers.”

  “Is that where we’re going?”

  “I have a cabin in the mountains,” he said reluctantly. He rolled down the window, staring out into the night. “Fortunately no one knows about it. I keep it very private, and there’s no way the people at Beebe can find us there.”

  “You think we’ll be safe?”

  “Maybe for a day or two. Then they’ll find us, and who knows what’ll happen.”

  “Oh, don’t try to comfort me with reassuring lies,” she said bitterly. “Just tell it like it is.”

  He glanced at her, and she found herself wishing that wry, clever smile was still invisible. It had far too potent an effect on her. “Are you worried, Molloy? I thought you were too tough to let a little thing like a megalomaniac megacorporation intent on murder get you upset.”

  “All in a day’s work, Dr. Crompton,” she shot back.

  “You called me Daniel before.”

  “A slip of the tongue. I thought you were dying.”

  He nodded, amusement in his dark eyes. “I liked it,” he said. “I’ll let you know when I’m dying again.”

  SUZANNA MOLLOY WAS quite a woman. Whether Daniel wanted to admit it or not, there was no getting around the fact that she was tougher, smarter and far more determined than any woman he’d ever met. It wasn’t that she met the challenge of having her companion literally disappear on her that was so impressive. It was the fact that it obviously scared her, scared her spitless, and yet she still managed to deal with it. Bravery without imagination was worthless. Resolution when you knew the consequences was far more honorable.

  On top of that, she was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. She still wasn’t wearing a bra, a fact he’d been able to appreciate as he sat beside her, invisible. He would watch her long legs as she shifted gears, the play of her arms as she cornered, the soft swell of her breasts beneath the T-shirt. He could watch as her nipples hardened in response to the undeniably erotic music.

  He was half tempted to see whether he could get away with touching her, but he didn’t dare. Not this time. She was walking a tightrope of reaction. If he happened to brush against those luscious breasts, she’d probably scream and wreck the car.

  He’d give her time. Not that that was a commodity they were particularly blessed with, but by the time they reached his cabin, out in the back of beyond, they’d probably have at least twenty-four hours of peace. Twenty-four hours for him to find some sort of answer as to what had happened to him.

  And twenty-four hours to get her in bed.

  He’d never set out to seduce a woman before. It was just one more novel experience, and he wondered idly whether the green slime had affected his libido, as well.

  He didn’t think so. He’d reacted to her in the moments in his lab, before the world and his life had exploded. Much as he would have liked to chalk it up to the aftereffects of the accident, he didn’t think he could count on it. At best, having his life knocked sideways may have simply changed his priorities a bit. Before whoever had killed Jackson managed to catch up with them, he wanted to make sure he’d had a chance to see whether Suzanna ever stopped snarling long enough to purr.

  “How are we doing for gas?” He kept his voice low, but she jumped, anyway.

  “We’ll need some.”

  “There’s a truck stop up ahead. I’ve only stopped there once before, so people aren’t likely to recognize me. We can get something to drink, maybe some food. It’s going to be a long night.”

  “How far are we traveling?”

  “You don’t need to know. Suffice it to say we’re not taking the most direct route. We’ll be there by dawn.”

  “I’m not driving all night!” she protested.

  “I am. I don’t usually bother with much sleep. You can try to get some rest.”

  “For some reason, I don’t feel particularly sleepy,” she said with mock innocence.

  He had the rash desire to lean forward and kiss her soft, cynical mouth. He would, but not now. “You’ve lived too staid a life, Molloy,” he said calmly. “You’re not used to life in the fast lane.”

  “In the fast lane on a back road?” she muttered.

  “Maybe. There’s the truck stop.”

  “Why is there a truck stop on a back road?”

  “Beats me. You want to ask them?”

  “No. I want a bathroom, I want a Diet Coke, and I want something to eat.”

  “They can provide all three.”

  He filled the tank while Suzanna disappeared inside the Quonset hut building. Jackson’s credit card was lying in the glove compartment, and he used it without compunction. Jackson was beyond worrying about unpaid bills, and the good folks at Beebe might be a little slower in tracing it. At least it might slow them down a bit.

  By the time he’d pulled up under the glare of the streetlights and gone in to find Suzanna, his sense of uneasiness was increasing. She was sitting at a booth, a huge greasy hamburger and french fries piled in front of her. He slid in opposite her, only to find the same noxious mass deposit
ed in front of him.

  “I’m not hungry,” he told the slatternly waitress.

  “You got a problem with the food, sonny?” the woman demanded, beefy arms akimbo.

  “We’re having a fight,” Suzanna interrupted promptly, sliding the bottle of catsup across the table toward him. He caught it automatically. “Eat up, honey. I promise I won’t bug you about Junior’s report card.”

  He stared at her blankly, but apparently the waitress was satisfied. “Eat up,” she said, in what was meant more as a threat than a suggestion, and disappeared back into the kitchen with a stately waddle.

  “I don’t eat meat,” he said.

  “Why not? Moral objections? Given that you’re considered America’s secret weapon, I find that just a tiny bit hypocritical,” she said, picking up a french fry and popping it into her mouth.

  “Where did you hear that?” he asked in a very quiet voice.

  “My Uncle Vinnie. He knows everything.”

  “And what else did he tell you about me?”

  She tore her attention away from her mound of french fries when she felt the sudden tension in the air. He’d already learned, however, that she wasn’t easily intimidated. “He told me you were so brilliant they couldn’t even measure your IQ. That no one knows what you’ve been working on, but it’s big. Very big. Something that could change the future of the world. I don’t like things like that, Dr. Crompton. I don’t like the thought of one man having that much power.”

  “I don’t.”

  “All right. I don’t like the thought of one man having that much knowledge or that much ability. Someone could control you. Everybody has some vulnerability. All they have to do is find yours, and you’re putty in their hands.”

  “I doubt it,” he said, stretching out in the booth and taking the mug of coffee in his hands. It felt cool to the touch. “I don’t tend to have recognizable weaknesses,” he said, staring at one of the first weaknesses he’d ever noticed. “And why do you think we’re running? If Osborn, Armstead or their goons catch up with us, I’m not sure what would happen. You’d think they’d want to keep me going, but they may have gotten some misleading information. They may think they have everything they need from me.”