by Anne Stuart
It was just this one particular man, and it had less to do with reality and more to do with the stupid crush that had once taken up far too much of her time.
At least she’d accomplished one thing she’d set out to do. She’d gotten over any lingering fantasy about Reno. For that matter, the past twenty-four hours had been so nerve-racking that the embarrassingly wretched, fumbling, one-night stand she’d been running from had faded into nothingness.
Really, the crush on Reno had been her sister’s fault, no matter how well meaning she’d been. If Summer hadn’t kept them an ocean apart, she would’ve gotten over it quickly. It was the exotic mystery of him—familiarity, if it didn’t breed contempt, at least bred a comforting degree of imperviousness.
But she still didn’t want to see him naked.
She scooped up her clothes, heading for the sliding screen, just as he began to untie the belt of the yukata. “Asshole,” she muttered under her breath, sliding the door closed behind her.
But his soft laugh carried anyway.
The narrow hall was deserted, as was the women’s bathing room, and the large communal bath held nothing but steaming water. Just as well—she wasn’t in the mood for an audience.
Stripping off the yukata, she sat down on a low stool and began to wash herself. She’d been around her sister long enough to know the proper bath etiquette. Clean yourself before you got in the bath, and never bring soap with you.
The hot bath was glorious, enveloping her aching body in a liquid embrace. She wasn’t sure what the rules were about ducking her head under, but she couldn’t resist, feeling her short-cropped hair flow around her in the hot, hot water.
Maybe she’d just stay there until her skin got all wrinkled and pruney, and Reno gave up on his self-appointed mission to look out for her. He wouldn’t come after her in the women’s bath; she’d be temporarily safe from interruption, at least for a short, blessedly peaceful time.
Except now a quiet young Japanese woman entered, dressed in the same yukata.
“Ohayo,” Jilly said, wishing her good morning.
The woman looked startled, and whether it was from a gaijin speaking Japanese or the fact that a stranger spoke to her, Jilly couldn’t be sure. She murmured an answering “oha” before she turned her back and began to wash her delicate body.
Making Jilly feel like a hulking giant. She was probably twice the size of the small, slender woman, and she had no more than a stubborn ten pounds too much by American standards. No wonder Reno was looking at her with nothing warmer than annoyance. She must look like a porker compared to what he was used to.
One thing was certain—she wasn’t climbing out of the bath and exposing her body to the woman’s curious eyes.
Unfortunately once in the water, the woman seemed to have no interest in leaving. She closed her eyes, leaned her perfect head back and let the water lap around her.
Jilly started to move toward the edge of the bath, and the woman’s eyes opened, looking at her curiously. Jilly stayed put.
Not that Jilly could blame her. She’d probably never seen a woman who was almost six feet tall. But her curiosity was going to have to remain unsatisfied, because Jilly wasn’t going anywhere with an audience. She’d spent most of her life around her exhibitionist mother, who had the best body money could buy, and in reaction she was almost obsessively modest. She didn’t even want her mother’s dog to see her naked.
She could hear voices out in the corridor, and a moment later the door slid open and a harried-looking woman began chiding her in very fast Japanese.
Jilly only knew every fourth word, but she had no trouble understanding. She was supposed to get out of the bath—her brother was waiting for her.
At that point, an elderly gentleman poked his head in the door, clearly drawn by the noise, and Jilly sank down lower in the bath, willing them all to go away.
The woman, presumably the innkeeper, had to pause to take a breath. The other woman in the bath had sat up, curious and totally unconcerned with the audience.
A moment later the old gentleman was politely but firmly moved from the doorway, and Reno strode in, causing both Japanese women to shriek in protest. Apparently observing from the hall was kosher, but actually entering the inner sanctum was not.
“Go away,” Jilly snapped.
“Get out of the bath.” He crossed the small room, ignoring the restraining hands of the innkeeper, ignoring the young woman who slumped lower in the bath, towering over Jilly with an expression on his face that looked ancient. The look of a samurai about to behead his enemy.
She tried to move out of his way, but she underestimated him. He reached down into the water, caught her arms and hauled her out, stark naked and dripping wet.
The shrieks increased, joined by Jilly’s, but Reno’s sharp words silenced them all.
She tried to squirm out of his grasp, but he held tight, grabbing her discarded yukata and wrapping it around her like a blanket before he hustled her out of the room, past the dignified gentleman who was looking at her with unabashed enthusiasm.
Reno was muttering under his breath. He shoved her back in the room, accompanied by a terse “get dressed” and somehow managed to close the sliding paper screen door with the equivalent of a slam.
She yanked her clothes on quickly, knowing he was just as likely to come back in and watch her. A moment later she slid the door open again, expecting to meet his glowering face.
The hall was empty when she poked her head out, and she was wondering whether he’d decided to abandon her after all when she heard the voices. Men’s voices, speaking lousy Japanese. With a Russian accent.
And then Reno was there, her shoes in his hand, and she had enough sense to simply go with him, down the hall, away from the voices, as silent as he was.
The day was winter bright, the sun brilliant overhead as he herded her away from the inn. The motorcycle was nowhere in sight, a small gray sedan sitting in its place.
He started to hustle her into the driver’s seat, but at that point, enough was enough.
“I’m not driving—”
He swore again, shoving her in. “We drive on the left,” he said. “Left side of the road, driver’s side on the right.” He slammed the door shut behind her and moved around to climb into the driver’s seat.
“Oh, like the English.”
“The English drive like us,” he snapped, his voice deep and arrogant.
He looked ridiculous—an exotic bird of paradise in a commuter car. “Fasten your seat belt,” he said, not bothering to do his up.
“Where is the motorcycle?”
“I ditched it. Someone will find it sooner or later and return it to the rental company.”
“Not in the U.S.”
“We’re not in the U.S., in case you haven’t noticed. People don’t steal lost property, they return it.”
“How did you get this car?”
“I stole it.”
Riding on the back of a motorcycle had been better—even if it was bright daylight, she still would have been able to bury her head against his back and not see a thing. Sitting in the front seat of the cramped little car, she had to watch everything—the horrific traffic, Reno’s darting, bobbing driving style, more like a boxer’s than a driver’s, and to top everything off she was on the wrong side, feeling as if she were responsible for the car.
She tried closing her eyes, but that only made it worse. There was an annoying jingle sound behind her, like Santa’s reindeer gone berserk, and her eyes flashed open again.
“What the hell is that noise?” she demanded.
“Look behind you.”
She had expected to see a Japanese Good Humor Man on steroids, only to see a tiny object suction-cupped to the back window. It looked like a miniature portable shrine, accompanied by bells and a scrap of writing, and she unfastened her seat belt to snatch it off the window.
“It’s a safe driving talisman,” Reno said, just before she grabbed it, and
made a sudden sharp right turn in front of ten cars coming directly at him. She fell against him, his hard, strong body, and she swiftly pushed away from him, sitting back in her seat and refastening the seat belt with shaking hands. With Reno’s driving and Tokyo traffic they were going to need all the luck they could get.
“Where are we going?”
“I’m taking you to Osaka. Kansai airport should be safer, and the sooner you get the hell out of Japan, the better. The Russians clearly haven’t gotten word that their services are no longer required, and it’s too much of a pain in the ass to keep you away from them.”
“Why do they even want me?”
“They don’t,” he said in a flat tone. “You’re just a means to an end. If they have you, Taka will have to come out of hiding. You’re not important at all except for your relationship.”
“Great to know,” she said sarcastically. “And what makes you think they won’t come after me at home? Though I don’t suppose that would be your problem—as long as you hand me off it’s no longer your business. And I still don’t understand why you’re the one who came after me in the first place when you clearly have a problem with me. Why didn’t you just refuse?”
“I wasn’t ordered. I insisted. You don’t understand Japanese traditions—whether I like it or not you now belong to our family, and family is protected.”
“Well, look at it this way. You send me back and it’ll be up to someone else to keep the bad guys away.”
“Once they know there’s no money, there’ll be no incentive to come after you,” he snapped.
“And when will that be? They seem to be slow learners.”
He just looked at her. And then began swearing under his breath. At least she assumed it was swearing—she recognized the English obscenities and a few of the French, but her knowledge of Japanese curses was so far woefully small. Being around Reno, that was bound to improve.
“Sorry to be such a nuisance,” she said, trying to sound abject and failing. She still hadn’t gotten past him hauling her naked out of the bath. “But I don’t think Osaka and sending me home without protection is a wise idea.”
He only grunted, driving faster. He had an unfortunate tendency to make sudden, precipitous turns, and it almost seemed as if they were driving in circles. They probably were, just to make sure no one was following them. No matter what the reason, it was making her dizzy.
She closed her eyes, sliding down as well as she could in the small seat. “Wake me when we get there,” she said. And proceeded to ignore him and everything else.
4
Wake me when we get there, Reno thought, gunning the motor. Get where? I don’t have a fucking clue where we’re going. She was right—Osaka and an airplane home were out of the question.
He glanced over at the girl beside him. He wasn’t going to think about it. He wasn’t going to remember what her long, pale body looked like, dripping wet, even if the image was burned into his eyeballs. He wasn’t going to think about the way she smelled, of sandalwood soap and water. He most definitely wasn’t going to think about the way she felt, her sleek wet skin, the softness beneath the enveloping yukata. He wasn’t going to think about anything but getting rid of her as fast as he could.
She was right, of course. The Russians might not have been aware of her existence before, but now that they knew, there was a good chance they wouldn’t simply forget about her once he got her out of Japan. They didn’t seem to be easily discouraged, which didn’t make sense. Any soldier-for-hire worth his salt wasn’t going to fight for principle or revenge. They killed for money, and with Thomason’s death the money had dried up. But they seemed to be ignoring that simple fact. So who else could be paying them? Feeding them information?
For some reason Jilly was still prime bait, and the last thing he was going to do was appoint himself her private bodyguard.
He was going to need help, whether he wanted to admit it or not. And it was going to have to come from his grandfather—Peter and the Committee just didn’t have the resources right now.
His grandfather’s compound in one of the industrial areas of Tokyo was an armed fortress—no one could get to her there. He pulled the cell phone from his pocket and began texting, one eye on the road, one hand on the steering wheel. It was a good thing Jilly had decided to close her eyes, otherwise she’d probably be screaming at him.
God only knew what he saw in her. She was too big—almost as tall as he was, and while her body was the kind that filled his wet dreams she wasn’t his type. He despised American women. He had a grudging affection for his cousin Taka’s American wife, but in general he didn’t like them. At least, not anywhere but in bed.
And he wasn’t going to fuck Taka’s sister-in-law. Not if he wanted to keep his balls.
The cell phone vibrated in his hand, an almost instant response. Keep away from the compound—it was too dangerous. I’ll find Taka. Head for the summer cottage in the mountains and wait for word.
He could do that. He was tired. He’d spent most of what was left of the night staring at her while she slept, watching the rise and fall of her breasts beneath the thin cotton.
He hadn’t lied to her—he’d had the motherly innkeeper undress her. Once he’d carried her in, he hadn’t touched her. It wasn’t his fault if he’d been hoping she was a restless sleeper, tossing and turning so that the robe opened.
But she’d been utterly still, so still that for a while he’d wondered if he’d accidentally killed her, used a little too much pressure when he knocked her out.
Then Taka really would have killed him.
He’d been halfway across the small room on his knees, ready to touch her, just to make sure she was still alive, when she made a small sound, halfway between a sigh and a moan.
He froze, ready to jump her from the sheer sexuality of that sound, but instead he retreated back to his own futon, to sit and watch her as the morning light began to slip into the room. He was adept at self-control on the few occasions he chose to use it. This was one of those occasions. He wasn’t going to touch her.
They were safe for the moment—he’d taken enough obscure detours to throw off a native, and the Russian mercenaries would be helpless in the complex road system that snaked through Tokyo. Once they were beyond the sprawling city he could relax, at least a little bit, while he figured out what the hell to do with her.
Maybe Ojiisan would get word to Taka and his troubles would be over. No way was Taka going to leave his wife’s sister in Reno’s uncharitable hands—they’d made sure Jilly and Reno had been kept a half a world away from each other since they’d met. He didn’t think that was about to change. Not since Su-chan had laid down the law soon after she’d married Taka.
“I need you to do me a favor,” she’d said.
He’d looked at her. Summer Hawthorne was fearless, devoted to her husband, and Taka would beat the shit out of him if he showed her any disrespect. At least, any more than he dished out to everyone with the exception of his austere grandfather.
“All right,” he’d said, bowing slightly out of habit.
Summer didn’t look convinced. “You probably won’t like it.”
“I try very hard not to do anything I don’t want to do, but you saved my life, so I must owe you.”
“I want you to keep out of California.”
He said nothing for a moment, then, “My grandfather has a number of important businesses all along the West Coast of your country, including real estate investments in and around L.A. I go where he sends me, and since I’m bilingual I’m the best choice, particularly with Taka out of the picture.”
“He could send someone else. And it’s just the L.A. area I want you to keep away from.”
“Why?”
“My sister.”
“I don’t remember your sister,” he said, a lie. But Su-chan was too anxious to notice.
“You saw her at Peter and Genevieve’s house. She’s tall, kind of awkward, blond hair when she isn�
�t dyeing it. Her name’s Jilly.”
“I remember,” he conceded, not showing how well he remembered. “What about her?”
“She wants to come visit, and I don’t want her here.”
“And what does that have to do with me?”
“You’re the reason I don’t want her here.” He didn’t say anything, and she stumbled on. “She’s got some silly adolescent crush on you. You’ve got to understand my sister has lived a very sheltered life. She’s freakishly smart—she graduated from high school when she was fifteen, college when she was eighteen. She’d always been surrounded by people who were much older than she was, and she’s never had the chance to develop normal relationships.”
“And what does that have to do with me?”
Su-chan bit her lip. “She has a crush on you. I don’t know what you said to her or what happened in England—I was a little preoccupied….”
“You and Taka were all over each other—your sister and I could have been fucking in the garden and you wouldn’t have noticed.”
Summer turned pale. “Did you?”
“Fuck in the garden? Fuck at all? No. As a matter of fact, I don’t think we even talked before I got hustled out of there.”
Su-chan sighed. “You didn’t need to. She took one look at you and lost all common sense. You shouldn’t be surprised—you know you’re catnip where women are concerned. They can’t leave you alone.”
“Su-chan, if your sister has fallen in love with me, then it’s not my fault.”
“She hasn’t ‘fallen in love,’” she said crossly. “She’s got a crush, that’s all.”
“How do you even know that?”
“When she calls, she asks about you. She somehow managed to find a couple of pictures of you and has them as her computer wallpaper. Hell, she probably practices writing her name as Mrs. Jilly Reno.”
“You’re not talking about a twelve-year-old,” he pointed out.
“Taka thinks I’m overreacting, too,” Summer said. “I know what you’re like, and I wouldn’t think of trying to change you. I just need you to keep away from my sister until she grows out of this.”
