Fire and Ice

by Anne Stuart

  And then she saw the shape lying on the tiny patch of floor in the kitchen area. His back was to her, but there was no mistaking the bright hair, and the thin blanket draped over his long, lean body. He was lying on the floor, which had to be even worse than a futon. He’d probably rather lie on a bed of nails than have to be close to her, she thought glumly. She should be grateful, not miffed.

  “Go back to sleep.” His deep, sleepy voice came from the kitchen, even though he hadn’t moved.

  “I can’t.”

  He turned, lifting his head. “I don’t think you want me to come over there and help you out again, do you?”

  The apartment was cold, but heat ran through her body. She didn’t want to think whether it was from embarrassment or something else. She lay back down on the futon, shifting uncomfortably, the robe held tight around her, and closed her eyes, trying to regulate her breathing.

  Clearly Reno, or Hiromasa Shinoda, didn’t believe in central heating, either. She could see her breath in the darkened room, and the thin cotton wasn’t much help. She could always put on her clothes again, and she would if she had to, but she’d run from the compound in nothing but a thin T-shirt that had been soaked with sweat by the time they’d gotten into the taxi. She’d been wearing the same pair of jeans since she left L.A., and her clean underwear was somewhere back at the compound with her backpack. She wanted clean clothes, she wanted a soft bed, she wanted Summer. And she wasn’t going to get any of those things, so she might as well get over it and—

  “Enough,” Reno said, sitting up and throwing off the thin blanket. It pooled at his waist, and he was naked from the waist up. Jilly knew she was in even deeper shit than she’d thought.

  He was freaking gorgeous. His chest was smooth, lean and muscled, his stomach flat, and if she had even half her mother’s gifts, she’d crawl over there and lick him.

  Another flash of heat. Maybe if she just kept thinking random, embarrassing thoughts she’d keep from freezing to death.

  “Stop it!”

  “Stop what?” she protested. “I can’t help it if I can’t sleep.”

  “Don’t look at me like that.”

  She could have been foolish enough to ask him what he meant, but she didn’t. Looking at him as if he were a rare steak and she was starving. Looking at him as if he were a box of Godiva and she was a chocoholic. As if she were a drunk confronting a bottle of ancient Scotch. Like a stupid, semivirgin in love with the worst choice she could have made.

  It wasn’t as if she’d had any choice in the matter. If she had, she wouldn’t think twice about him. But some things weren’t up to her. She’d taken one look at him, years ago in Genevieve Madsen’s garden in Wiltshire, and she’d been a goner. Familiarity, while it was breeding contempt, wasn’t helping much with the lust part.

  Which was actually rather reassuring. She’d been so disinterested in most of the men and boys she’d seen that she’d wondered if she were frigid or simply asexual. The moment she saw Reno again she knew that wasn’t her particular problem.

  Her problem was Reno, pure and simple. Though there was nothing pure and simple about him.

  He shoved the blanket away and stood up, and Jilly let out a shriek. He was practically naked, all long, lean, gorgeous six feet of him, except for a strip of cloth wrapped strategically around his hips. It was the sort of thing she’d seen on sumo wrestlers. It looked a hell of a lot better on him.

  “Close your eyes if you’re embarrassed,” he said, picking up the discarded blanket and tossing it to her. She resisted the temptation to pull it over her head. Except that she couldn’t look away.

  He looked alien, golden and savage, and the tattooed dragon snaking down one arm simply added to the effect, running from his shoulder down to his wrist, in vivid colors of red and gold. He strode past her, magnificent, and while she shouldn’t have done it, she couldn’t help but look as he walked past. He had to have the most gorgeous butt in the world.

  She let out a quiet moan and buried her face in the blanket he’d tossed at her. And then quickly lifted her head. It smelled like the almond soap she’d used in his bathroom. And it smelled like his skin, something indefinable and unquestionably erotic. And at this point she’d be better off walking straight into a trap of yakuza thugs than spend another minute fantasizing about her unwilling protector.

  When he came out of the bathroom, he was dressed again, in black pants and a loose white shirt and black jacket. She couldn’t stop from wondering if he was still wearing that strip of cloth under the clothes or whether he’d gone to more traditional boxers. He didn’t strike her as the tighty-whitie kind of man. Or maybe he wasn’t wearing anything at all.

  “It’s called a fundoshi,” he said as he headed back into the tiny kitchen alcove.

  “What is?”

  “The piece of cloth you couldn’t keep your eyes off. I’ll tell you what—we get out of this alive and I’ll let you take it off me. With your teeth.”

  Her temperature went up another five degrees. “You are such a jerk,” she said. “Use your own teeth.” It came out sounding ridiculous, of course.

  He just laughed. “Behave yourself and I’ll make coffee.”

  Okay, all was forgiven. She’d rip the freaking fundoshi off him with her teeth in return for a strong hit of caffeine. “I don’t suppose you did anything about getting me some clothes.”

  He looked at her over his shoulder, and there was a surprisingly wicked light in his eyes. “I wouldn’t mind showing you how to wrap a fundoshi,” he offered.

  “Dream on.” She rose, clutching the yukata around her in a vain attempt at dignity. “I’m going to take another shower.”

  “You’re going to get waterlogged at this rate, Ji-chan.”

  “Why are you calling me ‘Ji-chan’? I know enough Japanese to know that’s a term of affection.”

  His cool laugh wasn’t reassuring. “Your name has too many fucking L’s in it. Trust me, it’s nothing personal. And you won’t be able to wash it away.”

  “What?”

  “Me.”

  If she had something to throw she would have. But in the spare, Zen-like apartment there was nothing to toss at him. “I like my coffee with cream and sugar,” she announced, heading for the bathroom. She was expecting him to come out with another smutty comment, but for once he was blissfully silent.

  She considered not using the almond soap—he was right, she’d washed enough in the past twenty-four hours, but at the last minute she steeled herself and used it. She refused to think of Reno using it, rubbing it on his body, over his chest, between his…

  “What’s wrong?” Reno’s voice came from just outside the bathroom door.

  “Nothing,” she said. “I just banged my elbow.” Shit, shit, shit. She was going stark, staring mad. She turned on the cold water full blast to cool herself off, letting out another shriek, and forced herself to stand under it, no matter how cold the apartment was, just letting the icy pellets of water sting her skin into submission. When she couldn’t stand it anymore, she climbed out, wrapping a towel around her. She reached for the yukata, then stopped as she heard the sound of voices in the room beyond. Two men, one of them Reno.

  She put the seat down on the toilet and sat down, waiting. Parading in front of Reno was bad enough—she didn’t want any more of an audience.

  She waited until she heard the outer door shut, and then silence. With any luck Reno would be gone, too, and she could have her coffee in peace. She pushed open the door to the bathroom, but Reno was back at the computer. And there was a gun on the table beside him.

  “Was someone here?”

  He didn’t bother to turn around. “A friend of mine. I figured a gun would be a good idea.”

  “You didn’t have one?” She looked at the cold, black, deadly piece of metal and shivered. All she could see was the man on the floor of the compound, the bullet between his eyes, the blood….

  “I prefer not to use them if I can help it. The
re are other ways to face danger, quieter ways. Don’t worry about it, Ji-chan. I promise not to shoot you unless you really annoy me.”

  She just looked at him. “People are dead. You’ve killed people. How can you joke about it?”

  “Who says I’m joking?” he said in a cool voice. “When it comes down to a choice between me and them, I don’t have any problem doing what needs to be done. And if I have to shoot someone to keep you alive, I’ll do it, and I won’t waste time making a fuss about it. Don’t worry—you’re not going to have to touch it. And Kyo brought you some clothes, as well as bringing me the gun. You aren’t going to like them.”

  She looked away from the gun, simply because she had to. “Why am I not surprised?”

  “Finding clothes in Japan for someone your size isn’t easy. If I could find jeans that were long enough, they’d never fit around your hips.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with my hips.”

  “By Japanese standards you’re a walking sex bomb. This was the best he could do.”

  She looked over by the door to the mound of black-and-white fabric, and a sudden feeling of horror swept over her. “Oh, no,” she said. “You’re not dressing me up like one of those baby dolls.”

  “Gothic Lolita,” he corrected.

  “You couldn’t find a simple T-shirt and some baggy pants?” She kept the plaintive note out of her voice.

  “The T-shirts in your size are for tourists and they’re very thin cotton. And while you’re almost as flat-chested as most Japanese women, the bras would still never fit you and your breasts would cause far too much attention.”

  She resisted the urge to cross her arms over her chest. “Would you stop comparing me to Japanese women? I’ve spent my life towering over most people my age—I don’t need to be reminded what an oversize freak I am.”

  He turned away from the screen for a moment, and his eyes narrowed. Reno was back. “Get over it.”

  “You know, sometimes I think your mastery of American idioms is a little too good,” she said, scooping up the mounds of lace and fabric and heading for the bathroom.

  But he was already staring at the computer screen again, dismissing her as easily as if she’d been a one-night stand.

  Of which he probably had many, she thought. And she wasn’t going to be one of them. She wasn’t into masochism, and a night in bed with Reno wouldn’t be something she could just shrug off. Not to mention the family repercussions.

  He was a snake. And she wasn’t getting anywhere near him again if she could help it. He could save her life, though why he felt it was his responsibility was beyond her, and then she wouldn’t have to see him again. Or at least, not until Summer and Taka had babies, and even then she could probably avoid him, given his dislike of American women.

  The outfit was even worse than she’d imagined. First, a black lace thong that she was tempted to ignore. White, lace-trimmed bloomers. Fishnet stockings with a black lace garter belt. Billowing black skirts trimmed with lace, a corset and fingerless black lace gloves, charmingly accented with a little apron and a bonnet. She looked like a deranged French maid crossed with Morticia Addams. The shoes were the final touch.

  “I’m not wearing them,” she said, storming out of the bathroom in her new rig, still in bare feet.

  He didn’t bother to turn around. “They’re the only clothes Kyo could come up with. Don’t tell me they don’t fit.”

  “The clothes fit. So do the shoes, but I’m not wearing them. They’re four-inch platform heels—if I don’t fall over and kill myself, I’ll still look like a basketball player.”

  He turned then, his eyes drifting down over her absurd body. There was way too much leg showing, with the garters and the fishnet and the bloomers peeking out from beneath the ruffles, and the corset made her boobs look distressingly prominent. She stuck out her chin, just daring him to laugh.

  He was wise enough not to. The corner of his mouth jerked for a second, in the faintest beginning of a smile, but he managed to look somber. “Maybe I can find some sandals,” he said. “Won’t go with the outfit, though.”

  “I’m not that interested in accessorizing right now. I just need something I can walk in. And how the hell did your friend find shoes like that in my size? I have big feet.”

  “Where I found the clothes. In a shop made for josohumisha.”

  “What?” she echoed.

  “Cross-dressers,” he said. “I thought if we put enough makeup on you you could pass for a man.”

  She threw the shoes at him. He caught one before it hit his head, the other knocked his picture off the shelf. He rose, slowly, moving toward her with sinuous menace, and if Jilly had been any kind of coward, she would have backed up.

  “I told you not to hit me again,” he said in a low, dangerous voice.

  She wasn’t going to react. “I didn’t hit you. You caught it.”

  “The intent was there.”

  Okay, so she took a step back. A couple, as a matter of fact. But he just kept on coming, and the studio apartment was very small, and he was very big and there was nowhere to run.

  She ended up against the wall, trapped, and he put his hands on either side of her, keeping her there. “Don’t tempt me,” he said in a low growl.

  But she was tired of being bullied. “Go ahead and strangle me if you want to so damned badly.”

  There was an odd light in his eyes as they looked into hers, and she realized he’d taken out his contacts. She was looking into dark brown eyes, with no artifice between them. “That’s not what you’re tempting me to do, Ji-chan,” he said.

  He brought his body up against hers, hip to hip, belly to belly, his hard chest against her corseted torso, and it was like a strange, hot embrace, with his hands still against the wall, trapping her there. She looked into his eyes, hoping he thought she was fearless, but she could feel her mouth tremble slightly, and she couldn’t keep it still.

  Her heart was pounding, as well, hard and fast. And she could feel his heart, hard and fast, too, and she wondered what the hell was going on.

  And then he kissed her.

  12

  It wasn’t the kind of kiss she’d expected. For two years she’d thought about what it would be like to kiss Reno, for two years she’d imagined something out of a romance novel.

  The reality was a shock. His open mouth covered hers, and he slowly, deliberately, ground his pelvis against her.

  They were the same height. She could feel the explicit bulge of him through his pants, through the layers of her petticoats, and his mouth was hard, almost brutal. He was kissing her as if he hated her, and she put up her hands and shoved, hard.

  He was immovable. He lifted his head, though, and her mouth felt bruised, swollen.

  “Why are you kissing me?” Her voice was husky, and she could feel inexplicable tears form in her eyes. She blinked them away, angry.

  “I don’t know.” He hadn’t moved—his hips were still pinning hers to the wall. “Do you want to fuck?”

  She tried to kick him then, but he must have sensed her movement, and he wrapped one leg around hers, further imprisoning her. “No,” she said, furious.

  “Don’t pretend, Ji-chan. You’ve got a crush on me. I’m about to fulfill your dreams.” His voice was breathless, mocking.

  “You’re about to get kneed in the balls, and then you won’t be fulfilling anyone’s dreams, not even your own,” she snapped.

  “You know I’m not going to let you do that. You know you can’t do anything unless I let you. I’ll ask you again—do you want to fuck?”

  “I don’t know why you’re asking me,” she said bitterly. “We’ve already established the fact that you’re not interested, and—”

  “Does this feel like I’m not interested?” he said, pushing against her.

  “So you’re perverted enough to get turned on by women dressing in little girls’ clothes. It has nothing to do with me.”

  “So take them off and we’ll see if I�
��m still turned on,” he suggested reasonably.

  She looked into his eyes, at the tattooed tears beneath them. “Reno,” she said in a calm voice, “if you’re so bored, then go out and get laid. I’m sure you’ll find someone who’s interested.”

  “You’re interested,” he said. And then he released her just as suddenly as he had caught her, and he grinned. “No, you’re right. You’re not my type. Besides, I have a healthy respect for Taka, and he’d kill me if I fucked you.”

  “Would you stop with all the ‘fuck’ talk!” she said, exasperated. “It’s called making love.”

  “Jilly, I don’t make love. I fuck.”

  “Not me.”

  He tilted his head to one side, watching her. “Want to bet?” And pulling her back into his arms, he put his mouth on hers once more.

  It wasn’t as if she hadn’t been kissed before. When she was seventeen, she’d decided, in the spirit of scientific discovery, to explore making out, and she’d found her Advanced Physics tutor to be up to the task. She’d learned to use her tongue, her teeth, how to tease, how to demand, how to suck gently, and while the whole experiment had been rather wet and sloppy, it left her with a better understanding of what people were doing when they were grinding their faces together.

  Wrong. Reno didn’t kiss the way Jeffrey did, or anything like the rudimentary kisses Duke had given her during their miserable, botched coupling. He kissed her like an angel, sweet and sad and so wonderful that her body seemed to lift into his, trying to get closer. He kissed her like the devil, hot and hard and deep, and she closed her eyes and wanted to sink, skin to skin, into some dark whirling place where there was nothing but heat and sex. He kissed her mouth, using his tongue, he kissed her eyelids, which had fluttered shut, he kissed her jaw and her temple and then her mouth once again, and she simply leaned against the wall, stunned, unable to move, unable to do anything but let him kiss her.

  He moved his mouth down the side of her neck, nipping slightly, and his breath was warm on her skin, his hands were moving up her thighs, slowly, his fingers threading through the long lace garters, and she moaned quietly, a soft, impossible sound of surrender.