Page 66 of Icebound

It was ornate and Moorish, with deep, bright colors and a wide, rumpled bed, and she wanted to lie in it with his arms around her.

“I really have to pee,” she said, and he laughed, setting her on her feet.

“The bathroom’s through there.”

“Can I take a shower?”

“You can do anything you want.”

She looked up at him, and she wanted to go into his arms. She resisted the need. “I want to leave here,” she said in a small voice.

“I know you do. I promise, I’ll personally put you on a plane back home.”

“No,” she said. “I want to leave here, I don’t want to leave you.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, probably in exasperation, then opened them again, and for a moment he was Bastien once more, all trace of Jean-Marc gone.

“You can’t,” he said. “This is no place for an American housewife.”

He made it sound like an insult, but she shook her head. “We can both leave,” she said. “Go away someplace, and…”

“Why would I want to leave with you?” The words were cold, cruel, and she shut her mouth in defeat.

“I can’t think of a single reason why,” she said after a moment, turning away from him. She started toward the bathroom, but at the last minute, he caught her arm, turning her back to face him.

“I want you safe,” he said. “And safe means far away from me.” His voice was flat, implacable, and she knew there was no way she could change his mind.

“What if I only feel safe with you?”

“Don’t do this, Chloe,” he said, and the sound of her name was a benediction. “You have to leave. I have to know you’re okay. This is a dangerous life I live, and it’s a short one. You don’t belong with me.”

“But you belong with me.”

“I’m not your husband,” he warned her, and she made one last attempt, reaching up and placing her mouth against his. His reaction was instantaneous, cupping her face and kissing her gently. “No,” he said.

She couldn’t argue with him any longer—it would get her nowhere. “I really have to pee,” she said helplessly.

“Then go. You’re not going to change my mind.”

And she knew she couldn’t.

The bathroom was large and sybaritic, and after she relieved herself, she looked around, taking in its rather barbaric splendor. Colorful tiles were everywhere, but pride of place was held by a deep copper bathtub, and she immediately started running the water. She wasn’t giving up—she’d never give up on him. She just needed to regroup.

She’d never had a more luxurious bath in her life—the copper kept the water warm, and she lolled in it, washing her hair, sitting in its warm depths until her skin wrinkled and the pain in her heart began to ease. Whether he realized it or not, Bastien was beginning to remember. He wanted her—she had no doubt of that—but he was too stubborn to admit it. If she weren’t careful, he really would put her on a plane out of here, away from him.

She finally gave up the comfort of the warm bath, emerging and wrapping a huge towel around her body and another around her hair. She was half-tempted to walk back into the room naked, but she wasn’t sure of her reception. He seemed determined to get rid of her, and she would have to work fast to stop him. If he wouldn’t come with her, she’d stay in this over-the-top Moorish castle until he changed his mind.

The bedroom was empty. He’d pulled the bed together, and she wasn’t sure whether she wanted to laugh or to cry. He was the one who made their bed when they were at home in North Carolina, even when she was still sleeping in it. She was haphazard in her housekeeping, he was tidy, but between the two of them, they made it work.

Hardly enough to keep them together when he didn’t know who the hell he was, but at least it was a hopeful sign.

He’d left clothes on the bed—his clothes, and she pulled them on. Fortunately, they were sweats—he was lean and his pants weren’t made for a woman’s curves, but it felt so good to be in clean clothes again. It felt good to be in his clothes. There were no windows in the room, and she had no idea what time it was—probably still in the middle of the night. He was gone, God knew where, and she wasn’t going to leave this temporary haven to go searching for him. She lay down on the bed with a moan of delight—after the threadbare cot, it was heaven. The only thing that would make it better was if Bastien were with her. She lay her head down on the pillow, pushing her damp hair away from her face. He would come back for her. He would always come for her, whether his mind knew her or not. His body was hard-wired to protect her, and she wondered why she had ever doubted him. He was hers, whether he knew it or not, and he always would be.

The man calling himself Jean-Marc shook his hand, trying to loosen it. Luc lay on the floor, cradling his jaw, and Jean-Marc stood over him, his fury still simmering.

“Are we good?” Luc said, sitting up. “Or do you want to hit me again? I was just following orders. In fact, she’s alive because of me—Jefe wanted me to dispose of her. You ought to be more grateful.”

“I don’t think Chloe will feel the same way.” His voice was cold, but he held out his hand to help Luc to his feet.