When he finally stopped, she almost fell—he caught her easily enough, with cool impersonal hands.
The street was dark, the building in front of them darker still. A row of small flags draped the entrance to the house, but she was in no shape to figure what they meant.
“Come on,” he said, impatient, as she stared up at the building.
“Where are we?” She didn’t recognize her own voice—it sounded as if she’d been screaming and she’d hardly said a word. She must be in shock, she thought.
“A ryokan.” He clearly wasn’t about to explain further. And part of her was willing just to follow him, mindlessly.
She pulled herself together. “Why? Why here?”
“The people looking for us would track us down if we went to one of the big Western-style hotels. We can spend the rest of the night here, sleep and figure out what the fuck we’re going to do.”
“We?” she echoed.
“If they don’t know I took care of the men in Taka’s house, it won’t take them long to find out. I don’t think they’re going to bother with revenge—mercenaries are too practical to kill for anything other than profit, and their paycheck has dried up. Once they realize there’s nothing to be gained, they’ll leave Japan and we’ll be safe.” He tried to take her arm, but she yanked free.
“I’m not going anywhere until you explain what the hell is going on. Who are these Russians? Why would they want to kill Taka? And who’s paying them?” Her voice was stronger now, and she looked into his eyes, meeting his cool, assessing gaze head-on.
“I’m not going to stand out in the open and explain anything. Come with me willingly or I’ll knock you out and carry you in.”
“You and what army?”
His forehead wrinkled. “Army?” he echoed.
His English was so good she’d forgotten he might not know idioms. “I mean, I dare you,” she said, fierce.
Big mistake. In the crazy hours she’d forgotten how he’d manhandled her out of Taka’s house.
“If you say so,” he said. She didn’t see it coming, didn’t see a move. Just a sudden and enveloping darkness, and she fell into it, willingly.
Everything hurt. Jilly’s back, shoulders, butt, knees. She didn’t want to open her eyes—the last time she’d opened her eyes, death and violence had followed. Maybe if she could ignore the pain, she could go back to sleep, in spite of the mercilessly bright light battering against her eyelids.
“Stop faking it. I know you’re awake.”
She knew that voice, knew the conflict it aroused inside her. The beautiful bad boy on the motorcycle. The psychotic bully who’d knocked her unconscious.
She opened her eyes. They were in a traditional Japanese room, shoji screens encasing them on two sides, thin mattresses on the floor. Reno was sitting on one wearing a light cotton robe decorated with blue crests. He’d taken a shower and his long hair hung loose around his shoulders, darker when it was wet, a deep, respectable auburn rather than the bright flame.
She wasn’t sure what was making her madder—the fact that he had knocked her out, or that he’d had a shower when she would’ve killed for one. She sat up, realizing she’d been sleeping, if you could call it that, on one of the identical thin futons. No wonder her entire body felt stiff and ancient. A bed of nails wouldn’t have been much worse.
And she looked down, not at the futon but at the neat pile of her clothes, next to the mattress. She was wearing a thin cotton robe, a yukata, a perfect match to the one Reno was wearing, and it probably looked just as ridiculous on a gaijin as it looked wonderful on him.
“Don’t get excited,” he said. “The owner undressed you for me and put the yukata on. I told her you were drunk and passed out.”
Jilly didn’t know whether to be relieved or angry. “I don’t drink.”
“I don’t think she cared. You’ve got your choice. You can go to the women’s baths or you can sit there and watch me dress.”
“Where is the bath?”
The faint curve of his mouth was more a smirk than a smile. “Go out into the hallway and turn left. The women’s bath is at the end of the hall. Don’t make the mistake of turning right—you’d end up in the men’s bath, and I don’t think your foreign eyes could handle the shock of seeing a Japanese man naked.”
She kept her mouth shut. If she denied it, he’d probably drop the robe just to prove his point and she really didn’t want to see Reno naked.
She’d been trying not to look at him, but she could feel the color flood her face anyway. Ridiculous—she wasn’t used to blushing, wasn’t used to being coy. You couldn’t grow up in Southern California, much less around a mother like Lianne, without learning to be unaffected by any kind of nudity.
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.