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.”