His surprise didn’t improve matters. “Why should I? I haven’t made up my mind yet.”
So he might want children some time in his life. Just not with her. She had years of practice perfecting her calm expression, and it was in place when she turned back to him. Looking him in the eyes, so he’d believe her. “It’s highly unlikely. It’s at completely the wrong time in my cycle, but if by any chance it happens I’ll be sure to get in touch with you. Assuming you can be found.” She would do no such thing. If she happened to get pregnant, and right then she had absolutely no idea where she was in her cycle or how fertile she might be, then he was the very last person she’d inform.
“I can be found,” he said. He looked as if he wanted to say something else, and she waited, patient and calm. It was no wonder he called her Sister Beth, she thought. She was a goddamned nun. That was probably part of the problem. He’d already told her he liked experienced sex, hadn’t he? And she’d been shy and uninventive and just let him do what he wanted. He’d been bored by her. If he’d liked it he wouldn’t have been so quick to get rid of her.
Strange, that the most powerful experience of her life meant so little to him, like scratching an itch. Strange, and so hurtful she didn’t even want to think about it. It was no more than she’d expected.
If he’d give her a chance she could do better. Now that she knew she could actually enjoy it she could relax enough to …
No. She was never having sex again in her life. Not if it made her feel as awful as she did right now, hating him, her body longing for him, her nipples tightening. “Go away, MacGowan,” she said calmly. “I have things to do.”
He wasn’t used to being dismissed. Suck it up, she thought, furious. “Be on the deck in fifteen minutes.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
Getting through customs on her fake passport was surprisingly easy. Whoever did the forgery was very good, though she wasn’t crazy about coming into France as Mrs. Finn MacAllister. Her lawyers would be able to handle any issues with the fake passports, both for her and for Dylan. They didn’t need MacGowan. They were going to be just fine, thank you very much.
Just fine.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
All right, so he couldn’t stop thinking about her, MacGowan told himself savagely. Nothing wrong with that. It was the first pussy he’d had in god knew how long, and it was no wonder he kept hearing her, seeing her, tasting her. The sex should have been lousy – she really was not much than a virgin, and he’d outgrown adolescent fumbling a long time ago.
But there’d been something irresistible about her shyness. Her surprise at her own reactions, and the way she’d held nothing back. Who the hell had she slept with, that they’d left her so cold and uncertain? Women were worth the trouble, Beth was worth the trouble, that and more. She deserved someone who’d take the time with her, who knew when to be rough and when to be gentle, to be hard and tender. For some reason the two of them had been in odd accord – she hadn’t flinched from anything he’d done. That responsiveness had fired his own, and he kept getting hard at the worst moments, thinking of her, confronting her in her room, talking with Dylan.
God, he needed to get rid of her, fast. He could look after Dylan. But Sister Beth … Beth … needed to be out of sight and out of mind.
The question was, how long would it take to get her out of his mind?
“Dude,” Dylan inquired with the sex-sniffing acuity of all randy teenage boys, “did you two fuck?”
They were already off the freighter, moving through the crowded docks at a steady pace, and he kept his expression impassive. One swift glance told him Beth was blushing, so he did his best to distract the little shit. “None of your business, kid.”
“It’s my business if that’s why you’re dumping us.”
He heard the note of strain in the kid’s voice, and realized he’d missed Dylan’s neediness. MacGowan had been on his own for years when he was Dylan’s age, in a much rougher world than Dylan had ever had to deal with. Dylan had always been cocooned by his parents’ money, even if they themselves had been missing. It was a far cry from his own teenage years in the slums of Belfast, trying to avoid his father’s martyrdom.
But the kid needed a reassurance that was simple to give. “I’m not dumping you. Beth has got money coming out her ass, and she doesn’t need us any more. All she has to do is make a phone call and she can be back in her mink-lined womb. You can hang with me if you want, until we figure out what you want to do.” He knew from the time they’d shared in captivity that the kid’s parents had abandoned him. MacGowan knew something about that. He was damned if he was going to dump the kid as well.
“Yeah,” Dylan said, his voice a little rough. He cleared his throat, gathering his bravado back around him. “Yeah, sounds like a plan.”
“Good.”
He glanced at Beth. The color that had stained her cheekbones was gone now, leaving her pale and still, and he suddenly remembered her beneath him, that coolness vanished in heat and passion and blistering completion.
Stop thinking about it, he ordered himself, and his wayward cock. Not that his cock could think. Obviously, given that letting his cock take the lead only ended up with him getting screwed.
“What are you laughing at?” Dylan asked.
“The stupid-ass things I do,” he replied, not loud enough that Beth could hear him. She was trailing behind them, and he knew a sudden uneasiness. With any luck they’d left their trouble behind in Callivera. The Guiding Light was too disorganized to have connections in Europe, and Sully had been alone. He’d been careful about covering up their escape, but the CIA could alternate between being laughingly incompetent and almost as good as he was. There was always the chance they’d tracked them to the Martha Rose, though he was comfortably certain no one had been there when they docked.
The last time he was going to lead his little chicks to safety, he thought, steering them through the alleyways and side streets near the docks. He was reasonably sure they weren’t being followed, but he wasn’t a man to take unnecessary chances, and once they reached Mazza he could concentrate on his own plans. The Middle Eastern restaurant was small and unprepossessing, but the place was a safe haven for any Committee operatives in need of a quick exit or entrance into Europe.
The day was cold and overcast, winter closing down around Europe. He was relatively impervious to the weather after living through the night time chill and day-time steam bath with La Luz, and he barely noticed the cold, but Beth looked pinched, miserable, and he realized she was shivering. She was wearing a t-shirt and she still had on those damned flip flops. Without thinking he stripped off his heavy shirt and dumped it on her shoulders. She just as quickly shrugged it off, tossing it back at him.
“I don’t need it. I’m fine.”
Damn, she sounded so cool and impersonal. If it wasn’t so annoying he’d be impressed. “You’ll wear it,” he growled, throwing it back to her.