“It’s nothing.” I tried to pull my arms away and his fingers bit in, holding me still. I could have struggled further but I was too tired to try.
“You’ve been off the bike.” It was a statement, not a question.
For a moment I shied away from telling him the truth. Pointless, when he would have sniffed it out anyway. “Yes,” I admitted finally, “but I’m OK.”
He let his breath out in a controlled hiss. “Where the hell was Pickering while all this was going on?”
“Doing the sensible thing and keeping a low profile.”
“Hmm. Good back-up for going undercover, isn’t he?”
“It wasn’t like that,” I said, trying not to rise to his studied insolence. A burst of temper escaped anyway and took flight. “What was it you told me once about Madeleine? That I should go easy on her because she wasn’t a field agent? Well, Sam’s not a field agent either so why can’t you just cut him some slack, Sean? He does what he can.”
Sean was utterly still for a moment, then he shifted a fraction and I felt some of the tautness loosen out of him. “I’m sorry. You’re right, of course,” he said lightly. He gave me one of those lazy smoky smiles. “Put it down to the fact that I don’t like leaving anyone else to watch your back for you.”
“My back is fine,” I said stiffly.
The silence stretched between us.
“Go have your shower,” he said at last, his voice unreadable. “You can tell me all about it when you come back down.”
I went upstairs and did as I was ordered, standing under water as hot as I could take it to ease the tension out of the back of my neck. It was only partially successful. Afterwards I climbed into my jeans and a clean shirt and all the while a set of invidious thoughts were circling inside my head.
If Sean had been with me at Slick’s wake, I realised, the violence I’d sensed lurking under the surface when I got thrown out would not have stayed there. Quite apart from William’s comments, Sean would have instinctively jumped to my defence and the whole confrontation might have escalated rapidly beyond all control, like a riot.
Sean might view Sam’s actions as those of a coward but, as it was, he’d left me to my own resources and allowed me to extricate myself from the situation without a mess. Without a fight.
After the wake, out on the road, what could Sean have done to help me there? How do you take on a van when you’re on a motorbike, without being splattered into the middle of next week? Besides, if things had gone badly earlier my bridges would have been burned and I wouldn’t have been able to go back to Gleet’s place for sanctuary.
I would have been on my own . . .
When I walked back into the living room the dogs were gone and the TV screen was blank. Sean had fetched another glass and was pouring generous slugs of Jim Beam for us both. As I sat he handed one across and raised an enquiring eyebrow.
“So, what did they do to you?” he asked again.
“They didn’t do anything,” I said. “I got spotted and chucked out – not physically, it didn’t come to that,” I added quickly, catching the fire rising in his eyes. “But then someone had a go at running me off the road on the way back.”
“Tell me.”
Briefly, I filled him in on the night’s events, from my discovery and eviction from the wake to an edited version of the run-in with the Transit van and the discovery I’d made in the workshop. I’d brought the remnant of Slick’s bike that I’d hidden in my jacket back downstairs with me and I handed it across as I spoke.
Sean took it, turning the piece of fairing over in his hands like he was reading sign.
“You’re sure it’s Slick’s?”
I shrugged. “It’s the right colour scheme and his bike was pretty distinctive,” I said. “Mind you, if Gleet built and sprayed it for him in the first place, that could be an old piece.”
“Or Gleet could have done one the same for someone else.”
“No, I don’t think so.” I shook my head. “Gleet’s a bit of an artist, so I’m told. He does one-offs, not a production line. He might do something similar, but I don’t think he’d copy.”
“So does this mean Gleet’s got Slick’s bike?” Sean mused. “And if so, why?”
“Good question. The police would have impounded it, I suppose. Maybe used it to prove how fast he was going at the time of the accident.”
Sean shook his head. “They can do that better from the skidmarks and what was left at the scene,” he said. “There has to be another reason.”
“Yeah,” I said, raising an excuse for a smile. “Damned if I know what it is, though.”
Sean had slanted back into the corner of the sofa and turned half to face me while I spoke. When he leaned forwards and reached for his drink my eyes automatically followed the movement, then skittered guiltily away. I took a gulp of my own whiskey and nearly choked as the spirit responded to this blatant lack of respect by biting me in the throat.
I felt Sean’s hand smoothing my back while I coughed and spluttered and that only made things worse. It drove all the reservations I’d ever had about him clean out of my mind and replaced them with vivid recollections of what we’d shared.
Just keep touching me for a few moments longer, I thought desperately, then I’ll make you stop. Just not quite yet . . .
The coughing fit eased at last and I found I could draw in breath again without drowning. Only now I was drowning in a different way. Drowning in sensation and need. His fingers feathered at the back of my neck, drifting up into my hairline. An infinitely gentle caress designed to soothe rather than inflame.
It made no difference. I wanted him with a howling, raging intensity that was threatening to launch itself out of my chest and devour us both.
I turned my head slightly to meet Sean’s gaze, almost afraid of what I might see there. If there’d been nothing then I might have been able to get a grip on my emotions. As it was, I saw only my own ferocious hunger reflected in his face, in his eyes.
“Sean—” I murmured a warning. Unheeded.
Slowly he reeled me in, keeping our eyes locked, totally single-minded in his pursuit. It still seemed to take forever to close the gap between us.
Then, when I was too close to escape, his mouth came down hard on mine and my mind and body exploded simultaneously, triumphant, ecstatic.
Before I knew it, Sean shifted his balance and bore me back against the cushions of the sofa. His hand was under my shirt, sliding up my ribcage to close possessively over my breast. My temperature rocketed as my pulse soared, senses screaming. I tore my mouth free.
“Jesus!” I gasped.
My sight was gone, focus blurring, vision tunnelling out until all I could see was Sean’s face above me. And all I could feel was the glide of his hands and the beat and the weight of his body over mine.
I don’t know precisely when it all changed. One moment I was oblivious to everything except Sean and the effect he was having. The next there was only a gaping black hole of panic.
The taste of the whiskey on his tongue was the start of it, sending uneasy ripples through my mind. Then one of his hands moved back to the nape of my neck and his fingers must have flexed slightly, little more than a muscle spasm. The sudden tightening of his grip sparked a memory that shattered through the haze of lust like a fist through glass.