Honor Bound(9)

They lapsed into a silence that lasted until she ventured to ask, "How long have you been in prison?"

"Thirty-four months."

"And how long did you have to go?"

"Three months."

"Three months!" She was dismayed. "You escaped when you only had three months left on your sentence?"

His eyes sliced across the front seat of the car toward her. "I told you there is something I have to do and nothing is going to stop me."

"But if they catch you—"

"They'll catch me."

"Then why are you doing this?"

"I told you I had to."

"Nothing could be this important."

"It is."

"They'll tack months, possibly years, onto your sentence."

"Yes."

"Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"No."

"But you're throwing away years of your life. Think of all the things you're giving up."

"Like a woman."

The three words were spoken shortly and, like tiny bullets, put her sermon to death. She closed her mouth quickly, wise enough to keep silent on this particular subject.

Neither spoke, yet their thoughts were running along the same channels. From different perspectives each was remembering the events of the night before. Aislinn didn't want to acknowledge her disturbing memories—Greywolf standing in the doorway of the bathroom, naked and wet, his very indolence a threat. Or pressing her bra to his face, inhaling her scent with such carnal greed. Or untying her and covering her when she wasn't aware of it. The thoughts were stifling; she felt suffocated by them, by his nearness.

Finally she shut him out in the only way she could. She closed her eyes and rested her head on the back of the seat.

* * *

"Dammit!"

She must have been dozing. Aislinn awoke abruptly with Greywolf's curse. He pounded the steering wheel with his right fist.

"What is it?" she asked, sitting up straight and blinking her eyes against the afternoon sunlight.

"Roadblock," Greywolf said, his lips barely moving. Through the heat waves shimmering above the stretch of highway, Aislinn saw that state patrol cars had blocked off the highway. Officers were stopping each vehicle before letting it pass.

Before she could even register what a welcome sight that was, Greywolf pulled her car onto the shoulder of the highway and shoved the gear shift into Park. In one lithe movement, he straddled the console, crouched over her, and unbuttoned her blouse, working the cups of her bra down over the mounds of her breasts.

"What are you doing?" she gasped, swatting at his hands. At first she'd been groggy from her nap, then too astounded to fight him off. By the time she realized what he was doing, he had her blouse unbuttoned halfway to her waist and her breasts bulging up between the deep V.

"I'm relying on human nature, that's what." Objectively checking his handiwork, and apparently finding it satisfactory, he vaulted over the seat. "Your turn to drive. Get us through that roadblock."

"But… No!" she protested vehemently. "I'll be only too glad to have you captured, Mr. Greywolf!"

"Get this damn car moving or they'll notice us pulled over and get suspicious. Put your tush in that driver's seat and pull the car back onto the highway. Now!"

The look she shot him over the back of the seat was fiercely hostile, but she obeyed him when he whipped the butcher knife from the waistband of his jeans and waved it at her menacingly.

"Don't even think of honking the horn," he warned, just as she thought of that very thing.

Butcher knife or not, she had every intention of pulling into that roadblock screaming bloody murder. As soon as she braked, she would burst out of the car door and let the authorities handle the savage.

"If you're entertaining any notions of turning me in, forget them," he said.

"You don't stand a chance."

"Neither do you. I'll say you were in collusion, that you harbored me last night and helped me get this far."

"They'll know you're lying," she scoffed.

"Not when they investigate the sheets on your bed."

Shocked by his words, she quickly glanced back at him. He was lying down on the back seat as though asleep. In his hand he was holding a photography magazine, which she assumed he intended to use as a tent over his face. "What do you mean?" she asked shakily, not liking the self-assurance in his gray eyes. "What do the sheets on my bed have to do with anything?"

"The police will find the evidence of sex on them." Her face went pale and her hands gripped the steering wheel so hard her knuckles turned white. She swallowed dryly from profound embarrassment. "Now, if you want an explicit explanation," he said softly, "I'll be happy to provide it. But you're a grown-up, so I think you can figure it out. I hadn't seen an unclothed woman in a long time, much less lain in bed with one, close enough to smell her, hear her breathing." His voice lowered. "Think about it, Aislinn."

She didn't want to think about it. Not at all. Her palms were already slick with perspiration and her stomach was roiling. When? How? He could be lying, making it up. He could also be telling the truth.

Before they arrested her, would the police give any credence to her side of the story? What proof could she show them to substantiate it? There would be no signs of forced entry at her condo. She wouldn't be implicated for long, of course. Eventually it would be proved that he was lying. But in the meantime he could sure make life difficult. And embarrassing. The incident would be something she would never live down, especially with her parents, who would be mortified.