Hot ice - By Nora Roberts Page 0,53

her head nearly brushed the ground in the exaggerated dip. Just as quickly, she was upright and caught against him. His mouth was only a whisper from hers.

They had only to move—only a slight shift of their heads would bring their lips together. Both were breathing quickly, from the exertion, from the excitement. She could smell the muskiness of light sweat, the hint of wine and rich meat. He’d taste of all of them.

They had only to move—a fraction closer. And what then?

“What the hell,” Doug muttered. Even as his hand tightened at her waist, even as her lashes fluttered down, he heard the roar of an engine. His head swiveled around. He tensed like a cat so quickly that Whitney blinked.

“Shit.” Grabbing her hand, Doug ran for cover. Because he had to make do, he pushed her up against the side of a house and pressed himself against her.

“What the hell’re you doing? One tango, and you turn into a crazy man.”

“Just don’t move.”

“I don’t…” Then she heard it too, loud and clear above them. “What is it?”

“Helicopter.” He prayed the overhang of the steeply pitched roof and the shade it spread would keep them from view.

She managed to peer over his shoulder. She could hear it, but she couldn’t see it. “It could be anyone.”

“Could be. I don’t risk my life on could be’s. Dimitri doesn’t like to waste time.” And dammit, he thought as he looked for shelter and escape, how could he have found them in the middle of nowhere? Cautiously, he glanced around. There would be no running. “That mop of blonde hair would stand out like a road sign.”

“Even under pressure, you’re full of charm, Douglas.”

“Let’s just hope he doesn’t decide to land to get a closer look.” The words were hardly out of his mouth when the sound grew louder. Even on the far side of the house, they felt the wind from the blades. Dust billowed up.

“You had to give him the idea.”

“Shut up a minute.” He glanced behind him, poised to run. Where? he asked himself in disgust. Where the hell to? They were cornered as neatly as if they’d run down a blind alley.

At the whisper of a sound, he whirled, fists lifted. Marie stopped, raising her hand for silence. Gesturing, she hurried along the side of the house. With her back pressed against the wall, she moved along the west side to the door. Though it meant putting his luck into the hands of a woman again, Doug followed, keeping Whitney’s hand in his.

Once inside, he signaled to them both to remain still and silent before he moved to the window. Keeping well to the side, he peered out.

The helicopter was some distance away on the flatland at the base of the hills. Already Remo was striding toward the crowd of celebrants.

“Sonofabitch,” Doug muttered. Sooner or later, it was going to come down to dealing with Remo. He had to make certain he had house advantage. At the moment, he had nothing more lethal than a penknife in the pocket of his jeans. It was then he remembered that both he and Whitney had left their packs outside, near the spread of food and drink.

“Is it—”

“Stay back,” he ordered when Whitney crept up behind him. “It’s Remo and two more of Dimitri’s toy soldiers.” And sooner or later, he admitted as he wiped a hand over his mouth, it was going to come down to dealing with Dimitri. He’d need more than luck when the time came. Racking his brain, he looked around the room for something, anything to defend himself with. “Tell her these men are looking for us and ask her what her people are going to do.”

Whitney looked over at Marie, who stood quietly by the door. Briefly, she followed Doug’s instructions.

Marie folded her hands. “You are our guests,” she said simply. “They are not.”

Whitney smiled and told Doug, “We’ve got sanctuary, for what it’s worth.”

“Yeah, that’s good, but remember what happened to Quasimodo.”

He watched as Remo faced down Louis. The village leader stood steely-eyed and implacable, speaking briefly in Malagasy. The sound, if not the words, came through the open window. Remo pulled something out of his pocket.

“Photographs,” Whitney whispered. “He must be showing him pictures of us.”

Him, Doug agreed silently, and every other villager between here and Tamatave. If they got out of this one, there’d be no more parties along the way. He’d been stupid to believe he could take time to breathe

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