A Kiss to Kill by Nina Bruhns Page B

as tears blinded her and sobs clogged her throat. She scratched and clawed and pounded him. And all the while he held her fast, not giving an inch.
    “Hush, now,” he murmured.
    The words triggered an irrationally calming memory of a similar deep voice.
    Hush now.
    During the worst of her torture at the hands of her captors, when she’d been beaten nearly blind and to the brink of death, the man she’d called the Voice had come to her once, with soothing words and drugs to dull the pain.
    But he hadn’t let her go, either.
    “It’s okay,” Gregg said.
    No! It wasn’t okay!
    Thanks to him, it would never be okay again.
    She fought and fought, until she exhausted her strength and ran out of tears. And still he just held her. It wasn’t a soothing embrace. Nor was it cruel. It was more like . . . awkward.
    “Hush, sweet girl.”
    If she didn’t know better, she might think he was actually trying to comfort her. The idea of that stunned her into stillness, broken only by a long, hiccup-punctuated exhale.
    He bunched his hand in the hem of his T-shirt and tried to raise it to wipe the tears from her face. But because of his broad chest, the shirt wouldn’t stretch up past her chin. So he pulled it over his head, then used it as a big, soft hankie, daubing the wetness from her cheeks, eyes, and nose.
    Shock swept through her, as did the scent of him from the shirt that caressed her face. His naked chest brushed against her bare breasts as he moved, sending her nipples into tight spirals. She held her breath, resisting the irrational urge to pillow them up against her abductor.
    He paused. His focus slipped down to her breasts then up again, hesitating for a heartbeat at her lips. For a split second she thought he might actually try to kiss her.
    Her stomach clenched. She turned away.
    His hands dropped abruptly. “I’m sorry,” he said, and she wondered bitterly to what he was referring—touching her naked breasts, making her cry, selling her to terrorists . . . What?
    She shuddered out her choked breath and closed her stinging eyes. “Go to hell.”
    He gave a soft, sardonic laugh. “Sure. Now, why don’t you lie down and get some sleep.” He went to the dresser, swiped up a new black T-shirt, and yanked it on. Thank God.
    She pressed her mouth into a quavering line. “I want to go home.” The trembling statement came out sounding so pathetic she scarcely recognized herself in it. That had been happening a lot lately. The pathetic part.
    “Sorry. Not going to happen,” he said.
    Anger finally overran her fear. “Haven’t I suffered enough for you?” she demanded.
    He gazed over at her impassively, but the tic in his cheek twitched again. “There’s no phone. The door is locked and all the windows are barred. There’s no way out of here, so you might as well make yourself comfortable. The good news is, no one else can get in, either.”
    He turned to leave the bedroom.
    “Gregg?”
    At his name on her lips, he halted at the door. The shadows of the other room touched him like gray fingers reaching out to caress him. He didn’t turn around.
    “Why?” she asked. Her voice cracked on a roil of surfacing emotion. “Why did you do it, Gregg? Why did you give me to those animals? For money? Al Sayika blood diamonds? How much did they pay you? How much was my life worth to you?”
    Even under the T-shirt she could see the muscles in his broad back coil and tighten. Like he wanted to turn and beat the crap out of her. Or someone. But he just walked out, his body quickly swallowed by the dimness of the curtained room beyond.
    “Tell me!” she yelled after him, desperate to know the worst. He halted again. This time he did turn. A shaft of light from the closed drapes painted over his face. Her own tears welled anew and brimmed over onto her cheeks. “I loved you!” she cried. “Why did you betray me?”
    He flinched visibly. His hands balled into silent fists.
    At the gesture, horrible memories seared