Mr Impossible by Loretta Chase Page B

place near her left hip.

    “ It is called
a hezam ,” she said.

    “ Yes, but
what is it?”

    “ A scarf
girdling the waist,” she said. “Useful for stowing
things. Like my knives.”

    “ Have you the
least idea how to use them?” he said.

    “ I know that
you hold it by the handle and the sharp end is the part you stick
in,” she whispered impatiently. “What else do I need to
know?”

    “ Hold it with
the sharp end aimed upward rather than downward,” he said.
“More control, better aim that way.”

    “ Oh,”
she said. “Yes. I see.”

    “ Good.”
He grasped her firmly about the waist—or the hezam ,
rather—and lifted her smoothly up. He held her until she had
her feet firmly planted on the rung and her hands clutching the
sides.

    Then, “Don’t
move,” he said in an undertone. “We don’t know
what’s up there.”

    “ I don’t
hear anything,” she said.

    “ I’d
better go first all the same,” he said.

    “ There’s
only one ladder,” she said, “and I’m on it.”

    “ I’d
rather not climb over the corpses,” he said.

    “ No, no, of
course not.”

    “ I’ll
have to squeeze by you, then,” he said.

    “ Will the
ladder hold two persons?”

    “ We’ll
soon find out.”

    She felt his hand
travel up her back and along her arm to where her hand grasped the
ladder. She squeezed to one side, to leave room, but there was little
room to leave. A moment later, she felt his hard torso against her
back, then a long, muscular leg pressed against her thigh. She sucked
in her breath. Flames raced up from the place of contact, and even
the cold shame instantly following couldn’t altogether douse
them.

    Then he was past,
and she concentrated on getting out of this beastly place and away
from the horror a few inches away. She listened to him climb out,
then to the muted sound of his boots moving away from the shaft. She
became aware of her own breathing, too fast, and the matching tempo
of her heartbeats. Her mind darted to the bodies nearby, then to
unknown others, still alive, lying in wait for him.

    Panic flooded in,
and with it a mad grief. Finally she heard his returning footsteps.
Relief wiped out panic, and the wild grief sank back into whatever
dark cave of her be-ing it had come from.

    “ All’s
clear at the moment,” he said.

    The ladder was
nearly perpendicular. Daphne all but ran up it. At the top rung, she
paused and released her death grip to feel for the floor of the
passage. Her searching hand found his knee.

    Then strong fingers
circled her wrist, and she grasped his in the same way. “Hold
on,” he said. “I’ll steady you.” His other
hand slid down from her shoulder over her breast, then caught her
firmly under her arm. If he lost his hold, her madly working mind
told her, she’d fall to the bottom—or on top of the
corpses. But his grip was firm, and in a moment she was clambering
over the edge of the shaft and sinking onto her knees, while her
heart raced and her breath came in racking gasps.

    “ Steady,”
he said. He did not let go of her.

    She tried to steady
herself, but her hands trembled, and she couldn’t seem to catch
her breath.

    “ Don’t
faint,” he said.

    “ I. Never.
Faint.” Four heaving, irate syllables.

    “ The way
seems clear as far as the portcullis,” he said. “Beyond
that is the first passage. I doubt anyone would lurk there, so near
the entrance.”

    She directed her
churning mind to practical rather than hysterical thoughts.
‘Twenty-two feet seven inches to the portcullis,“ she
said. ”The portcullis section itself is six feet eleven
inches.“ But while her rational mind calculated the remaining
distance, the other, darker part of her being was engulfed in
physical awareness: the size and strength of his hands holding her
steady… his nearness, a breath away in the small space…
the musky scent of Male, mingled with faint traces of smoke and soap.

    The thin shirt
under her jacket clung damply