CHAPTER TEN
Angelique was so tired she couldn’t see straight.
Ryder had kept them moving, driving all night and well into the next day. She was tired of sitting in the car going nowhere, nodding off only to jerk upright and wonder where they were, how long she’d been asleep and how far they’d traveled. The island wasn’t that big. For all she knew they could be driving in circles. She wanted a shower and a bed.
“Ryder, please. I’m hungry. I’m exhausted and my back hurts. Just stop at a hotel so we can get a few hours’ rest.”
He glanced her way, and she must have looked pitiful enough, because he nodded. Within a half hour he had pulled into a coast-side motel and gotten them a room. They grabbed a quick bite at a small restaurant a short walk down the road. Her stomach full, the next objective was a shower and clean clothes.
Ryder unlocked the door, stopping her and making her wait outside while he inspected the room as if he expected to find demons lurking inside. Ha. He should have let her go in first. At this point she was a demon’s worst enemy. She’d have fought fiercely to the death for the rights to the shower and bed in that room. For some reason she found that visual amusing, no doubt due to her lack of sleep. Ryder motioned her inside. A tiny room, with a small double bed, crisp white sheets, and airconditioning. She breathed a sigh of relief. To her, it was a palace. She tossed her bag on the bed and went straight for the bathroom to turn on the shower, desperate to wash off the grit.
The steamy water felt magnificent. She could stay in there forever, but didn’t want to hog the shower, so she cleaned up and got out, grabbed a towel, and tucked it around her. When she stepped out of the bathroom, Ryder stood at the window, peeking outside through a slit in the closed curtains.
“Any demons in the parking lot?” she teased.
He turned, glanced at her, then frowned. “You should get dressed.”
She didn’t, irritated and cranky and tired of taking orders from him. She sat on the bed. “I’m exhausted, Ryder. Why don’t you go take a shower?”
He turned back toward the window. “I’m fine.”
She stood and approached him, lifting on her toes to peer over his shoulder. “It’s almost dark again. You haven’t slept in almost twenty-four hours.”
“I can handle it.”
She placed her hand on his shoulder, refusing to pull back when he flinched. “I can feel the tension in your body. You need to unwind a little. We’ll be okay.”
He didn’t answer.
“You’ve got to let go. If demons come, we’ll deal with it, but you have to rest sometime. If you don’t, you won’t do either of us any good. Now go take a shower, let the water relax your body.”
“That’s not what I need.”
“Then what do you need?”
“I need you to back away from me.”
“Why?”
It took him a few seconds to answer. “Because you smell good.”
She snorted. “That bothers you?”
“Yes.”
Ah. Now she understood. Suddenly the room seemed smaller, and her body grew warmer. She should step away and give him some space, but something stopped her. Instead, she squeezed his shoulder, felt the muscles there coil up.
“I’m warning you, Angie. Back off.”
He was exhausted and on the edge. So was she. And she sensed he really didn’t want her to back off, even though the warning tone in his voice said so. But was he trying to push her away, or was he trying to tell her he’d reached the edge of his endurance?
Was that such a bad thing? Maybe this was what they both needed. They’d been dancing around it for a long time-ever since Australia-and she was tired of it. There was something between them and she wanted to explore it, even if he didn’t think it was a good idea.
So instead of taking that step back, she inched forward, pressing fully against him. She was aware she wore only a towel, that her breasts spilled over the top, pillowing against his back. She laid her head against his shoulder.
“Angie.”
The word came out in a harsh rush of breath, as if it pained him to say it. He finally made a movement, and she held her breath.
He turned, and she tilted her head back. The first thing she saw was the heat in his eyes, the tight set of his jaw as if he were at war with himself and had just lost some internal battle. She knew all about that skirmish.
“Throw the white flag, Ryder,” she whispered.
He hooked his finger beneath the knotted towel and crushed the material in his fist. Could he feel her heart pounding against his knuckles?
His gaze was riveted on her face. She couldn’t take her eyes off the harsh lines around his eyes. Years of worry, or pain. She wanted to reach out and smooth those lines away, but she was frozen to the spot, not wanting to do anything to break the spell.
