Page 89 of Break the Ice
“You asked for it.” I wipe sweat off my brow, forgetting I’ve got blood on my hands.
“Rafe? Is that—oh my god,” Marisse gasps from where she bends her head into the limo. She’s appeared out of fucking nowhere and opened the rear door.
Our eyes connect. Hers, horrified. Mine, amused and almost guilty. Almost.
Damn.
23. Marisse
“Ican’t believe we’re doing this.”
The moment’s so surreal, it practically feels like I’m intruding on someone else’s life. I’m no longer Marisse March.
I can’t be her when what’s happening is this bizarre. An extreme statement considering the past few weeks have been one hot mess after another.
But this takes the cake.
I’m sitting in the driver’s seat of Quigley Blackman’s limo, chauffeuring Rafe and the dead billionaire’s body.
I had turned up to Prime Cut because the managers and execs had insisted I finally join them for one of their dinners. I showed up late on purpose and had only planned to stay an hour when Gimble told me about Rafe and Mr. Blackman. Why had I gone after them?
“Shit,” I mutter. “We’re going to prison. We’re going to be locked up for the rest of our lives.”
“Will you calm the fuck down? Don’t worry. I’ve got us.”
I shoot him a scolding glare. “You got us? More like you got us into this mess! How can you possibly think it was a good idea to stab Quigley Blackman—one of the most famous billionaires in the world—to death? You are insane!”
“I don’t remember ever saying it was a good idea,” he says, his sexy dimpled grin on display. He laughs when my gaze narrows. “I’ve also never denied being insane. Maybe you need to pay closer attention.”
“And you wonder why I refused to apologize about being in the sky box with him.”
“You refused to apologize because you’re the most frustrating woman in the world—and that’s kind of what I like about you. You’re a challenge, and I never back down from a challenge.”
I pause long enough to decide how I want to play this. I could continue bickering with Rafe, our version of foreplay at this point, or I could leave the ball in his court. Make him get us out of this mess so I can get the hell out of here.
I’ve never appreciated my foresight more than in this moment. There’s a one-way plane ticket to Montenegro leaving next week with my name on it. My emergency getaway luggage currently sits by the front door of my apartment.
“Where are we going?” I ask once I’ve made up my mind. My expression softens, my brows quirked in curiosity.
“We’re meeting my guy Mitch up in Okanogan.”
“Okanogan? That’s an hour away!”
He threads his blood-stained fingers through his unruly dark hair. “I’m glad you’re spun up on your Washington state geography. Yes, Sugar, it’s an hour away. Where else do you suggest we dump the body? On First Avenue?”
“Maybe there shouldn’t be one to dump in the first place!” I bite back, unable to help myself. My grip tightens on the wheel, and I mentally curse myself out for letting him rile me up so easily.
As these thoughts go through my head, I can feel Rafe’s gaze on me—his eyes burn like molten gold. Always the subtlest flicker of humor. But with an even greater, darker undertone that strips the air from my lungs.
The deepest part of my belly pits.
Yet I’m drawn to him. Our eyes meet in the reflection of the rearview mirror, and I go breathless. My mind surrenders to impure thoughts. Indecent cravings.
Exhilaration at the reality of what we’re in the middle of.
I can’t stand Rafe Golding. At the same time, I miss his fat dick inside me and feel the spike of adrenaline thinking about the secrets we keep. The deadly deeds we’ve committed together.
I might pretend it doesn’t, but it bonds us in a way that transcends life. No other person living knows what we’ve done except the two of us.
