Ashleigh sat huddled in the corner of the Mercedes, pressed up as close against the window. It was as far away as she could get from her companion. She was silent and beginning to wish she had never followed Alec into the car. The streets rushed by, the lights began to fade as they left the outskirts of the city.
The blacked out windows of the Mercedes raised no comment from those it passed, they were still a common sight after the communism of recent years. A screen divided the rear from the driver, it was as if Ashleigh was alone, alone with Alec.
Alone. The thought repeated itself as the engine purred. Alone with Alec. In the past forty-eight hours how many times had this man flickered into her consciousness? Once? Twice? More than that? She had definitely enjoyed herself in his bed, despite the horrible guilt she had suffered since, but as one of her friends advised her, good sex didn't equal love. Just because you were compatible in the bedroom, didn't mean that you had to fall in love straight away.
She had to stop thinking like that immediately. This was business. She glanced up at the piercingly bright stars, and prayed that James and Dmitrov were alright.
Quickly she risked a glance in his direction. He had a strong profile, the dim light of the moon making hair as bright as silver, his expression was grim as he stared ahead, refusing to look at her or acknowledge her. The tension burned between them. His scars were not visible from here, instead she saw the grooves beginning to dent his skin at the corner of his eyes, the side of his mouth, it was as if he had been carved from stone. His hair was shorter than the pictures she had seen of him at MI6, and it helped to make him look younger. She was still attracted to him, and again the confusion swam around her, making her dizzy, desire combined with hate. Hadn't someone once said there was a fine line between the two? She couldn't remember whom.
The silence was suffocating her.
'I don't know why I got in this car. I can't trust you,' she was trying not to panic.
It was as if he had only just noticed she was there. Leaning over he fingered the heavy silver pendant around her neck. 'I'm not asking you to trust me.'
She thought she saw a flicker in his eyes that could have been desire as his fingers brushed the soft skin of her throat. Her baser urges wanted to slide across the seat into his arms, instead she moved away from his touch and stared out of the window.
'Why didn't you try to stop me? Why did you let me come with you?' She hated her pathetic self for having to ask.
'I'm not in the habit of leaving unarmed young women to face their deaths.'
'My death?'
'Either at the hands of Deronda's men, or from the cold. Delightful as that dress is, its not suitable for the cold of the Russian night.'
Oh he could be smooth when he wanted to be, like James could, turning on the charm effortlessly, and now she felt his eyes scan over her, or at least she thought she did. Colouring, she pulled the small pistol from her bag. 'Hardly unarmed.'
He took it from her, examining it, testing the weight in his hands, the eye line along the barrel. 'Oh yes, this,' he scoffed, 'You'd have died before you had even managed to get the safety off. Whoever was in there knew what they were doing.'
'You could have left me there.'
'I could have.' He seemed to be thinking her words over, 'But I didn't.'
'This isn't right,' she murmured.
He shrugged and resumed staring out of the window.
'James wasn't best pleased to discover that you were alive. He would far rather you were still dead. I should want you dead. Surely my first duty to my country should be to kill you...' she was thinking aloud, her thoughts rambling softly.
