Читать книгу Shannon McKenna Bundle: Ultimate Weapon, Extreme Danger, Behind Closed Doors, Hot Night, & Return to Me - Shannon McKenna - Страница 14

Tam cupped her tea in both hands and inhaled the steam as she studied his face. She didn’t like to admit it to herself, but it was taking more energy than she’d expected to withstand the gale force of this man’s sex appeal. Not just the language but even the way she talked changed in his presence.

Erin had not been kidding. For some reason, Tam had been expecting a generic, male-model sort of handsomeness. Which was unfair. Erin was married to Connor, after all, and even Tam could appreciate his craggy, fierce good looks. Even at her moodiest.

But still. She was utterly unprepared for…well, him.

Lethal. It was the first word that came to mind, even though it embarrassed her. He was so solid, so hard looking. Dynamic, and yet calm and focused. Nothing soft about him, except for the gloss of that thick brush of black hair. She wanted to touch it, just to see if it really was as soft as mink. Gypsy dark eyes, inky brows and lashes. The planes and angles of his face were starkly masculine, arrogantly sensual, but that smile was pure temptation. She’d considered herself impervious to men’s lures, so why was she marveling at the lines carved into his cheeks when he grinned, or that blinding flash of teeth against his dark skin? Get a fucking grip, Steele. This is unacceptable.

His face looked hard used for a rich business consultant. There were bumps on his slightly crooked nose, a white diagonal scar sliced through one thick, slashing eyebrow, and subtler scars that only a trained eye accustomed to evaluating the effects of cosmetic surgery could catch. And the hands, of course. He’d fought in his life. Fought hard. Won, more often than not, judging from his vibe.

And what a vibe. It blasted out of him, full force. It was out of human range, a frequency that only a fucked-up freakoid with a weird, checkered past like hers could perceive. But so different from the danger waves that had throbbed out of the sicko madmen she’d had the misfortune to get close to before, like Novak, Georg, Drago Stengl. Their vibration had made her recoil.

Not so with Janos. In him, the danger was blended like a cocktail with seductive, predatory male sexual energy that assaulted her at every level. It silently said, beneath the smooth veneer of perfect gentlemanly courtesy, that he wanted to fuck her, left, right, up, down and sideways. And that it would be well worth her while.

She didn’t doubt it. But she wasn’t going to listen, not even with her nerves jangling, her skin prickling, her heart thudding. Back off, boyo. This was business, and that was how it was going to stay.

“You’re not what you try to appear,” she said. “You are charming and flirtatious and inscrutable, Mr. Janos, but tiny details betray you. Your hands should be soft from handling nothing heavier than a pen and a computer mouse, but yours are scarred and callused. And your face. Your nose has been broken. Several times it wasn’t set. You can’t blame the martial arts club. If it happened during sparring, why would a rich, image-conscious businessman neglect to get his nose set? Of course he would not.”

“I did not see the point of—”

“So it happened when you were a boy,” she went on smoothly. “No one set your nose then, either, which implies poverty, neglect, or both. I’m thinking an urban environment, judging from your basic vibe. And those scars on your face, the tiny one above your lip, the one cutting through your eyebrow, the one on your forehead that you almost hide with your hair, it makes me wonder what other scars you hide with the beautiful six-thousand-euro suit you’re wearing. You’ve had laser treatments, dermabrasion, but the ghosts always remain.”

“I’m glad you like the suit,” he said blandly.

“You’re no country boy,” she went on. “But you’re not from Rome. You don’t have the accent of the Roman periphery. Your Italian has a Roman cadence, but to my ear, it is a studied one, not a native one. You grew up somewhere else, speaking something else, and learned your perfect Italian later. And you grew up rough. Very rough.”

He stared back at her, frozen into stillness. His eyes were chips of black, opaque glass. “Go on,” he said.

She set down the teacup, threaded her fingers together, and rode the swirling current deeper into wild speculation. She felt like she was drifting on a boat into a night-dark cave of mysteries, and only the currents of air, the echoes, the flutter of distant bats’ wings could hint at its true vastness. It was dangerous. And…exciting.

She pondered his stark face for a moment, and went on. “You are a ladies’ man, and your charm is practiced. You are accustomed to controlling women with sex, but unlike other men with that ability, your ego doesn’t rest on it—although your looks and your body would entitle you to—”

“Thank you,” he murmured.

“I’m not complimenting you,” she said, her voice impatient. “This is an analysis, Janos. Not flattery. Not flirting.”

“My error,” he said, after a brief, startled pause.

She did not acknowledge his sarcasm. “Sex is a tool for you,” she said. “But when seduction does not achieve its goal, you just change tactics without getting your pride hurt and try again, and again, and again. This suggests a lack of machismo not normal in a man from any culture I know—particularly not one who professes to have grown up in Italy. Italian men aren’t known for their humility, or their self-control. This coolness, this calculation regarding sex is a trait I associate with high-end sex professionals.”

His gaze flickered.

She pounced. “Ah. I’ve hit a sore spot,” she murmured. “Have you ever been a gigolo, Mr. Janos? Do you have a more colorful past than you lead people to believe? Some dirty, dangerous secrets of your own?”

He stared at her. His eyes burned.

“Tell me something, Janos,” she whispered. “Can you make your cock hard on command?”

His mouth was a hard, flat line. “Yes,” he said. “But in your vicinity, no effort is necessary.”

“What a lovely compliment. Should I be gratified?”

“Reach under the table, and take the measure of your future gratification right now,” he said.

“Oh, my.” She pretended to be shocked. “The veneer of the perfect gentleman is cracking.”

“You should not wonder at it since you shattered it yourself with an ice pick. See what lurks beneath the veneer. Go on, feel it. It’s yours for the asking. I do not think you will be disappointed.”

She stared at him, her heart pumping. The game had slipped out of her control and taken on its own life. She realized that she was tempted to do exactly as he invited. To grasp his cock, test his heat, the hardness. Feel the vital energy of him pulsing against her hand.

Currents of silent communication swirled between them, dangerous eddies of challenge. She dragged herself back from the brink.

“No,” she said. “I’m not finished yet.”

“On the contrary, Ms. Steele. You are. The subject is closed.” He rose to his feet. The hard tone of his voice and the coiled tension in his body suggested that he was reaching the end of his self-control.

Good. Exactly where she wanted him. Adrenaline pumped through her. She got up and moved in behind him. “Everything you told me is a lie,” she challenged him. “Capriccio Consulting is a lie, your smooth style, your ego-stroking offers. I can’t see inside you, Janos. All I see are smoke and mirrors. Which makes me think that perhaps there is no one inside at all. Just a gutted, blackened hole. Which means…”

She seized him from behind, pressing the tip of the tiny dagger from the ruby-studded horn necklace against the throbbing pulse point in his throat in one swift lunge. “Who the fuck are you, Janos?” she asked softly. “Who sent you?”

His throat worked. “I will warn you only once,” he forced out. “Release me. Now.”

“I’m warning you, too,” she said. “This blade is coated with a poison that works with incredible speed. If the dagger breaks the skin, within seconds your convulsions will be so violent, they will probably snap your spine.”

His larynx moved beneath the blade. “Cut me then.”

That was so unexpected her brain wouldn’t process it for a second.

“Go on,” he prompted. “Why should I fear death? I am a gutted, empty hole, no? Death holds no terrors for me. So cut me.”

She opened her mouth, not sure of what she was going to say, and in that moment of hesitation and doubt—

Holy…shit. The dagger flew, bounced. She was spun and flipped. Pain flashed white hot through her body, and oof, her breath was knocked out and her head hit the floor, painfully hard.

She was flat on her back, staring up at the bottom of the table, at the carved leg of his overturned chair, seeing stars.

Janos pinned her, blocking every point of leverage. Her arms were stretched high, both wrists clamped in the manacle of one of his enormous hands. His steely forearm pressed her chin up and put intense pressure on her windpipe.

How…? God, he was fast! No one had gotten the better of her like that in years, not since she’d learned to fight like a hellion. She fought the panic, the fury. “What happened to your death wish, you lying snake bastard?”

His face was inches from hers, a taut mask of fury. “I reconsidered it. I do not like a poisoned blade at my throat.”

His forearm lifted, enough to let a stream of air rush through her bruised throat. It rasped, making her cough. Their eyes were locked.

“Let me go,” she coughed out, without much hope. “Get off me.”

“Ten seconds ago you were about to kill me. Why should I?” he asked. “Do I look that stupid?”

She coughed again. “Who are you?”

“You are in no position to ask the questions. Enough about me. Let’s talk about you. Turnabout is fair play, no?”

Panic swelled inside her. Spots danced before her eyes. Being pinned reminded her of…no. She would not think of it.

She struggled harder. “Let…me…go!”

“No.” He countered every move, keeping her flat to the floor. “Where to begin? I am a more ordinary man than you gave me credit for being, so I will start from the obvious place. Your beauty.”

“Oh, shut up. I’m not interested in your bullshit—”

“Too bad. You are afraid of your beauty?”

She snorted. “Wrong.”

He ignored her. “You are too afraid to destroy it, in case you might need it. Too vain to hide it completely. But you are afraid to use it as you could if you wished. Look at you, all in black, every inch covered. Hair dragged back, face bare of cosmetics. You hate men. You love to confuse them, attack them. Punish them for treating you like a thing—”

She convulsed. “Let go of me, you twisted son of a bitch!”

He bore down, squashing her to breathless immobility. “You knock everyone who gets near you off balance,” he went on. “It is the only way you feel steady yourself. You are always braced for a blow, always angry, always afraid. You are too thin, with purple shadows under your eyes. You sleep badly, eat little. You weep secretly in the darkest part of the night.”

She stopped moving, chilled to her bones at his supernaturally good guesses. “Shut up,” she whispered. “Just…stop, Janos.”

He moved in smoothly for the kill. “Your jewelry says so much, I am amazed that you dare to make it. Sensuality clashing with violence, beauty clashing with paranoia. The contradiction is like a bleeding wound. For you are wounded, no? Mortally wounded, maybe. But you are taking your own sweet time to die, hmm?”

No. She mouthed the word. There was no breath behind it.

“Even the name you’ve chosen reflects this longing for hardness. You wish you were forged from steel, no? The only thing that gives you pleasure is working with metal. Sharp blades, needles, drugs and poisons. Secrets to armor you. You dream of invulnerability, but it is just that…a dream. You are curled around unhealed wounds.”

Her throat ground against the crushing pressure of his arm as she turned her head away. “No,” she croaked. “It’s not true. It’s not me. None of it. You asshole.”

His eyes narrowed. “You hide behind the child.” His voice took on a tone of discovery. “You need the child. What other reason do you have to keep living? Why else wake up in the morning, put food in your mouth? You need her to claw your way from one day to the next. No?”

“Leave her out of this.” Tam squeezed her eyes shut. With her hands confined, she couldn’t cover even her shaking mouth, her leaking eyes.

Nor could she reach the panic button strapped to her thigh, the one that would summon Nick and Davy, guns drawn. They had begged and urged and lectured her to mike the room so they could monitor the conversation, but know-it-all bitch that she was, she hadn’t wanted their noses that deep in her business.

“Poor little girl,” he murmured. “Too innocent to understand how she is being used. And still, in the middle of the night, you are terrified at what you have done to yourself. The vulnerability, the work, the time, the noise. The awful responsibility. Do you wonder if survival is even worth it? If death would be less frightening? Less effort?”

Her body shook in his hard grasp. “Fuck you,” she whispered.

“I would,” he said. “Right here, on the floor, until you whimper with delight. You like strength. You crave it, as much as you fear it. And I am strong enough for you. I would put it all at your service. Everything you fear, everything you hate, everything you fight so hard against dedicated to your pleasure.”

Her eyes popped open at that absurdity. “Oh, please. What a pile of melodramatic shit.”

“I could force you,” he said. “Part of me wants to. But you are so fragile. You would close up completely, and I would find myself fucking a beautiful doll.”

She laughed. “That’s enough for most men,” she muttered. “They never know the difference.”

He stared into her eyes. “I know the difference.”

She felt too weak to lift her ribcage beneath the weight of his body. But that was all right. She didn’t really want to breathe. Her chest felt too unstable. Pulling air in could ignite it like dry tinder, make it burst into flames. Her brain kept trying to form responses to what he said, but they didn’t make it as far as her shaking mouth. She could make no sound without air anyway. She was muddled, flushed with a strange, hot power that pumped up from some mysterious hidden spring inside her. Speeding her heart. Her skin felt weirdly sensitive. Hairs prickling up.

Almost as if she was…oh, dear God. Why, that sneaky bastard. How dare he. As if she had no clue, no defenses. He’d gotten so deep in her mind, fucking with her head, making her…

Hot. She shifted. He anticipated the movement, canting his hips so the whole hard, hot length of his cock was cradled in the cleft between her legs. His hips swiveled, a slow, rocking, grinding push.

She gasped. She was turned on. Out of nowhere, and like never before. She’d thought it was all burned out of her, after Novak.

But no. She was on fire. Hot and soft and shivering. He’d made her…wet. He was a sorcerer, a shaman.

His face was a mask of concentration. “You feel it,” he said.

She did. There was no point in lying. It took her a moment to reply. “And? So?” Her tone was ragged, wobbly. “What of it, Janos? Happy with yourself now? Get off me. Go carve another notch on your gigolo belt. What the fuck do I care?”

“Not yet,” he said. “I aim higher. I want a bigger prize before I carve my notch. Feel how good it would be.” He stretched her trapped arms higher. Swiveled his hips, and pleasure throbbed through her, from groin to nipples, flushing her face, making her thighs clench, her knees contract, her toes curl.

This had to stop. “Good for you, maybe,” she shot back.

“I know,” he murmured. “You would never let me please you the way I know that I could. You would never open yourself so wide, let down your guard so much. You have not been fortunate in your lovers?”

Hah. What a joke. Novak flashed through her mind, Georg, Stengl. “You think you could please me?” Her voice shook. “Men always think they have the answer to women’s prayers bouncing between their legs. It makes them pathetically easy to control.”

His smile faded. “You’re afraid. You have been abused? By who?”

“Fuck off, Janos.” She renewed her struggles, but with a deft shift of his weight, he immobilized her again.

“It is a terrible crime to hurt a woman in this way,” he said.

The gentleness of his voice both infuriated and embarrassed her. Condescending son of a bitch. How dare he feel sorry for her. “Do not presume to understand me, you prick,” she hissed.

His face was somber. “Ah, yes. I see. Compassion. The biggest insult of all.”

“Compassion, my ass. You’re a cold fish, Janos. You’re just jerking me around at random until you find out what strings and buttons make me jump. I’m bored with the game.”

“I don’t believe you’re bored.” His low voice rumbled, caressing her. “Your body is hot and soft. It vibrates under me. Your face is pink, your lips are red. Your eyes are lit up, shining. You’re having fun.”

Laughter jerked out of her, the words were so incongruous. “Fun?” she squeaked. “You call this fun? Having a muscle-bound lout throw me on the floor, sit on me, and fuck with my mind?”

“Since you have not invited me to fuck with any other part,” he said philosophically. “And yes. It is fun, for a complicated woman like you. How long has it been since anyone challenged you? Since someone gave you anything real to push against? You have to play hard to find your pleasure, no? How long since someone brought you to orgasm?”

Years. She shut her eyes, as he rocked against her. She shuddered with the hunger, and the snarled, painful memories and shame that came with it. “Stop,” she said. “I don’t want it.”

“You are lying,” he said. “You are so close. Fight me. Throw me off. You’re strong. The strongest woman I have ever known. Try harder.”

“Arrogant dickhead.” She writhed desperately, and before she knew it, he was kissing her, his lips dragging over hers. He tasted good, so smooth and hot and fragrant. So strong and sensual, his muscular body hard and unyielding. She wanted to flip him over onto his back and devour him. But he was too big, too heavy. She couldn’t control him. It was driving her mad, the helplessness, the heat.

She struggled. Every desperate jerk, he answered with his hips, his tongue. He murmured low, sexy words of encouragement, nudging her closer to…no, her shattered nerves weren’t up for this kind of voltage, she was going to explode, disappear, die…no…yes.

Yes. The wave broke, crashing through her. The fear, the fury, all blended with a pulsing pleasure so sweet and hot and deliciously endless, widening out to a shimmering glow…

The crash of a door being slapped open broke through her floating languor. Janos went tense with readiness on top of her.

“Holy freaking shit. What the—Jesus, Tam!”

Tam turned her head. Davy and Nick stared down at her, mouths agape, guns pointed at Janos. Janos looked at her, and silently raised his eyebrow. He did not let go of her hands.

Tam licked her lips. “Ah…um,” she said, inanely.

Davy slowly lifted his gun. “Help me out here, Tam,” he said carefully. “You hit the panic button, right? So what’s the deal?”

Panic button? Oh. Yes. The button. Tam’s gaze dropped to her thigh where the band with the panic button was strapped. In the throes of heaving on the floor with her legs clamped around Janos’s thighs, the button had tripped itself. Against the floor most likely. Very funny.

It took effort, under Janos’s weight, to suck in enough breath to speak. “M-must have gotten pushed by accident. Sorry for the adrenaline rush, boys. Thanks for the speedy response. Nice to know you care.”

“So, uh, I assume then that everything’s cool then?” Davy’s voice was wary. “We can, er…leave you to it?”

She smiled coolly. “Yes, gentlemen. Thank you for your concern, but I have the matter completely in hand.”

Davy’s eyes flicked to her wrists, still clamped in Janos’s unwavering grip, and cleared his throat. He was trying not to grin without much success. “Yeah. We’ll just disappear. Right? Bye.”

He slunk out the door, but Nick lingered, a huge, shit-eating grin on his face. “Man, I take my hat off to you,” he said to Janos. “You must have monster cojones to tangle with this hellcat. I suggest you watch out for ’em.”

“Oh, but I will,” Janos said.

“Piss off, Nick,” Tam snapped.

Nick ducked out the door, still chortling. The door swung shut.

Tam forced herself to meet Janos’s gaze, and realized, with intense discomfort, that she could think of nothing to say. That earthshaking orgasm had wiped her brain clean.

“A panic button?” He smiled. “No microphones? I’m glad to know that our conversation was private, at least.”

“You can let go of my hands.” She felt, oh God, almost shy.

“You’re wearing sixteen different kinds of death draped over your body,” he pointed out.

“I won’t cut, spray, scratch, or stick you with any of them,” she said. “At least, not without fresh provocation.”

He gave her a cautious smile. “How do I know you’ll keep your word?”

“You don’t,” she said. “You have to risk it. Didn’t you just strip me bare, read my mind, make me come? Don’t you trust your instincts?”

He grunted. “No. I do not trust anything. But I will trust you, Tamara…this once. Just because I want to. No other reason.”

Tears stung her. Ridiculous. She was going soft. This was probably just a deeper level of his clever games, but if so, it was subtler than she was. “That’s dangerous,” she whispered.

“I know.” His words sounded heartfelt. He let go the steely grip he had on her wrists and rolled off her body.

Tam rubbed her sore wrists as she sat up. Heat lingered in her face and glowed in her body. She felt so light, without him on top of her. Like she might float away. A silly, frivolous girl. Insubstantial.

And vulnerable. She hated feeling vulnerable.

He got to his feet. She hastened to follow. No way was she staying crumpled on the floor, huddled in his shadow.

She stumbled, and Janos caught her instantly. His move was so slick, so graceful, it felt inevitable that she should end up in his arms, kissing him again. His lips were so pleading and soft and hot, his body throbbing magnetic male energy at her, through her.

Panic cramped the sweet swell of longing, and she fought free of the kiss. “No,” she said breathlessly. “Don’t push your luck.”

“My luck?” He grinned, and she was dazzled by the devastating white teeth, the deep dimples. “The luck was yours, bella. I want to push your luck. As far as it will go, and I think it can go very far.”

She pushed at his chest. “No. Stop,” she said shakily. “Enough.”

“Let me.” He sank to his knees, sliding his hands under the loose black silk of her blouse. “Let me please you. For hours.”

She shuddered as the warm, rough rasp of his calluses scraped over the sensitive skin of her belly, and pushed at his face, feeling the strong bones, the hot velvety skin of him. “You are not going to get lucky tonight, you oversexed son of a bitch, so back off!”

He rose gracefully to his feet, looking resigned.

“Tell me your real name, who sent you, and what the hell you want from me,” she demanded. “That’s all I ever wanted from this meeting. I’m not leaving until I get it. And neither are you.”

All the playfulness went out in his face. The energy of the room changed. It felt colder. Darker.

Oh, no. Oh, shit. Whatever it was that he had to tell her, it was something she would not enjoy hearing, she realized with a sickening flash of insight. Her belly began to hurt.

He tried to smile, but the effort was hollow. “Promise me you won’t kill me,” he said.

She did not smile back. “I make no promises.”

He stared down at the remainder of their meal. “I don’t have any name other than Val Janos to give you,” he said. “The name I was born with means nothing to anyone, so you might as well stick with Janos. It’s one of several identities that I use. In my work.”

She swallowed and braced herself. “Fine, then,” she said tightly. We’ll stick with Janos. What work? Who sent you, Janos?”

His Adam’s apple moved, as if he were trying to speak, but couldn’t bring himself to get the words out. Her neck prickled, her skin crept. Suspicion hardened into cold, blunt certainty. She knew.

The two people who had most cause to actively search for her were Daddy Novak and Georg Luksch. Novak wanted her dead. Georg wanted her, period. This man was not here to assassinate her, of that much she was sure. Which meant…

“Georg,” she whispered.

His face did not change, his eyes did not drop. And he did not contradict her. The stony coldness spread.

“I am an operative for PSS,” he said. “Prime Security Solutions. It is a—”

“A private army for hire. Yes, I am familiar with PSS,” she said, tonelessly. “So Georg hired you? How did you find me?”

It took him a long time to reply. “The McClouds,” he finally said. “I planted cameras outside their homes weeks ago. One day you showed up at Connor McCloud’s house. I got there in time to put a GPS locator on your SUV. It was a stroke of luck.”

She put her hand over her eyes. “I can’t believe this.” She wanted to shoot herself for being so sloppy. Putting everyone in danger, especially Rachel. She’d just wanted so badly for Rachel to have a semi-normal life. She might have known that it wouldn’t be possible. Not with Tam Steele and her reality-warping force field anywhere nearby. Forget normality. Forget anything clean or healthy. Just give up the effort.

“It took a while,” he offered, almost if he were trying to console her for fucking up. “If it weren’t for the McClouds—”

“Shut up. Just shut up,” she said through clenched teeth, and another unpleasant thought jolted her. “Hey. What about Erin?” she demanded. “You involved Erin. Stay away from my friends, understand? If you mess with my friends, I will cut you into bloody little pieces.”

“I will not bother Erin, or any of your other friends,” he soothed.

A worse thought occurred to her, with a wrench of stomach-turning fear. “Rachel,” she whispered. “Oh, no. I’ll kill you. I’ll gut you, put out your eyes, break every bone if you’ve done anything to my—”

“No, no,” he said hastily. “I have not touched her. And I will not. Though those were my original orders. To use her as a bargaining chip.”

“Oh yes? We’re not bargaining, Janos. Whatever Georg wants from me, the answer is fuck you very much, but no. I don’t want to see you ever again, you scumbag pimp. Get lost.”

She slapped the door open and confronted a stupefied Davy and Nick. “Escort this lying piece of walking shit off the premises,” she ordered them, her voice shaking. “If you ever see him again, kill him.”

She stormed out of the room, eyes full of furious tears. She despised herself for wanting him. When all he intended was to pass her over to Georg, that slobbering pervert.

After sampling the goods himself first, of course. Why ever not?

If there was one thing she hated more than anything else in the world, it was feeling stupid.