Читать книгу Shannon McKenna Bundle: Ultimate Weapon, Extreme Danger, Behind Closed Doors, Hot Night, & Return to Me - Shannon McKenna - Страница 19

Val fed data into the matrix as he smiled, shook hands, chatted politely. The husband of Erin glowered at him, just as Tam had foreseen, but did not oust him from the table, at least not yet. The other men all regarded him with the barely concealed suspicion he would expect of a group of seasoned security professionals. The women tried without success to hide their curiosity. Tam gazed off into space, her jaw tense. She looked deathly pale beneath her skillfully applied makeup.

She gave him an unfriendly look when he poured her another glass of wine. “Relax,” he murmured.

“Sure,” she whispered back. “When you stop fucking with my life. And speaking of fucking with lives, have you called the cops off Rosalia’s boys yet?”

He was nonplussed. “Ah…”

“Do it. This very second. Or else I will announce, in a loud voice, exactly who you are and what you want to this whole table. The aftermath won’t be pretty, I promise you that.”

“Sì, sì. One moment.” He pulled out his Palm Pilot, tapped in a quick SMS, and smiled at her. “Done. To confirm my good intentions.”

“In a pig’s eye.” She frowned, unconvinced. “Just like that?”

“Give it twenty minutes,” he advised. “Let it trickle down.”

“Not one second more,” she warned.

He sipped his wine, let his eyes smile at her from over the rim of the glass. She muttered something rude and tore her gaze away.

The younger of the bridesmaids came by, leaning over to kiss Tam and murmur to her in a language that Val was startled to realize was Ukrainian. He’d learned it by necessity in his youth, since a great deal of Novak’s business had been connected to the Ukraine.

“Sveti! Sveti!” Rachel crowed with delight, forgetting all about him, and held up her arms, launching herself into midair.

The girl caught her and hugged her, murmuring endearments and covering Rachel’s face with kisses.

“You’re from Ukraina?” he asked in that language. “Rachel, too?”

She gave him a shy smile that struck him as very sad. “Rachel and I were cellmates in prison,” was her unexpected reply. She swung the child onto her hip. “Can I take her over to play with the other kids?” she asked Tamara, in heavily accented English.

“Fine,” Tamara said. “Bring her back when they start serving something you think she might eat or whenever you want a break. Thanks, Sveti. You’re an angel.”

Sveti walked away, her head bent over the toddler’s to listen to the child’s excited babble.

He gave Tam a questioning look. “Cellmates?”

She shrugged. “Just like she told you. They were locked up by organ pirates for months in a stinking basement room. Sveti’s the closest thing Rachel has to real family after that. I fly her over to visit as often as she can come. Excuse me. Since Sveti is watching Rachel, I’ll take this opportunity to run to the ladies’ room.”

Val followed her with his eyes until she vanished. He disliked taking his eyes off her, but Rachel was still visible from here, and he was sure that she would not run without the child.

He turned back to the people at the table. “Organ pirates?” he asked the table at large.

“You mean she hasn’t told you how she got Rachel?” asked the sultry redheaded beauty who sat next to Davy McCloud, wide-eyed. “It’s an incredible story.”

He shook his head. The women tripped over themselves to tell him the tale of the rescue of the orphans. Steele’s rush into the jaws of death dressed only in silver spandex. How she had pretended to be a stripper who had lost her way to a bachelor party to create a diversion while the rest of the team sneaked into the compound. How she had neutralized four guards by herself before they could sound the alarm, making it possible for Nick and the rest to charge in and stop the villains just as they were about to cut Sveti’s heart out.

He knew the story, but listening to these women tell it gave him a whole new level of information. These people admired Steele. They liked her too. Even trusted her—in a careful way.

“Impressive,” he murmured.

“Yeah, that she is,” said a blond man who Val’s surveillance had pegged as Sean McCloud. “Tam’s special. Not to be messed with.”

Val acknowledged the blunt warning with a nod. “I would not dream of it,” he said blandly. “Particularly not when she is surrounded by such a fierce band of loyal friends.”

There was a tense silence. The people at the table exchanged significant glances. Val smiled at them and sipped his wine.

“Mr. Janos is interested in marketing Deadly Beauty in Europe,” Erin explained, effectively breaking it.

That touched off a far less emotionally charged conversation that Val could handle smoothly with a tenth of his brain while the rest of it occupied itself with frantic planning.

As soon as the conversation shifted away from him, he excused himself and left the ballroom. He had to find a place to stage the scene that would take place this evening. The minicam was taped discreetly under his arm. It had to happen now, or else Imre would be…

No. He could not think of Imre at all. He had to be suave, relaxed. Not desperate. That woman would smell desperation from miles away.

He had to hide it under a layer of impenetrable charm. And still, the word pulsed in his head, like a strobe light. Now, now, now.

A long corridor of dimly lit administrative offices was a likely possibility. He strode down the hall, trying all the doors. One of them was open, a utilitarian staff kitchen. Sink, coffeemaker, microwave, cupboard, and small refrigerator for storing staff lunches.

This was it. His only option, he decided, lacking in atmosphere though it was. There was no time to look for someplace better.

A dismantled drip coffeemaker on top of the refrigerator gave him an idea. He stuck the vidcam into the glass pot, and added handfuls of miscellaneous objects from the drawers to hide it: sugar packets and Sweet’n Low, tea bags. He directed the lens so its field of vision was unobscured. He’d programmed it to be light-activated.

God help him. Imre’s only hope, at the mercy of a tense, nervous, frightened woman’s whim. What bizarre conditions under which to seduce the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. A blues tune began to play, pulsing from afar. The dancing had begun. That might help.

He ran into her outside the bathrooms on his way back. She looked pale. “Are you well?” he asked.

“Great. Perfectly wonderful, thanks to you.”

“Let’s dance.” He slid his arm around her waist as they went into the ballroom and swung her around into his arms.

She went rigid. “Let go of me, you tricky son of a bitch,” she said, through a smiling grimace. “Or I’ll open your jugular with my hairpin.”

“Do not be that way,” he wheedled. “We were doing so well. You do not want to upset all your friends, do you? Look at them, so happy for you, thinking that you are finally enjoying yourself. About time, no?”

She harrumphed, stiff as a wooden plank, shoving against his chest to put more space between them. “Little do they know.”

He jerked her closer as she stumbled. “Relax, for God’s sake.”

“Like it’s so easy,” she muttered. “As if I ever knew how. I don’t like being watched, gawked at or speculated about.”

Val glanced around. Several of the dancing couples were casting furtive, sidelong glances at them. “Your friends told me the tale of the grand rescue from the organ pirates,” he said. “They evidently think that you are a superwoman.”

“Hmmph.” She rolled her eyes. “They like to dramatize.”

“Strange how they trust you,” he said. “Especially the women.”

She looked offended. “Why would that strike you as strange?”

“Because of their men,” he said. “Women tend to be suspicious of other women who are as beautiful as you. It is a brutal fact of nature. You are an inherent threat to them.”

She grunted. “Bullshit. Besides, they’re all beautiful women themselves. Not one of them has any reason to worry.”

“No?” He yanked her into a possessive clinch. “You mean to say you have never taken any of the men in this room as your lover?”

She went motionless, mouth open. “Who, me? If any of those guys cheated on their wives, I would personally remove their testicles.”

He was taken aback. “That is vehement,” he commented.

“Those men are well taken care of,” she went on heatedly. “They have nothing to complain about. And if they did, they wouldn’t dream of messing with me. I’ve put the fear of God into every last one of them.”

He willed her to relax against the heat of his body. “Such high standards to hold them to,” he teased. “After all, they are only men.”

“They can damn well live up to those standards. They have quality women who trust them more than any man deserves to be trusted. If they ever, for one second, demonstrate any lack of appreciation for their good fortune, I will be there standing by. Garden shears in hand.”

He cleared his throat, trying not to smile. “They all seem…er, more or less intact. I take it that so far they have behaved well?”

She nodded. “Pussywhipped to the last man,” she said, with cool satisfaction. “And now kids are coming right and left. I doubt they have the energy to misbehave at this point. Not that it stops most men. Ass-sniffing, leg-humping dogs on the furniture that they are.”

He let that caustic attack upon his sex pass without comment, and spun her into a deep, sensual dip. “That reveals so much,” he said.

She almost tripped over his foot as he tugged her back up again. “Reveals what? What are you talking about?”

He grinned. “You are secretly a romantic.”

That startled a burst of laughter out of her. “Me? Hah!”

“You.” He put his mouth to her ear. “Your need for your friends to stay faithful to each other as living proof that true love is possible,” he whispered. “Because you keep hoping that it is, no? Even though you are sure in the depths of your heart that it is not, you continue to hope that you might be wrong. It is another one of those bleeding contradictions. You are full of them, Tamara Steele.”

“I…do not…” She squinted at him. “That’s such crap. Let’s not start the armchair psychology game again. And don’t even try to pin a softer side onto me. It won’t stick.”

“Say what you like. I draw my own conclusions.”

“Whatever,” she growled. “The truth is still the truth. I’m going to check on Rachel, so get your big groping paws the hell off me.”

She wrenched out of his arms, and stalked toward the corner where Sveti entertained Rachel, heels clicking smartly over the gleaming ballroom floor. Fury radiated from her tense, slender figure.

Their dining table was momentarily deserted, all of the other couples either dancing or dealing with their children. The chance he had been waiting for. He strolled back to the table, pulled out his cell, and feigned texting a message while he detached the quarter tablet of tasteless, odorless R-55-Triplex he’d taped inside his pocket.

He let it plop into Steele’s wineglass as he reached for his own.

Done. He took a deep swallow, tempted to eat the other three-quarters of the tablet himself, just for a break from this unbearable tension. But he could not. The image of his mother on the bathroom floor was etched indelibly in his mind. Drugs could never be a refuge for him. Nor would he dare risk losing his edge, tonight of all nights.

A quarter dose was the smallest effective dose he could give her in solid form. He’d reasoned that he would have no good opportunity to administer drops unobserved in public. R-55-Triplex was formulated by PSS’s lab techs for situations just like this. In larger doses, it had been favorably compared to Ecstasy—just more subtle, with no hangover, headache or thirst. A quarter dose should render her euphoric, mellow, more receptive sexually. Alcohol intensified the effect, food reduced it. But she ate so little. If he could get some more wine into her…if she didn’t realize that she’d been altered…maybe.

He took another swallow of wine and smiled and nodded as Davy and Margot McCloud swayed by, entwined. Davy’s eyes lingered on him thoughtfully, and then something his wife said drew his attention back to her. Davy smiled and kissed her. The kiss caught fire, right on the dance floor. When they surfaced, the redhead was flushed, heavy-eyed.

Touching, he thought glumly. How nice for them. Sex with no problems, no lies, no betrayal. How pleasant.

He had tried, for a time, to find weak spots to exploit in the McClouds in the process of reseaching various ways to manipulate Steele. But when it came to McClouds, there were no weak spots, no fault lines. Nothing to exploit. The entire clan was rigidly upright in their business dealings. It was evidently a family trait. Their bank accounts, stock portfolios, and tax returns baffled him. That kind of honesty and transparency in Italy would run a business into the ground in minutes. But to all appearances, they seemed prosperous. A mystery.

He had lost sight of Steele. Panic yawned wide in his belly. He searched the crowd anxiously for that bronze fabric, the flash of her pale face and arms, the gleam of coiled mahogany hair.

Only when he spotted her could he breathe again.

Tam reached across the table and ran her hand through the soft red ringlets of little Jeannie, Davy and Margot’s baby daughter, thinking how pretty the baby was with those huge slate-blue eyes, that crazy open-mouthed grin, the four little pearls of teeth popping out, two above and two below, from her pink gums.

Margot’s mouth fell open. Tam barely stopped herself from giggling at the other woman’s expression. True, she was feeling oddly mellow—for her. She’d downed quite a bit of chianti on an empty stomach, but it was finally relaxing her, thank God. She’d felt like she was made of steel cables strained to the snapping point. Tension that severe had to find some release. It was a physical law, like gravity. If you didn’t respect it, bad things happened.

Finally, that headache was backing off, and she could appreciate how nice the McCloud Crowd looked in their wedding finery. Easy on the eyes, as Nick was fond of saying. She leaned her chin on her clasped fingers, appreciating the tender way that Seth was cupping Raine’s pregnant belly, whispering something into her ear that made her blush.

Sweet. And it was. Really. She wasn’t even being snide. She smiled her approval. Seth caught it and did a startled double take.

Maybe Janos was right about her being a secret romantic.

“I did a background check on Janos,” Davy said to her quietly.

Duh, so did I, moron, as soon as I learned of his existence. For some odd reason she refrained from saying it out loud. “And?” she asked graciously.

“He looks good,” Davy said heavily. “In fact, he looks too good. Way too good for my tastes.”

Tam swiveled to look at the man in question. He was waiting in line at the crowded buffet where he’d gone to fill her plate. She observed his broad shoulders, the elegant shape of his head, the fine cut of his jacket, the excellent shape of his ass.

“Doesn’t he, though?” she said. “Mouthwatering.”

Margot choked on a burst of laughter. Davy’s puzzlement turned to visible alarm. “Are you feeling OK, Tam?”

“I’m fine,” she said airily. “Maybe just a tiny little bit drunk.”

“You, uh, want to go lie down, or something?”

She was touched by his concern, silly though it was. “No.”

She turned away and caught Erin’s eye. Erin was discreetly nursing her son under her scarf. For the first time, the sensual intimacy of the madonna-and-child routine did not grate upon Tam’s nerves.

“Sveti told me you flew her out for the wedding,” Erin said.

Tam nodded. “Maybe she’ll come and do a year of American high school, if she can persuade her mother to agree. She’ll stay with us.”

“I’d have a hard time with that if I were her mom,” Erin said fervently. “I’d keep that girl handcuffed to a radiator.”

The women contemplated the nightmare Sveti’s mother had gone through last year, after her daughter’s abduction at Zhoglo’s hands and her husband’s murder. Months of agonizing uncertainty.

“Speaking of motherhood,” Tam said. “I…I have a favor to ask.”

Erin’s eyes widened. “Ask away.”

“It’s about Rachel.” Tam dragged in some air, and forced herself to push on. “If anything happened to me—would you and Connor—”

“Yes,” Erin broke in. “God, yes. You don’t even have to ask.”

Relief she hadn’t expected to feel made Tam sag in her chair.

“There’s money for her in my will, but I don’t have custody yet,” she admitted. “The adoption hasn’t gone through. There are some problems. If anything should happen to me before I fix them, you’d have to fight for her.”

“We would fight for her,” Erin said. “Count on it.”

The steel in Erin’s voice comforted Tam. Tears prickled in her eyes. “Thanks,” she said thickly. “That’s, ah, good, then.”

Janos appeared at her elbow, and placed a plate with several appetizing dabs of food before her. He poured her another glass of wine, flashed her a devastating smile. Amazing. The grooves that flanked his mouth carving into the hollow of his cheek, the shadow of his beard stubble, that fan of eye crinkles…add the glint of danger, the lure of the unknown, his ironclad persistence, and voilà. A marvel of nature.

Novak. Georg. She dutifully reminded herself of her enemies, but the alarm bells in her mind were distant and muffled. True, Valery Janos was a liar, a spy and a killer—but such a gorgeous one.

Everything seemed strangely beautiful tonight. The way the light from the tall white candles on the table glimmered in the curved surfaces of the wine and water glasses pleased her. So did the luscious glow of the silver buckets that held the white wine and the champagne. Mellow golden candlelight sparkled and reflected and refracted, softening everything and everyone she looked upon. What a pleasure to draw air into her lungs and feel her ribcage willingly expand to accommodate them. No iron plates clamping down, no need to struggle for air, to fight her way out of a cage of steel. No need to maintain a tight, aching smiling mask on her face.

What a pleasure, just to let herself be happy.

God, she could almost eat. She looked down at the plate and forked up a bite of butterfly pasta with smoked salmon and cream. It felt good in her mouth. She chewed and swallowed, heedless of carbs, saturated fat, calories. What the hell. It was a party, after all. She had some more and washed it down with more wine.

Heat was branded into her cheeks. An alcohol flush, she supposed. She should skip the wine. But she felt so soft, so relaxed. She took a last, farewell swallow. Then another.

“Dance with me?” Janos asked softly.

The reasons why she should not get close to this man scrolled automatically in her head, but she ignored them. She was enjoying this strange, soft glow so intensely. Knowing it couldn’t possibly last made it all the more precious.

She hadn’t felt like this in…well, ever. She’d been too young and innocent before. Back behind that blood-spattered, concrete wall in her mind, crowned with barbed wire, broken glass.

The wall that separated Then from Now.

Tension rose up, clutching at her. Leave it. Don’t go there, even for a second, or you’ll kill this feeling and never get it back.

She took another gulp of wine and pushed her chair back.

Just a dance. He couldn’t do anything nasty to her on a public dance floor. She wanted to move to the music with a big, pretty man to hold onto. None of the other men in this room had the courage to touch her.

Janos wasn’t afraid of her. That was as dangerous as it was irresistible. She gazed at him, weighing the danger, the temptation.

“Let me check Rachel,” she said.

She wafted through the room, Janos padding quietly behind her like some sinuous jungle predator. His enormous presence made her body prickle and tingle, asking a wordless question and waiting breathlessly for his answer—though she knew what it would be.

Men were predictable that way. But for some reason, that fact didn’t annoy the hell out of her tonight.

She found Rachel in a high chair, swathed in multiple brocade napkins, face smeared with red sauce, mouth full of pasta. Sveti was coaxing bites into her, while darting intermittent gazes heavy with longing out onto the dance floor.

Tam leaned down to kiss the little girl. “She ate?”

“Pasta with tomato sauce and cheese, french fries, vegetables, and chicken strips,” Sveti said triumphantly. “And fresh fruit!”

Good. Rachel lifted goopy hands to grab her, and Tam leaned down, heedless of pasta sauce to accept the hug. The fierce, almost angry rush of love she felt for the little girl was no different from the love she always felt—except that tonight, there was no painful cramp of fear and caution inhibiting her. It felt so good to be grabbed by those little arms. She loved the kid so much it hurt. Like a knife going in and twisting. But tonight, the pain was all right. In fact, the pain felt almost good. It was hardly pain at all. It was something else altogether.

But she was too gone to bother analyzing it. She was no expert on tender emotions. They were too new to her.

She caught another longing glance from Sveti as she straightened up, aimed at Josh Cattrell, dancing with the girlfriend du jour. Laughing as he grabbed the girl’s ass. Moron.

She leaned over Sveti, murmured in Ukrainian into the girl’s ear. “He’s not worthy,” she said forcefully. “He’ll be no good to any woman for years yet. You’re ten times more intelligent, beautiful and strong than that heifer he’s groping, and in a few years, you’ll be more. If he’s grown up enough by then to be worth your time, fine. If not, men will be lined up, panting. On their knees. You’ll take your pick of them.”

Sveti tried to smile. On impulse, Tam kissed her cheek and smoothed the girl’s hair off her forehead. Then she backed away, startled by her own emotions.

Janos pulled her gently but insistently onto the dance floor. She relaxed into his arms, letting her head drop back to look up at the garish chandelier in the center of the ceiling. It seemed to spin like a galaxy, a vortex of light. It was delicious to let go, lie back, rely entirely on his strength. She reveled in the sensation, though she knew it was just a passing fantasy. But ah, what a fantasy. Sweet surrender—and way too much wine, no doubt.

It was criminally irresponsible of her to have gotten this tipsy with Rachel to protect after what had happened this morning, but the scolding thought had no sting. She was blissing out on the woodsy, cedary sweetness mixed with salt, rain, moss and summer sunshine that was Val Janos’s intoxicating scent. His shoulders were so broad, his arms so solid and thick. Those hard, sinewy muscles beneath her fingers made her want to explore every cut and dip and curve, every marvelous masculine detail. She wanted to drape herself across him. To stretch and preen, like a lioness on a sun-warmed rock.

She felt so relaxed. The closest she’d ever come to this feeling was after a grueling physical workout and a hot shower. But this was different, better. Magic. She floated in his arms, flushed with heat and color. Like a sunset-tinted cloud.

She wanted more than just a dance. Her body yearned, a sharp hunger she was usually too taut and compressed to let herself feel.

Remember who he is. What he wants. Remember Novak and Georg.

She thought about them deliberately, like pressing on a bruise. A desperate ploy to bring her back to her senses, but it didn’t take. She was in another place, far from that toxic wasteland. Tempted to give in to his silent invitation. To just use him like a big, beautiful sex toy. Why not? What difference would it make?

No. She wanted it too much. Anytime she wanted something this much, she set herself up for a catastrophe. Sex with Janos would be worse than stupid. It would be nothing less than suicidal.

And speaking of suicidal, look at this. They had swayed right out the ballroom door and into the hall outside. She hadn’t even noticed being piloted through the room. She twisted in his arms as he hustled her through the lobby, past the curious stares of other guests.

“Hey!” she whispered fiercely. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Someplace private,” he said. “To finish this.”

She felt inhibited from trying flashy kung fu moves in public, hoping as she was to keep this thing under the radar. “Finish what?”

He shot her a look that made her feel both foolish for playing dumb and angry at his presumption.

“I agreed to dance with you, Janos. Not fuck you,” she said tartly.

“Then we will dance. In private.” He swung her around and into a deserted corridor.

She grabbed his wrist, wrenched it down to torque his tendons into screaming agony and drop him to the ground. He flowed like water through her hands, anticipating her every move, and flipped her effortlessly around. She fetched up hard against the wall.

He held her there with his big body. Her feet dangled off the ground. His lips were close to hers; they almost touched. Every molecule in her body vibrated at the contact, generating a wild energy that lit her up like a torch. And she liked it. Goddamn him.

She wrenched her mind into line. “What is it with you, Janos? Was getting tased not enough for you?”

He grinned. “By no means. I find challenge…electrifying.”

She groaned. “Spare me your razor wit. You’re a slow learner.”

“No.” He nuzzled her ear, his hot breath tickling her. “But I am a good listener. I hear all of the things that you are afraid to say.”

“Nothing is more pathetic than a man who projects his gutter fantasies onto women that he lusts after,” she snapped.

He laughed. “Gutter fantasies? Is that all sex is to you?”

She writhed in his hard grip. Friction just sweetened the pulsing glow at every point of contact to an unbearable pitch.

“I’ll tell you what sex is,” she said shakily. “Sex is just a unit of economic exchange. Or else it’s a dirty power game.”

A small frown creased his brow. “That is all?”

“That is all,” she said. “No one has ever convinced me otherwise.”

His dark eyes were thoughtful. He broke eye contact, and kissed her bare shoulder, his tender lips moving slowly up her shivering neck.

“I am sorry for you,” he said quietly.

She was stung. “Don’t be. I’m fine with it since I learned to stop being the victim. I can outplay anyone at that game.” Except for you, you sneaky bastard.

“I do not doubt it.” He cupped her ass, holding her up as he pressed hot kisses to the skin between her breasts. The caress made her nipples tighten, and he rubbed his face voluptuously against her breasts. “Your looks and your body alone guarantee it.”

She let out a sharp laugh. “Hah. My looks and body were what got me into trouble in the first place.”

She was horrified with herself for saying it. It sounded almost like a whining plea for pity or sympathy. But when he lifted his face, there was no contempt in his eyes. Just a desire that made her breathless.

“Please,” he whispered. “Let me prove you wrong.”

Her feet touched the ground. He slid his hand up over her hips, her belly, his thumbs flicking tenderly over her nipples. Her sensitized body responded, just as she realized that he had released her hands.

She had not even noticed. She’d been too busy shivering and sighing. This was terrible. So far outside her conscious control, it was like going mad. Her reality shaking loose, breaking down.

But she couldn’t give in. She would go down kicking and scratching and shrieking, goddamnit.

She sucked in a breath, gritted her teeth, and fended it off. “Don’t feed me your slick gigolo lines, Janos. They won’t work on me.”

“No?” His hand slid down over her ass, cupping the undercurve with a tender brush of his hand. “Why not?”

“I’m not interested in playing that game with you.”

“Are you not?” His hand slid down, then up beneath her dress, curving around her bare buttock, gripping her. Fingertips circling tenderly. Sliding lower.

She steadied her voice, with conscious effort. “I have nothing to gain from winning it. So why bother?”

He hoisted her effortlessly up so that her crotch straddled his. Letting her feel his length, his hardness, his heat. “You do not convince me.” He swayed back, holding her against the wall, and looked pointedly down at his thigh. His jeans had a gleaming wet spot.

Her face flamed. This feeling was for the man, not for her. Helpless, desperate, flopping like a fish on a hook, ripe for whatever agenda he might have. She shook her head, but she couldn’t stop clenching her thighs around him. Shivers rippled down her legs.

“You want to see how a professional liar and scam artist fakes an orgasm, Janos?” she asked. “While we’re at it, I’ve always wondered how male professionals manage that trick. The technical aspects of it baffle me. Am I about to find out? Shall we trade professional secrets?”

His arms tightened around her. His hand slid up, his fingertip gliding tenderly down the cleft of her buttocks until it found her tight folds, hot and slick and yielding. He stroked her, penetrating her.

To his credit, he did not laugh at her to find her so hot and soft and drenched. His smile was oddly gentle. “Va bene,” he whispered, his lips brushing hers. “Pretend all you like, bella. And I will do the same. Pretend to the best of your ability.”

She jerked away from his kiss. “Don’t you dare make fun of me.”

“Never.” He cupped her head and kissed her again, almost angrily. His mouth coaxed hers open just as his finger slid deeper, stroking the whole length of her cunt and then delving deep.

She came instantly, almost painfully, convulsing around his hand. Sobs choked out of her with each deep, wrenching spasm.

He waited, immobile. Listening, feeling. Stroking at her lips tenderly with his own, then a delicate, careful touch of his tongue, the brush of her nipples against his chest, the tip of his tongue sliding into her mouth. No hurry, no fear. Complete mastery. She tried to breathe, tried to speak. There was nothing to say. He had bested her.

His lips caressed her cheekbone, kissing her eyelids, her brow. “The most realistic faked orgasm I ever felt,” he whispered. “A tip, bella. A faked orgasm is more realistic if you make me work for it. At least a little bit, no? Wait longer next time. I did not even touch your clit.”

She licked her dry, trembling lips. “Fuck you.” She mouthed the words, but was too breathless to voice them.

A brief smile illuminated his face. “That is what I intend to do,” he said. “But first, another fake orgasm. This time, try to wait, no? I will help you.”

She twisted against him in protest, only succeeding in lodging his fingers deeper inside her slick channel. She squeezed her thighs around his big hand as he stroked and swirled, following all her nerve pathways as if he were inside her mind.

This time, he did make her wait. He teased and beckoned, but every time she started to crest, he drew back, time after time, until she wanted to scream, writhe, beg. He drove her deeper and deeper into that altered state, mind to mind, shockingly intimate. She struggled around his caressing, invading hand. She was made of lightning, heat, steam, making desperate sounds she barely heard over the pounding of her heart, the roaring in her head. And finally, he brought her off.

The orgasm cracked her wide open.

Behind that wall was something she hadn’t known existed. A part of herself she’d thought was long dead. Something wordless and tender and unknown. It shone, dazzling her with its purity.

She must have fainted. She could not tell and did not care. Janos scooped her up into his arms long before she recovered and strode down the hall. He tried every door he passed until one of them opened. He slapped the door open, flipped on the light. It was a staff kitchen.

He set her on her feet, shoved the door to and stared into her eyes as he flipped the door knob with a deliberate “click.”

She laughed shakily. “I didn’t say you could—”

“I am not asking your permission. You would kick me in the teeth and spit on me as you walk over me with the spiked heels, no?”

She almost betrayed herself by giggling. “Bullshit.”

He grinned wickedly. “I know what you like,” he said. “A spineless dickhead with no balls who asked nicely would not arouse you, Tamara Steele. We have established this fact beyond all doubt.”

Don’t presume to know me. She wanted to say it, but her mouth was too busy frantically kissing him.

The kiss was wild, rough. A mutual devouring, and she set the tone. His grip tightened as his lips dragged down her jaw, teeth grazing the tendons of her throat as he wound his hands into her hair, pulling out clips, pins, clasps. He tossed the ornaments carelessly down onto the kitchen counter. He was not afraid of them, despite what she had done to him in the hotel. And he seemed to be sure she would not hurt him.

At least not until she’d gotten what she needed.

He unraveled her hair, spreading out braid-crimped locks and draping them over her shoulders. She felt younger with her hair loose, vulnerable. He pressed his face to her nape, wrapping thick skeins around his fists. Even her hair felt pleasure, tingling in her scalp, swirling through her at each stroking touch down its length.

He tugged her stretchy bodice down over her shoulders, her breasts. His hungry mouth followed the path of his hands, trailing slow, dragging kisses over her collarbone, her chest. His hands slid up her thighs, over the stockings to the smooth, bare skin.

Her legs threatened to give way when Janos stepped back and undid his belt. Delicious anticipation fluttered across the surface of her skin at subtle sounds of leather creaking, buttons popping.

She reached down, impatient, and fumbled to free him from the black denim, the snug black briefs. She grabbed his cock.

His hand covered hers and squeezed. Stroked.

Yes. She made an involuntary sound like a satisfied cat. He was long, heavy, rock hard. Scalding hot, velvety smooth. Every beat of his heart throbbed hard against her palm. She swirled his thick, blunt, cockhead in her palm. It was flushed a fierce, hot red. Very large.

Excellent. She’d never given a damn about size before, but she liked it that Janos’s cock was big. She liked excess, she liked overkill.

She’d been hungry for so long. Bring it on. Loads of it.

He shuddered, his fingers fumbling with the condom from his pocket. She wanted to bat the latex out of his hands, hungry for naked contact with his hot skin, but a last, lingering shred of sanity stayed her hand. She’d abandoned the pill after the Novak debacle, figuring contraception would never be an issue in her life again. She doubted she was particularly fertile even without it, but life was full of inconvenient surprises. And there were diseases to consider.

Not that she was in any condition to consider anything. That and all other rational thought melted away to nothing at the sweet shock of contact. Janos slid the head of his thick shaft slowly up and down her cleft, seeking out the strokes, the angles that made her gasp.

He surged deep inside, filling her. Impossibly thick and deep. She didn’t recognize the way her body felt. She had no frame of reference at all for this experience. Her body was entirely new, shivering around that secret place inside that had flushed with heat, burst into bloom.

Each surging, rhythmic twist and thrust of his body into hers was a discovery. She lifted herself for more, gasping at the intensity, building, swelling with each deep, slick stroke, sliding over and over a marvelous hot spot inside her that got hotter, hotter. Dear God, there was no end to it, no controlling it. She could feign an utterly convincing orgasm, but she had no clue how to survive real pleasure, to stay on top of it like a canoe in the rapids, to not drown in it, faint from it, go mad from it. He pumped his big, powerful body slowly into hers, his hips swiveling, stirring her into a writhing, moaning frenzy.

The climax drove her still deeper into that magic inner place that she had glimpsed before. He came with her, the force of it reverberating through her body, harmonics blending with hers into a deep chord, unbearably long and sweet and lingering. He was there with her inside that secret place. Souls brushing, melding.

Tam floated in that magical dream for a moment of timeless bliss…until reality began to intrude. Her mind, always independently crunching the data, and presenting its cool, considered conclusions. Whether she wanted them or not.

She didn’t want them, but there was no escaping them. The realization of what he had done stung like a poisoned needle. She’d hidden the truth from herself because temporary relief from that agonizing tension had been so irresistibly pleasurable. But the truth had been right there. That glow, the floating, the gaga mellowness that couldn’t be explained by a few glasses of wine.

Staring her in the face. So fucking obvious.

Drugs. The whole thing had been chemically induced. He’d slipped her something subtle, sophisticated, to mellow her ever so slowly and delicately, and then wrangled her into a state of sexual surrender. She’d thought she was good, but he left her in the dust.

She was incapable of speech for minutes. They were poised together, braced against the door. Still joined. The hot, animal smell of sex rose between them. His arms circled her, trembling with strain. His cock was wedged so deep inside her, it pressed up against her womb. Pleasure jolted stubbornly through her limbs. Her body had no pride. It didn’t care if it had been grossly deceived, drugged, tricked. Pleasure was pleasure, and her long-suffering body got precious little of it.

Her voice shook with self-loathing. “What exactly did you drug me with, you lying son of a bitch?”

The flash in his eyes, the tension in his mouth confirmed it. Somewhere in her mind, she had still been hoping she was wrong. That this was just her standard paranoid freak routine.

She cringed inside. Hated herself for hoping, hated herself for falling for it, hated him for doing it, hated herself for hating it.

Janos cleared his throat. “I’m…sorry.” He pried the words out like rusty nails.

Sorry? Holy shit. She was dumbstruck at the raw nerve of him.

“Sorry?” she repeated. “You’re sorry? You prick. Get away from me. Get out of me.” She shoved at the expanse of his chest. She felt trapped, immobilized by the sheer mass of his body, that huge, throbbing member jammed up inside her. She felt invaded.

He withdrew. The slide of his thick shaft still felt shamefully wonderful. Tiny muscles inside her clutched him, unwilling to let go. Her helpless response was humiliating.

He stopped, a question in his eyes, caressing her with the thick bulb of his cock. Ready to give her more, although he’d just come, and explosively, too. The man was a world-class fucking machine.

But what had she expected? He was a professional, after all.

She spat in his face and dissolved into tears.