Ultimate Weapon (McClouds & Friends #6)(66)

This outcome exceeded his wildest hopes, and yet he felt shattered. He had obtained the means to keep Imre alive for a few more days, but he felt no triumph, not even relief. Just a sickening sense that he was sliding ever deeper into a pit that had no bottom.

It shook him that he had actually lost himself in the experience. He had forgotten Novak, Imre. He had forgotten about the hidden camera. He had forgotten every agenda but that of his own pounding body.

And he could f*ck her again, right now. Gladly. All night long.

He disposed of the condom and arranged his erect penis inside his jeans as best he was able. The silent weeping was driving him mad.

“Stop it,” he broke out harshly in Italian. “Stop crying, for the love of God. I cannot stand it.”

“Vaffanculo,” she shot back. “I can’t control it, and it’s your own goddamn fault that I’m stoned. So deal with it, dickhead.” She tugged her skirt down. One of her stockings had slipped loose of the garter and rolled halfway down her thigh. He sank to his knees in front of her and rolled it up. The skin of her upper thigh was exquisitely hot and smooth. Lily petal soft. So f*cking perfect. Her legs shook. She wobbled on her flimsy, eight-hundred-dollar spike heels.

His legs would shake, too, were he standing.

He did not want her to see the look on his face, so he leaned forward and pressed it against her mound, kissing her. A wordless apology that he knew she would reject violently, but he could not help himself. Could not resist breathing in more of her hot female scent and then more. Letting his secret tears soak into her skirt.

She made a catlike hissing sound and slapped at his face, but without much force. He looked up from that supplicating position at her face, flushed and wet, eye makeup blurred into a mask that just made her brimming eyes look brighter.

So beautiful, it made his chest clench.

He wanted to shove her skirt up and beg for her forgiveness with his tongue, but she would kill him for his pains, and he would not blame her. Even so, he wrapped his arms around her waist and clung to her, like a child. It was a stupid move, a vulnerable position. She could kill him in a hundred ways with the arsenal he’d plucked out of her hair or with her bare hands alone, for that matter.

He did not care. If she wanted to kill him, she was welcome to do so. He deserved it. He braced himself, waited.

No crushing death blow came down, though. No needle’s burning sting. Her hands slid into his hair, gripping handfuls of it and yanking, hard. Her nails dug into his scalp.

“You’ve f*cked a lot of people you didn’t necessarily want to sleep with in your career, Janos, right?”

He tensed, sensing a tarpit. “Yes,” he admitted cautiously.

“Was it difficult?” Her voice was hard. “To drug me up, make me come? Did it hurt? Did you have to grit your teeth, hold your breath?”

It took a minute to gather the courage to answer her, with the stark truth—even though he knew that she would not believe him.

“No.” His voice hoarse, raw. “This is the part that hurts. The rest of it was incredible. I’ve never wanted anything the way I wanted you.”

She laughed through her tears. “Me? No, it’s not me you wanted. You wanted a piece of me. That’s all anyone wants. The pretty part, the smart part, the mean part. The part between my legs. The rest is a pile of broken pieces. No use to anyone.”

He tightened his hands on her hips, fingers digging into her curves, feeling the smooth heat of her, the play of sleek, strong muscle.

“The rest of you is beautiful,” he whispered. “Broken to pieces or not. All of it is beautiful.”

She covered her face, shoulders shaking with bitter laughter. “Oh, shut up,” she muttered. “There’s no point in bullshit sweet talk. It hurts to listen to it, OK? Let me be, Janos. I will never do what you want me to do. Nothing will convince me, understand? So stop torturing me. Just disappear. I am begging you.”

He took his hands off her body, and stood up. “You will not be better off without me. You will have no more peace, Steele. If it is not me shoving you around, it will be someone else.” He laid it out for her, his voice flat. “Someone much worse.”

“Worse than you?” Her eyes shimmered with furious tears. She dabbed beneath them to wipe up her mascara. “Not possible.”

“It is very possible,” he said stonily. “When PSS catches up with you, they will take Rachel and lock her in a room somewhere to control you, as they ordered me to do. And you do not want to imagine what will happen when Novak catches up with you…and Rachel.”

She flinched, and tried to twist up her thick, glossy hair with trembling hands. “And you think that calling the cops on me, messing with Rosalia, f*cking with the adoption agency, isn’t controlling me with Rachel?”

He dismissed that with a wave of his hand. “Don’t be stupid,” he snapped. “There is no comparison. I have done my best to protect her.”

“Oh, my. I am overwhelmed.” She stopped trying to put her hair up, and gathered the bristling array of hair ornaments into her hands as she shook it loose. She unlocked the door, yanked it open, and flung her parting shot at him. “What a f*cking hero you are.”

He grabbed her wrist. “There’s one more reason why you should reconsider,” he said. “I have one final thing to offer you.”