He held up his hands. “No touching,” he said. “Not without a specific request.”
She stared at him in amazement. “Oh, please touch me,” she mocked him. “I’m all atremble with desire at the thought of you strangling me. I’ve known perverts who think that death is the ultimate turn-on, and murdering someone midorgasm makes it all the better. Ever tried that?”
“Whose orgasm, mine or yours?” he murmured.
He’d called her bluff—there was a faint stain of color on her cheekbones. She had freckles. How could he be obsessed by a woman with freckles? No, he wasn’t obsessed, just…distracted. “You spend a fair amount of time around perverts?” he added, since she didn’t seem about to answer his first question.
“I didn’t always work for a Park Avenue law firm,” she said in a steady voice. “I started out wanting to save the world, working in the public defender’s office as well as the district attorney’s in upstate New York.”
“Now, that wouldn’t even begin to keep you in Armani and Blahnik,” he drawled. “Unless you come from old money.”
She looked surprised.
“The old money has been gone for generations,” she said. “And when I was younger I was much too idealistic to care about material things.”
“You don’t strike me as particularly old and jaded at the moment. Even if you were willing to whore yourself out to Harry as part of your job. You wouldn’t have liked it—Harry’s got some peculiar tastes you’re better off not knowing about.” It would have served her right if Harry had gotten his hands on her, and it was only for her sake Peter was glad he hadn’t.
And that was so much bullshit. He hadn’t wanted Harry to have her, even as he stood in the shadows as the gray ghost, serving her her bloody Tab.
Hell, he should have just thrown her overboard that first night, to let her sink or swim. At least she would have had a fighting chance of surviving. Whereas right now, if he followed orders, she had no chance at all.
She lifted her gaze to his. “I wasn’t going to sleep with Harry,” she said mildly enough. “I keep my sexual activities to times when I’m off duty.”
“Are you off duty now?” The question came from nowhere, reminding him just how dangerous Genelvieve Spenser could be. The only blessing was that she didn’t realize it.
“If by any miracle Harry and I survive this kidnapping, then I’ll be billing him an extraordinary amount of hours.”
“I’m sure you will.” He couldn’t keep the amusement from his voice. “But the chances of Harry getting out alive are nil. But hell, if you get away, you should certainly bill his estate. I’d even pad it if I were you.”
Her eyes narrowed. They were prettier without the contact lenses—a deep, warm brown.
He liked her better without makeup as well. She had beautiful, creamy skin, and the smattering of freckles across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose was ridiculously erotic.
“What about you?” she said.
He’d forgotten what they were talking about, still uncharacteristically distracted by her freckles. “I beg your pardon?”
“So polite,” she said, with only a trace of bitterness. “Do you whore yourself out on the job?”
“I’ve already told you I use sex as a weapon. What does that tell you?” he countered.
“I would think most of the people you target were men. Doesn’t that put a crimp in your style?”
He didn’t want to answer her implied question. “You’re sexist, Ms. Spenser. Women can be just as lethal as men.”
“Have you ever killed a woman?”
Thank God she’d gotten off the other subject. “Yes,” he said.
“And how was it for you?” she purred.
“A job.”
“Do you fuck them before you kill them?” She was playing a dangerous game, and she wouldn’t like the consequences. But they were trapped together in this billionaire’s prison, and the night was growing late, and he was feeling almost as reckless as she was.
“Sometimes,” he said. “If I have to.”
“And the men?”