He shrugged again. “A good thing for you, maybe, but not so good for the rest of Archer’s victims, and he’s been amassing a lot of them in the past few years.”
“So you’ve come here to save the world since I screwed it up,” she said, ignoring her flash of guilt. She’d made peace with her mistake after all this time, or as much peace as she could. She didn’t need to be reminded of the harm her foolishness had caused. “What a hero!”
He was unmoved by her sarcasm. “It’s a tough job, but someone’s got to do it,” he drawled.
She dropped to the floor on the opposite side of the building, listening to the ominous creak. She could see the shimmer of the water beneath the floorboards, sending patterns up to what remained of the roof. “Did they tell you to kill me?” She managed to modulate her voice so that the question sounded like nothing more than idle curiosity.
“I told you last night, they don’t care what I do with you. You’re no longer a liability—enough time has passed, and it appears that Archer didn’t get anything useful about the Committee structure from you.”
“Not for want of trying,” she said bitterly. “He may have never admitted knowing about me, but he made it clear he was wanting information. Information I wouldn’t give no matter what he did to me.”
She felt a sudden stillness in the room, but when she glanced across at him he was leaning back against the wall, looking up through the damaged roof to the overcast sky. Just as well—she didn’t want to think about that time. Archer was undeniably brilliant and inventive, and when he put those qualities into finding ways to deliver pain, it was almost unbearable. But she’d borne it anyway. She’d gotten to the point where she could withstand anything.
Including the man who had lowered his head and was watching her again through the shifting light in the boathouse. “So why are we here?” she said.
“I have orders to have rampant sex with you.”
For a moment she thought she misunderstood him. “Orders?”
“Archer informs me that you’re suicidal and those impressive bruises are the result of self-harm.”
“That fuckhead,” she muttered, incensed.
“And furthermore he says that you need distraction and, presumably, physical release to come out of your desperate decline. If I don’t do it, then it’ll be up to someone else.”
“Good. He can import stud service.”
“If I don’t do it, then he’s hinted he’ll find someone else to sell his fucking Pixiedust to.”
She stared at him in disbelief. “That’s ridiculous. Why would it matter to him who I end up screwing, as long as he can humiliate me into doing it? And why would he let it interfere with his business?”
“He believes you’re attracted to me. And he’s insisting because he likes power and he wants to make me follow orders so he can demonstrate he has the upper hand. He also seems obsessed with hurting you.” He leaned his head back, at ease. “And since I’m not about to risk my mission over something we both want, I figured we could come down here and do the deed. There are too many cameras on this island—I’m not in the mood for witnesses.”
She felt a tightness curl low in her stomach and her skin begin to tingle. “Something we both want? What planet are you from? I don’t want you anywhere near me.”
“That’s too bad, because I’m going to be inside you,” Mal said lazily, watching her out of those deceptive green eyes.
The tingle became electric on her warm skin. “It’ll be a cold day in hell. You go away and I’ll take care of Archer myself.”
He shook his head, and his relaxed posture was even more of an affront to her. “Not going to happen.”
“Well, then he’ll just have to take your word for it that you debauched me.”
“Debauched?” he echoed with a laugh. How could he laugh at a time like this, she thought. But then, Committee operatives were trained to do whatever they had to do to complete the mission, including having sex when required, regardless of gender. This was simply part of the job to Malcolm, and she wanted to hurt him, badly, though she didn’t want to examine her reasons too closely. “What kind of romance novels have you been reading?”
“War and Peace,” she said. “Sorry, your sacrifice is unnecessary. We’ll just tell him we did it.”
“He’s not that gullible,” Mal said.
“Convince him,” she snapped.
He shook his head. “Never tell a lie when the truth will do—you must have learned that. Lying only complicates matters. Sorry, sweetheart. We don’t have a choice.”
Her breath hitched in her throat, then started again. She could feel her heart hammering—part of her training had involved controlling her heart rate, controlling all outward sign of panic, but too long had passed. Her heart was pounding so loudly he could probably hear it.
He looked far too comfortable, his long legs stretched out in front of him, seemingly at ease. But he wasn’t—he was alert, like a snake ready to strike. “No,” she said flatly. “Just lie a little harder.”
“Well, I could,” he said. “But I don’t want to. I want you.”