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,