Dangerous Desire

11

I sit back in my chair and consider him with new interest. The pretty African American girl stands perfectly still beside me, her eyes lowered, waiting silently for instructions. She’s been trained well.

Just as I once was.

“Permission to speak honestly?”

Killian’s smile deepens. I’ve amused him. He grants me a kingly nod.

“No, I don’t think you’ve had enough. I don’t think you’ve even really gotten started yet. In fact, I think that when you have had enough, you’ll be standing alone on top of a pile of bodies so high it blocks out the sun.”

I lean over and select a piece of Havarti cheese from a silver platter. Then I tell the girl, “I’d actually like a glass of rum, please. Mount Gay if you have it. With a slice of lime and no ice.”

She flicks a glance at Killian. His smile is still in place. He doesn’t spare her a glance when he nods, giving his permission for my choice of drink and granting her leave.

Raphael appears to be on the verge of a stroke. He takes a long drink of sparkling water to manage his dismay at the turn in conversation.

I wait for the crew to leave before I say calmly, “I have no idea who you two really are, but when he finds out you’ve kidnapped me, Dimitri will kill you both.”

Water bursts from Raphael’s mouth, spraying a fine mist through the air and over the assorted meats and cheeses. He falls into a fit of hacking coughs while Killian and I stare at each other across the table.

It was an absolute shot in the dark, but damn did it hit its mark. Dimitri didn’t send them for me. The only relevant questions remaining are who did . . . and why. And—I’ll worry about this one later—exactly what they’ve got planned for me.

“It wasn’t my idea!” gasps Raphael, sputtering. “You have to believe—”

“Another word,” says Killian mildly, “and I’ll cut out your tongue.”

With a comical gulp, Raphael shuts up.

I gaze at Killian with my heart up in my throat and all my nerve endings screaming. He inspects me for a long time in thoughtful silence, drumming his fingers on the table in a slow, steady beat. On each knuckle is a tattoo. Initials. Flowers. A knife plunged through a skull.

Finally he says, “You think your darling love cares enough about you to start a war?”

“I never said he was my darling love,” I snap, repulsed by the idea anyone could think I cared for the man who abused me so badly and for so long.

Killian leans forward and rests his arms on the table. His eyes—rich hazel in the sunlight—focus with the intensity of lasers on mine. “Are you saying you don’t love him?”

Anger makes my mouth form words it otherwise wouldn’t. “What difference should that make to you?”

His jaw hardens. “Don’t test me.”

“Why, because you’ll beat me again? Personally, I think that was just to establish dominance, get me nice and scared so I’d be easier to handle.”

His voice drops so low it’s almost lost in the sound of the sails snapping in the sea breeze. “Is that what you think?”

I refuse to break eye contact, though I’m 90 percent sure my eyes are about to roll back into my head from terror. “I think you felt bad about it.”

“My dear,” whispers Raphael, stiff and white beside me. “Please don’t.”

I realize then that he’s my best chance at getting to the truth. Killian is too poised, too smart, too controlled. He’ll never reveal anything.

Unfortunately, however, things are going to have to get ugly before Raphael breaks.

Killian sees my calculation. With deadly softness and a glint of violence in his eyes, he says, “Choose your next words carefully. Because I lied when we met.”

My pulse is a fast, faint thrum under my skin. I nervously moisten my lips. “Lied about what?”

He gazes deep into my eyes. “About the rules regarding no death or penetration. In fact, there aren’t any rules at all.”

I feel the wild, painful beat of my heart.

I’ve made a fatal miscalculation. Whatever Killian’s plan, my part in it is disposable.

I’m disposable.

The girl returns with my rum. The moment she sets it down beside my plate, Raphael falls on it as if he’s spent a decade in the desert. He swallows the entire thing in one gulp.

“I’m so sorry, sir,” the girl says. “I didn’t realize you wanted one, too.”

Killian tells her, “Bring us the bottle. I have a feeling he’s going to need it.” He rises abruptly, his gaze murderous and zeroed in on me.

Heart racing, I jump to my feet so quickly I knock my chair over. It falls to the deck with a clatter.

Killian lunges.

He’s fast, but I’m faster. In half a dozen long, running strides, I’ve reached the side of the deck. It’s hardly an effort at all to jump up on the rail and hurl myself over.

I fall like a stone, the skirt of my dress flipped up over my face so the world is all yellow.

The ocean greets me as an icy, brutal slap against my skin, forcing the breath from my lungs as I plunge into it and go under. I surface after a moment, gasping and coughing, then kick my legs and start to swim.

But there’s nowhere to go. We’re somewhere out in the Atlantic with no land visible in any direction. Despite the sunshine, the sea is dark and freezing, and most likely infested with sharks.

But I’d rather drown or be ripped to shreds and eaten alive than let Killian get his hands on me again, so I plow ahead, cresting white-capped waves and squinting into the desolate blue horizon.