Ultimate Weapon

by Shannon McKenna

  He let that caustic attack upon his sex pass without comment, and spun her into a deep, sensual dip. “That reveals so much,” he said.

  She almost tripped over his foot as he tugged her back up again. “Reveals what? What are you talking about?”

  He grinned. “You are secretly a romantic.”

  That startled a burst of laughter out of her. “Me? Hah!”

  “You.” He put his mouth to her ear. “Your need for your friends to stay faithful to each other as living proof that true love is possible,” he whispered. “Because you keep hoping that it is, no? Even though you are sure in the depths of your heart that it is not, you continue to hope that you might be wrong. It is another one of those bleeding contradictions. You are full of them, Tamara Steele.”

  “I . . . do not . . .” She squinted at him. “That’s such crap. Let’s not start the armchair psychology game again. And don’t even try to pin a softer side onto me. It won’t stick.”

  “Say what you like. I draw my own conclusions.”

  “Whatever,” she growled. “The truth is still the truth. I’m going to check on Rachel, so get your big groping paws the hell off me.”

  She wrenched out of his arms, and stalked toward the corner where Sveti entertained Rachel, heels clicking smartly over the gleaming ballroom floor. Fury radiated from her tense, slender figure.

  Their dining table was momentarily deserted, all of the other couples either dancing or dealing with their children. The chance he had been waiting for. He strolled back to the table, pulled out his cell, and feigned texting a message while he detached the quarter tablet of tasteless, odorless R-55-Triplex he’d taped inside his pocket.

  He let it plop into Steele’s wineglass as he reached for his own.

  Done. He took a deep swallow, tempted to eat the other three-quarters of the tablet himself, just for a break from this unbearable tension. But he could not. The image of his mother on the bathroom floor was etched indelibly in his mind. Drugs could never be a refuge for him. Nor would he dare risk losing his edge, tonight of all nights.

  A quarter dose was the smallest effective dose he could give her in solid form. He’d reasoned that he would have no good opportunity to administer drops unobserved in public. R-55-Triplex was formulated by PSS’s lab techs for situations just like this. In larger doses, it had been favorably compared to Ecstasy—just more subtle, with no hangover, headache or thirst. A quarter dose should render her euphoric, mellow, more receptive sexually. Alcohol intensified the effect, food reduced it. But she ate so little. If he could get some more wine into her . . . if she didn’t realize that she’d been altered . . . maybe.

  He took another swallow of wine and smiled and nodded as Davy and Margot McCloud swayed by, entwined. Davy’s eyes lingered on him thoughtfully, and then something his wife said drew his attention back to her. Davy smiled and kissed her. The kiss caught fire, right on the dance floor. When they surfaced, the redhead was flushed, heavy-eyed.

  Touching, he thought glumly. How nice for them. Sex with no problems, no lies, no betrayal. How pleasant.

  He had tried, for a time, to find weak spots to exploit in the McClouds in the process of researching various ways to manipulate Steele. But when it came to McClouds, there were no weak spots, no fault lines. Nothing to exploit. The entire clan was rigidly upright in their business dealings. It was evidently a family trait. Their bank accounts, stock portfolios, and tax returns baffled him. That kind of honesty and transparency in Italy would run a business into the ground in minutes. But to all appearances, they seemed prosperous. A mystery.

  He had lost sight of Steele. Panic yawned wide in his belly. He searched the crowd anxiously for that bronze fabric, the flash of her pale face and arms, the gleam of coiled mahogany hair.

  Only when he spotted her could he breathe again.

  Tam reached across the table and ran her hand through the soft red ringlets of little Jeannie, Davy and Margot’s baby daughter, thinking how pretty the baby was with those huge slate-blue eyes, that crazy open-mouthed grin, the four little pearls of teeth popping out, two above and two below, from her pink gums.

  Margot’s mouth fell open. Tam barely stopped herself from giggling at the other woman’s expression. True, she was feeling oddly mellow—for her. She’d downed quite a bit of chianti on an empty stomach, but it was finally relaxing her, thank God. She’d felt like she was made of steel cables strained to the snapping point. Tension that severe had to find some release. It was a physical law, like gravity. If you didn’t respect it, bad things happened.

  Finally, that headache was backing off, and she could appreciate how nice the McCloud Crowd looked in their wedding finery. Easy on the eyes, as Nick was fond of saying. She leaned her chin on her clasped fingers, appreciating the tender way that Seth was cupping Raine’s pregnant belly, whispering something into her ear that made her blush.

  Sweet. And it was. Really. She wasn’t even being snide. She smiled her approval. Seth caught it and did a startled double take.

  Maybe Janos was right about her being a secret romantic.

  “I did a background check on Janos,” Davy said to her quietly.

  Duh, so did I, moron, as soon as I learned of his existence . For some odd reason she refrained from saying it out loud. “And?” she asked graciously.

  “He looks good,” Davy said heavily. “In fact, he looks too good. Way too good for my tastes.”

  Tam swiveled to look at the man in question. He was waiting in line at the crowded buffet where he’d gone to fill her plate. She observed his broad shoulders, the elegant shape of his head, the fine cut of his jacket, the excellent shape of his ass.

  “Doesn’t he, though?” she said. “Mouthwatering.”

  Margot choked on a burst of laughter. Davy’s puzzlement turned to visible alarm. “Are you feeling OK, Tam?”

  “I’m fine,” she said airily. “Maybe just a tiny little bit drunk.”

  “You, uh, want to go lie down, or something?”

  She was touched by his concern, silly though it was. “No.”

  She turned away and caught Erin’s eye. Erin was discreetly nursing her son under her scarf. For the first time, the sensual intimacy of the madonna-and-child routine did not grate upon Tam’s nerves.

  “Sveti told me you flew her out for the wedding,” Erin said.

  Tam nodded. “Maybe she’ll come and do a year of American high school, if she can persuade her mother to agree. She’ll stay with us.”

  “I’d have a hard time with that if I were her mom,” Erin said fervently. “I’d keep that girl handcuffed to a radiator.”

  The women contemplated the nightmare Sveti’s mother had gone through last year, after her daughter’s abduction at Zhoglo’s hands and her husband’s murder. Months of agonizing uncertainty.

  “Speaking of motherhood,” Tam said. “I . . . I have a favor to ask.”

  Erin’s eyes widened. “Ask away.”

  “It’s about Rachel.” Tam dragged in some air, and forced herself to push on. “If anything happened to me—would you and Connor—”

  “Yes,” Erin broke in. “God, yes. You don’t even have to ask.”

  Relief she hadn’t expected to feel made Tam sag in her chair. “There’s money for her in my will, but I don’t have custody yet,” she admitted. “The adoption hasn’t gone through. There are some problems. If anything should happen to me before I fix them, you’d have to fight for her.”

  “We would fight for her,” Erin said. “Count on it.”

  The steel in Erin’s voice comforted Tam. Tears prickled in her eyes. “Thanks,” she said thickly. “That’s, ah, good, then.”

  Janos appeared at her elbow, and placed a plate with several appetizing dabs of food before her. He poured her another glass of wine, flashed her a devastating smile. Amazing. The grooves that flanked his mouth carving into the hollow of his cheek, the shadow of his beard stubble, that fan of eye crinkles . . . add the glint of danger, the lure of the unk
nown, his ironclad persistence, and voilà. A marvel of nature.

  Novak. Georg. She dutifully reminded herself of her enemies, but the alarm bells in her mind were distant and muffled. True, Valery Janos was a liar, a spy and a killer—but such a gorgeous one.

  Everything seemed strangely beautiful tonight. The way the light from the tall white candles on the table glimmered in the curved surfaces of the wine and water glasses pleased her. So did the luscious glow of the silver buckets that held the white wine and the champagne. Mellow golden candlelight sparkled and reflected and refracted, softening everything and everyone she looked upon. What a pleasure to draw air into her lungs and feel her ribcage willingly expand to accommodate them. No iron plates clamping down, no need to struggle for air, to fight her way out of a cage of steel. No need to maintain a tight, aching smiling mask on her face.

  What a pleasure, just to let herself be happy.

  God, she could almost eat. She looked down at the plate and forked up a bite of butterfly pasta with smoked salmon and cream. It felt good in her mouth. She chewed and swallowed, heedless of carbs, saturated fat, calories. What the hell. It was a party, after all. She had some more and washed it down with more wine.

  Heat was branded into her cheeks. An alcohol flush, she supposed. She should skip the wine. But she felt so soft, so relaxed. She took a last, farewell swallow. Then another.

  “Dance with me?” Janos asked softly.

  The reasons why she should not get close to this man scrolled automatically in her head, but she ignored them. She was enjoying this strange, soft glow so intensely. Knowing it couldn’t possibly last made it all the more precious.

  She hadn’t felt like this in . . . well, ever. She’d been too young and innocent before. Back behind that blood-spattered, concrete wall in her mind, crowned with barbed wire, broken glass.

  The wall that separated Then from Now.

  Tension rose up, clutching at her. Leave it. Don’t go there, even for a second, or you’ll kill this feeling and never get it back.

  She took another gulp of wine and pushed her chair back.

  Just a dance. He couldn’t do anything nasty to her on a public dance floor. She wanted to move to the music with a big, pretty man to hold onto. None of the other men in this room had the courage to touch her.

  Janos wasn’t afraid of her. That was as dangerous as it was irresistible. She gazed at him, weighing the danger, the temptation.

  “Let me check Rachel,” she said.

  She wafted through the room, Janos padding quietly behind her like some sinuous jungle predator. His enormous presence made her body prickle and tingle, asking a wordless question and waiting breathlessly for his answer—though she knew what it would be.

  Men were predictable that way. But for some reason, that fact didn’t annoy the hell out of her tonight.

  She found Rachel in a high chair, swathed in multiple brocade napkins, face smeared with red sauce, mouth full of pasta. Sveti was coaxing bites into her, while darting intermittent gazes heavy with longing out onto the dance floor.

  Tam leaned down to kiss the little girl. “She ate?”

  “Pasta with tomato sauce and cheese, french fries, vegetables, and chicken strips,” Sveti said triumphantly. “And fresh fruit!”

  Good. Rachel lifted goopy hands to grab her, and Tam leaned down, heedless of pasta sauce to accept the hug. The fierce, almost angry rush of love she felt for the little girl was no different from the love she always felt—except that tonight, there was no painful cramp of fear and caution inhibiting her. It felt so good to be grabbed by those little arms. She loved the kid so much it hurt. Like a knife going in and twisting. But tonight, the pain was all right. In fact, the pain felt almost good. It was hardly pain at all. It was something else altogether.

  But she was too gone to bother analyzing it. She was no expert on tender emotions. They were too new to her.

  She caught another longing glance from Sveti as she straightened up, aimed at Josh Cattrell, dancing with the girlfriend du jour. Laughing as he grabbed the girl’s ass. Moron.

  She leaned over Sveti, murmured in Ukrainian into the girl’s ear. “He’s not worthy,” she said forcefully. “He’ll be no good to any woman for years yet. You’re ten times more intelligent, beautiful and strong than that heifer he’s groping, and in a few years, you’ll be more. If he’s grown up enough by then to be worth your time, fine. If not, men will be lined up, panting. On their knees. You’ll take your pick of them.”

  Sveti tried to smile. On impulse, Tam kissed her cheek and smoothed the girl’s hair off her forehead. Then she backed away, startled by her own emotions.

  Janos pulled her gently but insistently onto the dance floor. She relaxed into his arms, letting her head drop back to look up at the garish chandelier in the center of the ceiling. It seemed to spin like a galaxy, a vortex of light. It was delicious to let go, lie back, rely entirely on his strength. She reveled in the sensation, though she knew it was just a passing fantasy. But ah, what a fantasy. Sweet surrender—and way too much wine, no doubt.

  It was criminally irresponsible of her to have gotten this tipsy with Rachel to protect after what had happened this morning, but the scolding thought had no sting. She was blissing out on the woodsy, cedary sweetness mixed with salt, rain, moss and summer sunshine that was Val Janos’s intoxicating scent. His shoulders were so broad, his arms so solid and thick. Those hard, sinewy muscles beneath her fingers made her want to explore every cut and dip and curve, every marvelous masculine detail. She wanted to drape herself across him. To stretch and preen, like a lioness on a sun-warmed rock.

  She felt so relaxed. The closest she’d ever come to this feeling was after a grueling physical workout and a hot shower. But this was different, better. Magic. She floated in his arms, flushed with heat and color. Like a sunset-tinted cloud.

  She wanted more than just a dance. Her body yearned, a sharp hunger she was usually too taut and compressed to let herself feel.

  Remember who he is. What he wants. Remember Novak and Georg.

  She thought about them deliberately, like pressing on a bruise. A desperate ploy to bring her back to her senses, but it didn’t take. She was in another place, far from that toxic wasteland. Tempted to give in to his silent invitation. To just use him like a big, beautiful sex toy. Why not? What difference would it make?

  No. She wanted it too much. Anytime she wanted something this much, she set herself up for a catastrophe. Sex with Janos would be worse than stupid. It would be nothing less than suicidal.

  And speaking of suicidal, look at this. They had swayed right out the ballroom door and into the hall outside. She hadn’t even noticed being piloted through the room. She twisted in his arms as he hustled her through the lobby, past the curious stares of other guests.

  “Hey!” she whispered fiercely. “Where do you think you’re going?”

  “Someplace private,” he said. “To finish this.”

  She felt inhibited from trying flashy kung fu moves in public, hoping as she was to keep this thing under the radar. “Finish what?”

  He shot her a look that made her feel both foolish for playing dumb and angry at his presumption.

  “I agreed to dance with you, Janos. Not fuck you,” she said tartly.

  “Then we will dance. In private.” He swung her around and into a deserted corridor.

  She grabbed his wrist, wrenched it down to torque his tendons into screaming agony and drop him to the ground. He flowed like water through her hands, anticipating her every move, and flipped her effortlessly around. She fetched up hard against the wall.

  He held her there with his big body. Her feet dangled off the ground. His lips were close to hers; they almost touched. Every molecule in her body vibrated at the contact, generating a wild energy that lit her up like a torch. And she liked it. Goddamn him.

  She wrenched her mind into line. “What is it with you, Janos? Was getting tased not enough for you?”

  He grinne
d. “By no means. I find challenge . . . electrifying.”

  She groaned. “Spare me your razor wit. You’re a slow learner.”

  “No.” He nuzzled her ear, his hot breath tickling her. “But I am a good listener. I hear all of the things that you are afraid to say.”

  “Nothing is more pathetic than a man who projects his gutter fantasies onto women that he lusts after,” she snapped.

  He laughed. “Gutter fantasies? Is that all sex is to you?”

  She writhed in his hard grip. Friction just sweetened the pulsing glow at every point of contact to an unbearable pitch.

  “I’ll tell you what sex is,” she said shakily. “Sex is just a unit of economic exchange. Or else it’s a dirty power game.”

  A small frown creased his brow. “That is all?”

  “That is all,” she said. “No one has ever convinced me otherwise.”

  His dark eyes were thoughtful. He broke eye contact, and kissed her bare shoulder, his tender lips moving slowly up her shivering neck.

  “I am sorry for you,” he said quietly.

  She was stung. “Don’t be. I’m fine with it since I learned to stop being the victim. I can outplay anyone at that game.” Except for you, you sneaky bastard.

  “I do not doubt it.” He cupped her ass, holding her up as he pressed hot kisses to the skin between her breasts. The caress made her nipples tighten, and he rubbed his face voluptuously against her breasts. “Your looks and your body alone guarantee it.”

  She let out a sharp laugh. “Hah. My looks and body were what got me into trouble in the first place.”

  She was horrified with herself for saying it. It sounded almost like a whining plea for pity or sympathy. But when he lifted his face, there was no contempt in his eyes. Just a desire that made her breathless.

  “Please,” he whispered. “Let me prove you wrong.”

  Her feet touched the ground. He slid his hand up over her hips, her belly, his thumbs flicking tenderly over her nipples. Her sensitized body responded, just as she realized that he had released her hands.

  She had not even noticed. She’d been too busy shivering and sighing. This was terrible. So far outside her conscious control, it was like going mad. Her reality shaking loose, breaking down.