Cold as Ice - Anne Stuart [49]
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?”
“Sometimes,” he said again. “If I have to.”
She was good at hiding her reaction—he had to grant her that. She’d wanted to know.
“Did you sleep with Harry Van Dorn?”
“Not his type, fortunately.”
She was silent for a moment, and he had no earthly idea what she was thinking.
“I don’t understand you,” she said after a moment. “I don’t know why I’m trying. Bisexual assassins aren’t my usual acquaintances.”
“I’m not bisexual. I just do what needs to be done.”
“Do you come? When you’re fucking on the job?”
He almost smiled. She couldn’t say the word fuck quite as casually as she wanted to. Or maybe he just upset her with his frank answers.
“Of course,” he said. “Sex is simply a programmed physical response. I can make my body do anything I want without it interfering with my emotions.”
“You said you had no emotions.”
“Did I? Well, that’s true enough. Let’s just say that using sex as a tool is no more intimate than using a fake name and learning to respond to it. It’s a skill, a weapon. Something I use when the occasion calls for it.”
“I don’t believe it’s possible,” she said. Foolish girl. Didn’t she know he was looking for an excuse, any excuse to put his hands on her?
“It’s possible. Shall I demonstrate?” He almost wanted to laugh at her expression. Almost.
She bolted out of her chair. “I’m going to bed.”
Let her go, he told himself. Keep your bloody mouth shut and let her go.
“Aren’t you curious?” he found himself saying. “I thought you weren’t going to give up without a fight. Prove me wrong. Melt my icy heart with the warmth of your tender love.”
“Fuck you,” she