only a eunuch, or maybe a saint, wouldn’t have wondered if her breasts would feel silken against the roughness of his palms, if her nipples would taste like honey on his tongue.
Her face, as white as paper, grew two patches of crimson under his scrutiny. Shaken, she put one arm across her breasts and the other over her loins in an instinctive, age-old female posture of defense.
A useless defense, had he chosen to force himself on her.
He didn’t like that she’d think him capable of that. He was a lot of things, had been a lot of things in his time with the Agency, but he wasn’t a rapist.
When he took a woman, he wanted her eager for his possession. For the hard thrust of his body, the demanding caress of his hands and mouth.
Yeah, but who gave a damn what Cara Prescott thought? Her fear would work to his advantage. Deliberately, he let his gaze move slowly down her body. Taking in the flat belly and patch of gold-tipped curls she tried to hide was just a way of reminding her that he held the power.
And, goddammit, if he was getting hard, it wasn’t anything personal. Danger created an adrenaline rush. A natural high that far surpassed any drug.
Add a beautiful woman, a hint of sex, and you had one hell of a mix.
He understood all that. If only his body would get the message.
He was seconds away from being fully erect. Already, he could feel his engorged flesh pressing almost painfully against the denim of his fly.
His reaction infuriated him. He didn’t like being out of control, not even for a heartbeat. That this woman, one step up from a whore, should exert sensual power over him made it even worse.
Concentrating on that did the trick. His erection went south and his brain came online.
Towels hung from a plastic rod near the sink. He grabbed one and thrust it at her.
“Cover yourself,” he snapped.
Her hands shook as she clutched the towel to her wet body. It didn’t hide much—he’d somehow plucked a hand towel from the rack, not a bath towel. Just as well. It was enough to let her feel a little less exposed but not enough to make him lose the psychological edge.
Her breasts, full and beaded with water, rose above the towel’s skimpy folds.
“I’m not a burglar. And I don’t work for your lover.”
Still no response. The smell of her, soap and water, lilacs and woman, rose on the humid air.
“I don’t want to hurt you. Do you understand?”
She didn’t respond for what seemed a long time. Finally, she jerked her head in assent.
“Good.” A muscle knotted in Alex’s jaw. “Now, step out of the stall. Nice and slow. No quick moves.”
She did as he’d ordered, her eyes never leaving his. He tried to do the same but it was impossible. The towel wasn’t just small, by now it was soaked. It clung like a second skin, drawing even more attention to her wet, naked body, and to hell with eunuchs and saints.
Only a dead man wouldn’t have let his gaze drift down those curves again.
No wonder Gennaro had wanted her, he thought, and forced his eyes back to her face.
“My name,” he said softly, “is Alexander Knight.”
He saw her throat move as she swallowed. “What—what do you want?”
Progress. At least she was talking. It was time to ease up.
“I want to help you.”
She made a sound that would have been a laugh if she weren’t so scared. He couldn’t blame her.
“I know about you and Tony Gennaro.”
The color in her face heightened but her voice was surprisingly steady. “Who?”
Alex’s mouth twisted. He had to give the lady credit. She was stark naked and scared witless but she was starting to pull herself together. That was good—but he didn’t want her thinking she could outsmart him.
Time to up the ante.
“Don’t play games, Cara. I don’t like them.”
The use of her first name was supposed to remind her that he was in charge. It didn’t. The pulse in her throat still leaped, her eyes still shone with fear, but something about her had changed.
She was starting to plot a way past him.
Slowly, almost imperceptibly, her chin lifted. “Give me my pajamas.”
His eyebrows rose. “What?”
“My pajamas. My sweats. There, on top of the toilet. Give them to me.”
She wasn’t begging. She wasn’t even asking. She was giving orders in an attempt to assert some control.
He understood that. It was what he’d have attempted, if the tables had been turned.
He also understood that there wasn’t a way in hell he could let her get away with it. That she was smart and tougher than she looked only meant he had to make sure she understood that he was a lot tougher.
Alex reached out. Deliberately, eyes locked to hers, he cupped her buttocks and drew her against him. His erection was instantaneous. Good, he thought coldly, as he brought one hand around her and ran his knuckles lightly across the swell of her breasts.
The flicker of defiance he’d seen lighting her eyes gave way to naked terror.
“Maybe you didn’t hear me, sweetheart. I told you not to play games.” His mouth curved in a cold smile. “Or maybe you figure you’re a tempting enough package to get away with this crap. Well, you’re right about being tempting.” He moved against her, just enough so she could feel the heavy weight of his arousal. “You’re very tempting.” His smile faded. “But I’m not interested.”
The look on her face called him a liar.
“Okay,” he said softly, almost agreeably, “you’re right. Under other circumstances, I might be.” The wet towel clung to her breasts; he reached out, cupped the warm, rounded flesh and told himself to ignore the quick pull of lust in his belly. “But these aren’t other circumstances, and I’m not interested in buying what you sold old Tony.”
“I don’t—” Her voice quavered, then steadied. “I don’t know any Tony.”
“Yeah, you do. You’re gonna have to trust me here, baby. If I worked for the man, you’d be dead by now…but only after I first had you on your back, with your legs spread.”
He’d wanted to make her flinch and it worked. Good. This wasn’t a time for subtlety. Besides, a woman who slept with a Mafia don wasn’t a woman with delicate sensibilities.
He needed her to be obedient. If he felt a twinge of regret at the way she was trembling, it was only because he’d been a long time out of this business, not because she was so heart-stoppingly beautiful.
Hell, what did her beauty have to do with anything? The truth was, a woman who knew how to use her looks could be incredibly dangerous. You learned that fast in the cloak-and-dagger world.
Alex grabbed the sweats and gave them to her.
“Get dressed,” he growled. “Then we’ll talk.”
Talk?
Cara bit back a crazed laugh.
A madman broke into your apartment, dragged you from the shower, looked at your naked body with eyes like lasers, touched your breasts, God, touched your breasts, and she was supposed to believe he wanted to talk?
She sank her teeth into her bottom lip to keep from screaming and pulled on the sweats, hunching over as best she could to keep him from