Ultimate Weapon (25 page)

She made a derisive sound. “You’re not like anyone else, Janos,” she said. “And besides, the poor kid could have been kidnapped or murdered yesterday, remember? Thanks to you, I might add.”

He bristled. “Ah,
sì
? Forgive me for trying to keep you from getting abducted or slaughtered—”

“Adopting Rachel at all was an irresponsible act, considering who and what I am,” she continued grimly. “It’s just like you said in Shibumi. I’m using her. I’m a crazy, selfish bitch.” She paused and swallowed. “And this stunt I’m pulling now has got to be the craziest, most selfish thing I’ve ever done. Forget the slick reasons why. Let’s be brutally honest, OK? I’m in this for the revenge. No other reason.” She looked out her window. “If I get snuffed, she’ll probably be better off with Erin and Connor anyhow.”

Against his will, memories flashed into Val’s mind. The day he’d found his mother dead on the bathroom floor. Giulietta, the Italian girl from Palermo, another whore in Kustler’s stable, who had shared their apartment for a while. Her baby girl had died in her crib one icy cold winter day, right next to an open window, while Giulietta floated on the bed nearby in a heroin daze.

He could still see Giulietta in his mind’s eye, when she came down from her high. Staring into the crib with her hands on her face. Eyes staring out of her head. Screaming.

She’d screamed for hours, or so it had seemed to him at the time. Those screams still echoed distantly through his mind. He pushed the memory away. It still made his gut feel hollow.

“You are wrong,” he said stubbornly. “She would not be better off without you. You’re a good mother. And I know. Trust me. I have seen some bad ones.”

She shot him a piercing glance, opened her mouth to speak…and shut it again. Something in his voice or face had blocked whatever cutting thing she’d been poised to say. Just as well. His nerves were more raw than usual today. He stared straight out the windshield and concentrated on driving. Willing her not to ask questions.

Reminiscences from his grim childhood were not calculated to lighten anybody’s mood.

Things went with blessed smoothness at the airport. In short order, they were stretched out in big, soft reclining seats in the first-class section of the jumbo airliner, both of them pretending to sleep.

He couldn’t stop stealing glances at her hand, where it rested on her shapely, jeans-clad thigh. It looked so strong and capable, and yet delicate, the slenderness of her fingers accentuated by the heavy, savage-looking thumb ring she wore, made of contrasting bands of colored gold. He wondered what defense applications the ring had, and decided that an airplane would be an indiscreet place to ask.

He liked her French manicure. He liked the fading, gummy shadow of a child’s fake tattoo on her slender wrist, some cartoon character that populated an American three-year-old’s fantasy world. A tender, secret detail that made him smile. He liked the way her sweater cuff draped over her forearm. So graceful, every curve, every line of her.

She infuriated him; she fascinated him. He was obsessed. He accepted that fact, let it sink in without resisting it. Made it part of the matrix so that he would take it into account while making decisions.

He was going to seduce her again at the first opportunity. This fact had the weight and inevitability of natural law, the kind that governed the turning of the planets, the movement of the stars.

Not just to save Imre, though. Not anymore. God help him, he had just tripled his problems and responsibilities. Imre, Tamar, Rachel.

At this point, the only way to save himself was by somehow saving them all.

Never again.
Tam established it in her head, a constant drone beneath the frantic chatter of all the other thoughts and fears and feelings. The man was inside her head, invading her thoughts, her senses. Compromising her powers of reasoning. She could not afford to be so distracted on the eve of the riskiest stunt of her entire career.

If it was just about sex, that would have been bad enough, but it wasn’t. These flashes of emotional connection shook her, disarmed her, left her speechless and stammering. Buzzing with feelings.

She was curious about him, fascinated by him, interested in him, like a teenage girl crushed out on a rock star. Robot Bitch had gone to pieces. Rachel had started the disintegration process, and Val Janos was the killing blow. Life was so much simpler back in the good old days when Robot Bitch ruled.

She was unsteady all the time. Bowled over by his scent. How did a guy with the massive dose of male hormones necessary to render him that potent and dangerous still manage to smell so good? It was against the basic laws of nature.

She kept sneaking peeks at him. Checking out the length of his legs, the broad, hard shape of his chest, the outrageous breadth of his shoulders. Mmmm, how she liked big, thick, cut shoulders that she couldn’t quite get her fingers around. And his somber, beautiful face. His beard stubble was starting to get soft, not scratchy. She had no whisker burn, even after last night’s mad nuzzling.

She wanted to explore him, to set off into the uncharted wilderness of his fascinating self and never come back. She wanted to open his pants and play with his big, beautiful cock like a toy. To study the patterns his body hair made on his skin. To memorize every scar. To hear all of the scar stories. And tell him hers, too. If he was interested.

She wanted to shock him, rock him, make him crazy with lust.

And laugh with him. Of all things. Stupid fantasy. Dream on.

Her only recourse was to keep her mouth shut, her eyes averted, and ignore him as much as possible. She kept her eyes fixed on the moonlit clouds outside the oval window. They had dimmed the lights in the forward cabin, and the curtain was pulled for privacy.

It would have been far better if it wasn’t. That drawn curtain gave her some very, very dangerous ideas.

She unfolded the blanket the airline had provided and swathed herself from neck to toe, determined to feign sleep. She had no intention at all of giving into it with so much to occupy her mind, but her tired body betrayed her.

She tipped straight into an uneasy dream.

She was wearing the red chemise Stengl had dressed her in, and searching desperately for something to wear, anything but that hateful scrap of limp red silk. She could find nothing. Even being naked would be better, but the chemise wouldn’t come off. The red silk stuck to her like a stain. She tore at her body until it was bleeding, and then suddenly, her body was no longer a woman’s body—it was a doll, brittle and fragile.
Crack,
she held a stiff leg with no joint, a high-heeled foot with painted red toenails like a storefront mannequin. Then the other leg broke off. She shattered from within, exploding in a shower of dusty shards.

Even broken into pieces, you are beautiful.

She knew that velvet voice. She recognized the strong hand sifting through broken shards, shreds of red silk until he found it. Her heart.

It looked like a cheap toy or a pincushion. Made of puffy red satin stuffed with fluff, trimmed with lace and tiny bows. He dusted it off and cradled it in his big hand. It transformed, glowing. Light shone right through his hands. It beat, it shone, it blazed through his fingers. Alive.

Heat glowed in her body, a deep, yearning throb, and she came back to consciousness very slowly and carefully, as if something inside her knew she’d be cheated of her prize if she rushed it. She drifted with majestic slowness, letting waves of pleasure intensify, rocking her higher until the crest broke and pulsed in long breaking waves.

Her eyes opened, amazed, to see the darkened cabin of the plane, the drawn curtain, the blanket under her chin. And Val, leaning over her, his eyes gleaming in the dimness. His hand, down the front of her jeans.

Oh. She’d bought the next jeans size up, since Rachel’s you-take-a-bite-and-then-I-take-a-bite game had put a little extra layer of meat on her ass, but she hadn’t filled out the new size entirely. There was plenty of room for his hand. His fingers rested on either side of her throbbing clit, catching it in a gentle, patient clasp…waiting to see what she thought of the situation now that she was awake.

She licked her lips, cleared her throat. What the hell did she think of it? She knew how her body felt about it, but that was not relevant. Her body had no vote in this. Her head had to prevail. She gathered her strength to be bitchy, shove him away. It was a tremendous effort.

“You sneaky bastard,” she whispered. “Is this your usual move? Wait until the woman is drugged or asleep, and then you make your move? You should be ashamed.”

He looked completely unembarrassed. “No, Tamar. Only with you. I must use every dirty trick I can devise, or I will get nowhere.”

“You’re a snake.” Her voice quivered, like her thighs.

“
Sì, certo.
I would do anything to feel you come again. Any desperate, wrong, immoral thing and feel no shame at all. Be warned.”

The low rasp of his voice caressed her, his coffee-scented breath tickled her ear. Her face glowed, hot as a coal. It made her think of the heart in her dream. Magically transformed.

The decision was making itself, the yearning heat in her body drowning out the fear, the doubts, the
never again.

Oh, fuck it. Why never? Why not? Life was hard and short, and getting harder and shorter every day. And she wasn’t very talented at yielding to pleasure anyway, even if she was inclined to seek it out, which she wasn’t. It was now, or it was probably never again.

After all, she was trapped in a plane. She had nothing better to do. It wasn’t as if she was wasting precious time she could be using to solve her and Rachel’s problems. So why not?

Let the man multitask. He was so talented at it.

He teased her mound, caressing her with his fingertips without penetrating her. “If we had privacy and a bed, I’d strip off those jeans and put you on top of me,” he muttered into her ear. “I’d pull you down very slowly, letting your pussy accept me, a long, slow, tight glide, like a glove on my
cazzo
. Then I’d grab your hips and fuck you from below while I stared up at your breasts, bouncing above. Every inch of you flushed and hot with desire. Making all the noise you like.”

She licked her dry lips. “Were you aware that position is for the woman to control? That’s the whole point of it. Guess it never occurred to a prehistoric lunk like you.”

“You want control, Tamar?” His smile flashed in the dim light. “Fight me for it. I love the way you come around me when you lose.”

She had to struggle hard to muster her defenses. Particularly with his clever finger stroking tenderly just above the hood of her clit. A touch she could barely feel, and yet…
oh.
She could feel nothing else.

“I hate you,” she said distractedly. “You need a lesson.”

“You will be too tired to give me one when I am finished,” he said. “You’ll be so exhausted, you won’t even struggle when I tie you down, to lick your clit and tongue-fuck you into another orgasm. Then I’ll take you again. Watching every detail. The way my
cazzo
slides into you, those slick pink pussy lips kissing my whole length as I pull out…and push in, again and again, ah. The way you take all of me, every last centimeter, until the head of my
cazzo
is rammed up inside you, against the core of you, so tight, rocking and throbbing—”

“Stop it,” she whispered. “No more talk.”

“No?”

She held his gaze as she popped open the buttons on her jeans, and wiggled lower in the seat to give him more scope. She parted her legs, letting him deeper, and shoved his hand inside her jeans. “Get to work,” she said. “And make it good. Or you’ll pay for your teasing.”

He took her up on the invitation, sliding two fingers into her cleft. She was so, so juicy and swollen. She moved against him almost frantically, it felt so good, clamping her thighs around him.

Val curved his fingers into a gentle hook, circling tenderly over the glowing places inside her that were flushed with expectant pleasure while his thumb took care of her clit, doing a perfect little tremolo…ah, God, talk about multitasking.

He slapped the seat divider up and covered her mouth with his.

He was as talented with his mouth as he was with his hands, but it wasn’t his skill that stirred her. It was the look in his eyes. Not triumphant, or smug, or pleased with himself. Just quietly desperate.

She closed her eyes, and saw that dream heart glowing in the gentle cradle of his hand. Light shining through his fingers.

Don’t get squishy about dreams. Dreams will betray you
, said a scolding inner voice.

Don’t ruin this for me,
she told it.
A little pleasure, for God’s sake. A little bit of pleasure, once in a blue moon.

She knew the choreography of kisses, just as she knew every other sexual technique, but she’d never felt the raw, driving desire behind a kiss before. The whole point of a kiss. As if there was a precious elixir to be had from the mouth of the other, something they would both die without and only pleading passion could bring it forth.

She squeezed and writhed, breathless in the dark. He was so good. Perfect. The only thing she would have gladly changed about this moment was that she wanted the thrusting prong of his fingers to be that thick, meaty cock. She wanted to twine her naked legs around him and take him to the hilt, to feel his strength jarring into her with that wild, pounding rhythm that took her breath. She wanted all the room and softness of a big bed to do justice to his outrageous bounty.

No time to be dissatisfied, though. She was coming apart, tightening around him with every tiny muscle inside herself. Sensations, emotions, welling up together.

They overflowed, swirling, rushing. Carrying her gently away.

He lifted his head slowly afterward. There was no need to say anything. The tension in his hand still clamped over her mound, the bulge in his jeans, his dark, burning eyes said it all.