Page 57 of Girl Anonymous

She’d reached the first landing when he said, “Frame you? Yes, but who would they send to discover the bottle? Which of my relatives would strangle you with his bare hands, seize the reliquary, and use that to claim mastery over the Arundel organization?”

She turned. “You don’t have to be so—” She’d intended to saybrutally frank.

The sconces lit him, the dark hair, the sculpted face, the body he’d created with the constant vigilance of training, and she couldn’t speak. He still stood, legs braced as if he stood on a deck in stormy weather, hands relaxed at his side. A long forgotten memory flashed through her, of Benoit Arundel on his throne, his cold green gaze resting on her, assessing her, weighing her worth and finding her nothing more than a burrowing tick to be eliminated. To Benoit, she had been the last of her family; he hoped to count her death as the ultimate Arundel victory.

Only her mother’s sacrifice had saved her.

She hadn’t realized it before, but while Dante’s hair and eyes were dark rather than light, he had the look of his father: ruthless, intent, a great dark beast, twitching with the need to…not hurt, but to dominate…her. She could object and deny, but together they had joined the bottle to the stopper, they had kissed and experienced the flash of heat and triumph, and Dante would now have his way…unless she got into the suite before him.

He remained on the ground floor.

She was up one flight. She had a head start.

He took a step toward her.

She turned and fled, around the corner, up another flight, around a corner, up another flight, to the waiting door with its electronic numbered lock. She heard the light thump of his footsteps as he loped the stairs after her. He didn’t race; no, of course not. The beast hunted, and never doubted his success.

All she had to do was key in the right number, and get inside the room. And shut it behind her.

Use the security bars.

Pile furniture in front of it.

The number. The one he’d insisted she memorize. She pushed each button firmly; she didn’t have time to flub it. The lock clicked.

She’d won! She pushed the door open, hurried inside, used her whole body to shove it closed…

Almostclosed. He hit it at a run, knocking her backward.

She recovered, braced her feet, straining, leaned against it, heart thumping, teeth gritted with determination. Like any of that mattered. The door inched open until she gave up and leaped backward, and he crashed into the room. She darted around him. He caught her by the waist, swung her in a circle. Like they were dancing, and he would lead where he liked.

She caught a whirling impression of the suite; wide windows open to welcome the storm, golden hardwood floors, large rugs of neutral weaves, a tall gas fireplace, flames flicking, warm lighting, and a giant bed that dominated the room with its airy light pink curtains. Chocolates and two black silk sleep masks on the pillow. Romance and seduction and—he kicked the door closed.

She lifted both her feet and slithered out of his embrace, braced her hand on the ground, and kicked the legs out from underneath him.

She didn’t have time to exalt.

He flipped as he fell, a smooth acrobatic roll that brought him around to knock her flat on her back and bring her beneath him, beneath his weight. “Stop,” he said.

The shock of heat and muscle and man—and knowing he’d handled her all too easily—made her listen. Not to his command, but to her own good sense. He’d taken her down with a minimum amount of fuss. She wasn’t going to win that way.“You said you had never raped a woman. You said you wouldn’t rape me!”

“Never rape. Not between us.” Standing, he offered his hand.

She looked at it, longed to grab and twist, but she knew him; he was prepared.

She put her hand in his and let him pull her to her feet, close but not too close.

He performed that magic trick, the one where the stiletto appeared in his hand. Gripping the neckline of her T-shirt, he clicked the blade out and used it to slice the thin material from top to bottom.

Not that the T-shirt was anything to brag about, but…damn.

“Don’t move,” he advised. “That bra will take finesse, and the knife is very sharp.”

Resist? Oh, hell no. She barely breathed as he cut through her sports bra, then almost without pause he slipped the point under the elastic waistband of her shorts and removed her last chance to stay un-naked. Except for her panties…which were plain cotton, the kind she always worked in…

Fine.She hadn’t survived this long without craft and cunning. She took her time looking him over from his toes to his forehead. Intimidation was her goal, although she wasn’t entirely successful. In her strongest dealing-with-a-difficult-client voice, she said, “Give me the stiletto.”

His eyebrows lifted. He looked down at his white starched shirt, at the buttons that closed it, and presented the knife to her, bone handle first.

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