Page 120 of Lethal Torture
“Your proposal has merit,” I say as he sets the plates down. Lowbridge sees the enormous platter of chateaubriand and sides, then my own small plate with four carefully arranged scallops, and his expression shifts from smug satisfaction to dismay. I smile serenely at his discomfiture. “But let’s not be premature.”
“Too late,” comes Luke’s predictable aside.
It’s extremely difficult keeping a straight face with him talking at me like this. Not to mention the fact that even the sound of his voice makes me wet between the legs, which really doesn’t help my ice maiden act with Lowbridge.
I finish my wine and pour myself another glass, which has the predictable effect of making Lowbridge gulp his own in an effort to keep pace. Unfortunately, he neglected to order a bottle, so he’s forced to wait for the waiter to attend him again.
“I’d offer you some Viognier,” I say, “but we have rather different tastes, I’m afraid.” I slide a scallop into my mouth.
“Oh, I doubt that.” Lowbridge gives me a suggestive look and snaps his fingers at the waiter. Actuallysnapsthem. I thought only bad characters in movies still did that.
“Does he think his two fingers are going to make you come?” Luke murmurs, and my eyes water with the effort of maintaining my composure.
“I assume you’re not making this offer out of the goodness of your heart.” I’m astonished my voice is still even. “Why don’t you get to the point?”
“Ha.” Lowbridge cuts off an enormous portion of meat and shoves it in his mouth, making his cheeks bulge obscenely. “You certainly are direct.” He points his knife at me, dripping blood on the white tablecloth.
Jean returns to the table. “Your Barolo, sir,” he says, giving me a pained look as he pours Lowbridge a glass.
“This bloody guy,” mutters Luke. “He’s a crime against good food.”
I eat another scallop to stop my laughter from exploding.
“I think you know what I want, Zinaida.” If Lowbridge is going for a suggestive tone, it’s definitely ruined by the meat stuck between his teeth and his rather red face. I know he’s waiting for the invitation he came here for.
“Oh?” I raise my eyebrows politely and drain another glass, which again makes Lowbridge gulp his own with indecent haste. He clearly isn’t a drinker, going by the queasy look as he eyes the platter before him.
God, I think contemptuously,men like you fucking bore me.
“The Winter Ball,” Lowbridge prompts when I don’t offer anything. “Membership to the Quartier. I think you’ll find it proves a beneficial arrangement for us both.”
“I doubt he’s benefited any woman in his life,” comes Luke’s predictably dry aside.
My mouth twitching dangerously, I shoot another warning glance over Lowbridge’s bent head, toward the invisible eyes I know are watching me.
“Oh, come on,” murmurs Luke. “You know you love it.”
My eyes flare, and he chuckles low in his throat. I shake my head, then immediately compose myself as Lowbridge raises his eyes again. By the time he meets mine, my mask is firmly in place, blank and cold as ever.
There’s an art to keeping someone on a string. It’s one I mastered a long time ago. And normally, I might not even have drawn the game out this long, but having Luke enjoy it with me has given the occasion a piquancy I’d thought long lost.
“I run a club called Pigalle, Mr. Lowbridge.” I stare at him coldly as he frowns at my use of his surname. “I’m not sure what stories you might have read in theDaily Truth, but I suggest you treat them with skepticism.”
“Oh, that’s good, princess.” Luke’s low voice makes my whole body quiver. “Now bring it home.”
“That said,” I go on, my expression still utterly blank, “if you ever had information you’d like me to pass on to the NCA, I may be able to make that happen.” I lean forward, far enough to afford him a face full of cleavage.
Lowbridge’s fork pauses halfway to his open mouth. He’s practically salivating.
“And if such an occasion should arise,” I murmur, licking my lips and giving him a sultry smile, “I believe you’ll find Pigalle’s rear rooms a discreet place for such an exchange of information.”
“I recommend the basement myself,” Luke chimes in. “The view there is stunning.”
Oh, two can play that game, Captain Macarthur.
I slide the last scallop between my lips tantalizingly slowly. Lowbridge might be staring at my mouth, but the gesture is definitely for Luke’s benefit.
Lowbridge seems frozen in his chair, his eyes shifting between my mouth and my breasts like a man possessed. “And the Winter Ball?” he manages, his voice a thin croak.
