He crossed the thick carpet. Max fought the urge to step back, and won. She also fought Tiffany’s desire to rub herself against him. Even in death, the woman was a monumental sexual force—and a gigantic pain in the ass.
This time, his smile was soft, cajoling, seemingly harmless. “So you think I killed her, too, just like you think I killed my daughter? Max, you really ought to see a psychiatrist about these delusions of yours.”
Another step closer. He was now less than a foot away. She could smell his expensive cologne and imported cigars. Max stood her ground. “Do you visit her grave, Bud?”
“Tiffany’s?”
She’d meant his daughter, Wendy’s, but allowed him the mistake. She might learn more that way.
“I attended her funeral,” he said. “It’s too bad you weren’t there. I missed you. We have unfinished business, you and I.”
Yes, they did. She hadn’t forgotten her midnight vow to kill him.
“Did you murder Tiffany?” she asked bluntly.
He trailed a cold finger down her cheek like some nighttime ghoul. Max’s blood froze. Her breath stuck in her throat. Inside her, Tiffany moaned.
“As much as you’d like it to be me, I didn’t kill her.”
Max’s mouth was desert dry, but her voice was strong, her stance firm. “Then you had someone else do it for you.”
He had the blackest eyes. Heartless. Devoid of all emotion except greed. Evil eyes. “I didn’t have to. There were plenty of men waiting in line to take care of that little chore. It was only a matter of time. She was a whore through and through. She deserved what she got.”
“Nobody deserves to die like that.”
“Then maybe you don’t know enough about her. Shall I tell you?”
“Please do.” She wasn’t sure he could reveal anything about Tiffany she didn’t already know.
“Shall I tell you about the times she pulled me into the laundry room at Miles’s delightful little shop and went down on me?” His eyelids lowered. He licked his lips, as if savoring the memory. Inside her, Tiffany quivered with anticipation. “There’s nothing quite like the scent of fresh laundry in your nose and the feel of a woman’s mouth around your cock.”
“Since I don’t have one, the nuances are lost on me.” If he wanted to shock her, it wouldn’t work. She already knew the sexual feats of which Tiffany was capable. She also knew Nadine had been wrong. There was one older man her sister hadn’t been able to resist.
He smiled. “Well, look at this. I’m turning you on.” His gaze swept over her, singling out her peaked nipples, outlined starkly against her sweatshirt, and the sheen of perspiration on her upper lip.
Tiffany’s doing, all Tiffany. “Don’t flatter yourself.”
“You’re such a delicious liar. Tell me, the truth now, do you want it right here, Max—on the carpet? Or maybe upstairs?” He raised a hand and brushed her hair back from her forehead, then whispered close to her ear, “How about Wendy’s room?”
She almost screamed out loud and shoved him away. It was what he expected, but she wasn’t about to give in to him. Not now. Not ever. Not until she proved to everyone what he was capable of.
She stepped back deliberately and looked him in the eye. “Be careful how far you push me, Traynor. On your territory, you have the upper hand, but we won’t always be on your turf. You’re going down. For Tiffany. For Wendy. For all the little girls you’ve destroyed.”
He chuckled. “Your sense of melodrama is delightful. But the only thing I plan to go down on is you, my sweet Max. I love a challenge. Tiffany was never much of one. The game with her was seeing just how far she’d be willing to go.”
“And how far was that?” she asked.
“Shall I tell you about the evening she fucked me? I sat in her chair, with full light behind us and the blinds open to the street.”
Jesus. Tiffany squirmed. Oh yes, Tiffany had loved that one. Max felt her control slipping away in the wake of his words, in the crest of the new ones he murmured so intimately.
She fought Tiffany for dominance even as Traynor leaned closer to whisper insistently in her ear.
“Shall I tell you how she screamed and came when she saw Miles watching us in the mirror?”
God, the watcher. Tiffany had loved being watched. Someone had watched her the night she’d died. Max closed her eyes, stretched within the vision, and strained to see the face just beyond her reach.
Then Traynor moved in for the final blow, close enough to touch his tongue to her ear. His words were feather soft as if they were part of a dream. “I want you, Max. We both know you’re here because you want me. I can smell how wet I make you.”
Her knees weakened with alarm. She couldn’t breathe. Her nipples ached. Her thighs were on fire. The only sound in the room was the roaring in her ears.
He cupped her throat, tilted her chin with his thumb, then licked her cheek, from the corner of her mouth to her eye. “Fuck me, Max,” he murmured.