His hand slid down the side of her throat and cupped her breast. He kneaded the flesh, then pinched her tight, hard nipple. Max opened her eyes.
A spark of triumph lit his black gaze. “Oh, you’re ready, aren’t you? You want it. You need it. Beg me, and I’ll put you out of your misery. Beg me to fuck you, Max. Beg me to bury my tongue in your cunt.”
For just a moment, she thought Tiffany might actually come to life, take over, and force her to do what he wanted.
But something in his voice, something in those dead eyes of his, something in the obscene pleasure he got from manipulating her set her free of Tiffany’s lust for sexual power.
Max looked down at Bud’s fingers squeezing her, then slowly raised her eyes to meet his penetrating gaze. “Get your fucking hand off my breast.”
His lips curled in another of his masterful smiles. This one said that he didn’t believe her, that he could have her when, where, and how he wanted. “You don’t need the token resistance, Max. Just give in to yourself.”
She raised the Mag-Lite. Her voice didn’t shake. Her arm held steady. “Take your hand off me, or I’ll bash your goddamn skull in.”
A light flickered in those dark eyes. A corner of his mouth lifted. He dropped his hand to his side.
Just like that.
Why? It must be a trick, a ploy to catch her off guard. Another one of his manipulations. But to what end? The frightening possibilities made her lightheaded.
“You win this round, my lovely Max.” His next words chilled her. “But we both know how close you came. We both know how badly you want it. Don’t we?”
Close but no cigar, buster.
Close didn’t count. Close meant she’d won, but her heart skipped several beats. “I wouldn’t fuck you if you were the last man on earth and the only hope of saving the human race.”
Traynor smiled, stepped back, then moved around the coffee table to sit on the sofa, his arm extended along the back. The casual posture didn’t speak of a man who’d just lost a major skirmish in their war. “By the way, I love your shampoo. It’s one of Miles’s specialties, isn’t it?”
Damn. She remembered the way he’d stood in the doorway sniffing the air, like an animal on the hunt. He’d known she hid in the room. Was it a plan he’d concocted with Miles? But they couldn’t have known what she’d planned.
He interrupted her speculations. “Take off your gloves, Max. Stay awhile.”
She’d forgotten she had them on. So much for leaving fingerprints. He’d caught her in the act. She tugged them off, shoved them in her back pocket, then stood legs slightly spread, hands folded in front of her, one still grasping the Mag-Lite and effectively disguising the disk still hidden beneath her clothing.
“Have a seat.” He offered the sofa with a sweep of his arm.
She’d tired of his game. Plus, she wanted to run. She stayed only because there was so much more to learn from him, so many answers she needed.
“I’ll stand right here,” she said defiantly.
A satisfied half-smile crossed his face, one that said he saw right through her tough act. “So tell me, Max, why are you here? Besides the feeble attempt to prove I killed my darling stylist.”
He didn’t give a damn why she’d come. Her actions had somehow fallen right in with some nefarious plan of his. Whatever card he’d tucked up his sleeve, it wouldn’t work. “I will bring you down. Maybe not tonight, maybe not even for Tiffany’s murder, but I will get you.”
He lifted a hand and wagged a finger at her. “Brave words, little girl. Very challenging. You’re doing quite well despite the vulnerable position you’re in. Don’t forget, I can still call the police and report you for breaking and entering.”
“Go for it. I have friends on the force.”
He laughed. Worse than nails on a chalkboard, it was the sound of dirt falling on your coffin when you don’t have the voice to scream that you’re still alive. “I just had dinner with the Mayor, Max. Who will they believe?”
“They’ll believe the truth.” If only she could figure out what the hell it was.
He cocked his head. “You are refreshingly naive. I’ll have such pleasure breaking you in.” Her skin crawled with a million imaginary bugs. He continued, obviously enjoying himself. “Back to Tiffany. I could have killed her. I’m capable, don’t you think?” He shrugged and didn’t wait for her to agree. “Or I could have paid someone to do it. I do have several acquaintances who’d be more than willing to accommodate me.”
He was silent, forcing Max to prompt him. “But?”
“It’s so much more rewarding to have someone else think it was all their own idea. They do it with such precision and pleasure. That’s the secret, Max. To get exactly what you want while the other party thinks they’re the brains behind the operation.”