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painted silver white, that he caught out of the corner of his eye when she shifted it forward, passing over his cheek. It drifted behind his ear, along his jaw. She caressed the scar where a vamp had tried to rip open his throat. He’d nearly succeeded before Gideon’s small crossbow had sent a bolt straight under his rib cage and into his heart.
    “You’ve been very ugly to my ladies, Gideon. Been rude and surly as well. I expect better of you.”
    “Better lower your expectations. This is as good as it gets.”
    As she shifted her hand, he saw a flash of metal. He should have ducked away, swept her legs, knocked her to the ground and pinned her. It was how he reacted to the appearance of a blade, but for some reason this time he merely went still. It was a razor blade, cut and fitted to the underside of that long nail. When it followed his jawline again, the fiery sting, concentrated and precise, told him she’d drawn up a thin line of his blood. What would happen if she bent, licked it away? He clenched his fists against the metal handles, fighting to banish such sick thoughts.
    “Maybe you should have gotten your ass in here and done the job right the first time.” He tossed it out, a desperate Hail Mary. “Though I guess you make more money being wrong.”
    She tightened her fingers in his hair, making him grunt as she put her knee in his lower back. The only thing that kept her stiletto from staking his calf to the floor was the protection of his jeans as she leaned in. Her lips, her blessed lips, were so close to his ear he scented the gloss. A dark fruit of some kind, juicy, sweet and rich, but with a bite. As she held his head down to the rail with brutal efficiency, her breath caressed his jaw and cheek as if she’d rubbed her pussy there, moist and heated.
    “Many men resist when they come here. It’s part of what they need, so even if their resistance is violent, we can subdue them, because that’s what they expect. They want to be here, want to be dominated. You, on the other hand, feel compelled to be here, forced by something in yourself you despise. That’s why the other three only fed into your anger.”
    “Sounds like you’re into dogfighting, sweetheart.” He wished she’d use the razor again, take his mind off what was happening at a lower altitude, the twisting in his gut, the unabating throb of his cock. Jesus, nothing but her voice and the pain of that jabbing spike heel made his organ convulse, dampen thin cotton. “You threw a couple cats and a golden retriever in the ring to get my blood raging. You’re the prize bitch, here for the real fight.”
    “Hmm.” Trailing her fingers down the back of his neck, she teased the small, fine hairs so an unexpected shiver ran down his spine. She kept going, down the back of the T-shirt, the pads of her fingers caressing the tense range of muscles layered on either side of that center column, the branches of ribs. Only when she got to his waistband did he realize the purpose of taking her thumb down that center line. He muttered a curse as she used her knuckles to nudge aside the sliced fabric, but he couldn’t prevent another, different type of quiver as her nails scraped his bare skin.
    “That’s one of two shirts I own.”
    “I’m sure Goodwill has plenty more where this one came from.” Letting the fabric fall away from his tense flesh, she moved around the rail, between him and the stained glass alcove with its peaceful fountain. She eased a hip onto the cushioned rail, the long thigh encased in latex no more than an inch or two from his nose. The folds of the silky camisole gathered just above it, making it hard to swallow. The fabric was nearly sheer, giving him the hint of bare flesh so close.
    He had a death grip on the handles, knowing her ass had to be hanging just over his knuckles on the right. Lifting one of her booted feet in an astonishingly flexible movement designed to reduce a man’s mind to a puddle of lust, she