Shannon McKenna Bundle: Ultimate Weapon, Extreme Danger, Behind Closed Doors, Hot Night, & Return to Me. Shannon McKenna

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СКАЧАТЬ this is an invasive question, but do you never create a beautiful thing just for beauty’s sake alone?”

      She sipped, her eyelashes mysteriously lowered. “Never. And besides, dangerous secrets are beautiful. Don’t you think?”

      He thought about that. “They can be, I suppose,” he said dubiously. “It depends on the secret. And your point of view.”

      She smiled. “And what is your point of view, Mr. Janos?”

      He lifted his glass to her in a silent toast. “That of a man whose lone secret weapon was confiscated by your security staff,” he said.

      “Ah. That.” She tilted her head to the side, amusement gleaming in her eyes. “Did the boys alarm you? They are very protective. Touchingly so. But I hardly consider you defenseless.”

      “No?” He swirled the liquor in his glass and inhaled the rich, complex smell of it. “With such deadly beauty, so many dangerous secrets massed against me?”

      “No. The way you move says it all,” she said. “Shaking your hand confirmed it. The enlarged knuckle joints and the calluses on your first and second finger are those of an experienced judoka. And your hands are electric, Mr. Janos. You are accustomed to channeling vital energy with them. You are an experienced martial artist with a high level of interdisciplinary training.”

      He was startled into a split second of blankness, but rallied quickly. “I do enjoy martial arts for exercise and recreation,” he said. “And I belong to a martial arts club near my home in Rome. But I would not presume to call myself a master. And I miss my knife.”

      “Your knife, I think, is overkill.”

      He injected a calculated hint of seduction into his smile. “I like overkill,” he said softly, letting let his gaze drop to the tangle of complicated jewelry at her cleavage. “And so do you, I think.”

      She conceded this with a brief nod.

      “I am tempted to procure some of your dangerous secrets for myself,” he said. “To combat my male insecurity.”

      “Bullshit,” she said softly. “You do not have a single insecure bone in your body, Mr. Janos.”

      He blinked. “Ah. Thank you…I think.”

      “Don’t thank me,” she said. “It was not a compliment, just an observation. And in any case, I do not design jewelry for men. Ever. It is against all my principles.” Her smile turned predatory.

      He knew when to back off. “Of course. I was surprised at your security procedures. Was all this elaborate choreography necessary?”

      She lifted her shoulders. “Who knows? I never do. Hence my caution.” Her smile widened. “Welcome to my world.”

      “I am honored, to have penetrated even the outermost defences.”

      Her eyes flickered. “Che galantuomo,” she murmured. “Erin told me about your old world charm.”

      “I try to please,” he said. “Are you immune to charm, Ms. Steele?”

      Her smile tightened. “We shall see, hmm?”

      He had evidently overstepped his bounds by flirting with her. Val Janos allowed himself to be cowed.

      “Excuse me for getting straight to business, but would you show me the torque that you showed to Erin?” she asked. “Before we begin, it makes sense to verify that it really is one of my designs.”

      “Of course.” He opened his case and lay the flat black leather case on the conference table. Steele flicked it open and gazed down at it.

      Her head was inches beneath his face. The mingled scents of her perfume and her hair gel tickled his nose. The coils of her hair were gleaming and slick as varnished mahogany, gelled sternly into submission. No wisps allowed. Part of her armor.

      But he had seen her without it. He had already seen the thick, disheveled braid swinging down her back as she played with the child. He had seen it wet and loose, clinging to her neck, to her slender, naked back and shoulders. The damage was done.

      She looked up, rocking him with the sudden, blazing force of her eyes. “The provenance?”

      He looked politely regretful. “As is often the case in my business, the piece came to me by unofficial channels. I bought it from a woman in Rome who had received it from a mysterious foreigner in Prague on a mad weekend love affair—after which she could never contact him again. He evidently gave her a false name and cell number. She sold the piece to me out of pique. The card was with it. I recognized your name, since I’ve dealt with some of your pieces before. I have received many offers already. The price rises daily, you will be gratified to know.”

      “I see.” She stared down at the torque, a tiny dent marring the smooth skin between her perfect brows. “Were you aware that the last known owner of this piece died three weeks ago in Paris? She fell to her death from a penthouse terrace. Thirty-four stories.”

      “I am shocked to hear it,” he said, his voice respectfully subdued. “Was it…?”

      “Suicide?” Steele’s elegant shoulders lifted. “Murder? Who can say? Perhaps she saw or heard something she shouldn’t, perhaps she slept with the wrong person. I imagine it’s best for you that the story not be widely known. People might consider the piece cursed.”

      Val made a noncommittal sound. “Forgive me if this sounds calculated, but considering the type of people who are most drawn to your work, it may enhance the torque’s value. Risk makes people feel alive. Danger is an indulgence for many of them.”

      “Yes, of course. Carefully controlled danger. Like an amusement park ride.” Her tone was delicately contemptuous. “Do you like danger, Mr. Janos?”

      “I am here, am I not?”

      Her chilly smile pushed him away. She lifted a telephone set into the wall near the table. “Have you eaten? The food here is excellent.”

      “I rarely eat in the evening,” he said. “But rules can be suspended. When temptation beckons, it is wasteful to resist.”

      She ignored his flirting. “I had originally thought to invite you to a place that specializes in Italian food, in case you were homesick for ragú, or gnocchi,” she said. “Then I changed my mind, decided to range a little further afield.”

      “You did well,” he said. “I seldom eat Italian food outside of Italy. No matter how talented the chef, la cucina italiana loses much of its magic out of context.”

      “I agree,” she said. “Well, then. Your choices are the classic Japanese haute cuisine of Mr. Takuda, or that of his wife and associate, Mariko Takuda, who specializes in a more modern style of pan-Asian fusion dishes.”

      “Choose for me,” he said gallantly. “I put myself in your hands.”

      “Ah, you do enjoy risk.” She picked up the phone and spoke at some length in what sounded like fluent Japanese to whoever was on the other line.

      “How many languages do you speak?” he asked.

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