“Don’t call me that!” She wasn’t sure how much more of this she could take.
“What would you prefer? Baby? That’s what Archer calls you.”
She didn’t say another word. It had happened, and there wasn’t a damned thing she could do about it. She couldn’t even blame him—it had only taken his strong hands on her and she’d gone willingly, eagerly.
She couldn’t make herself move. He reached down and pulled her up, holding her for a moment, as if he guessed she wasn’t too steady yet. “Don’t worry, sweetheart.” He used that hated term again, but it sounded oddly tender. “If you end up getting out of here, you can report me to the Committee for rape and see if it gets you anywhere.”
“You didn’t rape me and you know it,” she said in a low voice.
“Depends on how you define rape,” he said. “You said no, I said yes, then your body said yes. I don’t think it’ll make it to the Supreme Court, but it’s an interesting distinction.”
“You are such a fucking bastard,” she said, and the last of her tremors vanished, leaving her suffused with anger, her misery dissolving. Had he done it on purpose? Of course not—he didn’t give a damn how she felt.
“I never told you I was anything else.” He picked her up, holding her high against him, and kicked open the boathouse door. In another moment they were heading back up the path.
She could still feel him inside her. Crying would be a waste of time, and besides, what was she crying for? Semantics aside, she had taken him into her body willingly, released him reluctantly. She had kissed him, and her mouth felt swollen and tender. She had had a rough reminder that she was still human, still female, prey to the usual biological hunger and needs most humans were. There was nothing to be ashamed about. It was part of the job, the job that she’d fucked up, and no one was hurt in the aftermath.
He was right—she needed to man up. She said nothing when they reached the house, Mal shoving open the kitchen door. Sophie had no choice but to sit in her chair when he placed her there, the dampness between her legs, until Mal accomplished whatever he’d set out to accomplish. Sooner or later she’d be alone, able to work through what had happened, able to rationalize and put it behind her. Right then she simply felt drained and empty.
Elena came in from the dining room, a laundry basket under her arm, and she greeted the two of them with a smile. “Did you have a good time, señora Sophie?”
A good time doing what? Sophie thought in a sudden panic. Did everyone know what she and Mal had been doing?
“We had a very nice walk,” Mal said lightly. “Mrs. MacDonald showed me places on the island I hadn’t realized existed.”
Elena’s face creased in a grin. “She knows this island very well. Back when . . . before . . . she hiked all over it. I don’t think there was one place she didn’t investigate.”
“Really?” Mal said. “Then we’ll definitely have to do this again, won’t we, Sophie?” He leaned closer to her, and she could feel his warm breath on her skin. A final stray shiver danced across her skin.
She wanted to tell him to go to hell. She wanted to say, “I don’t think so,” in her iciest tones, but they had an audience, so she simply smiled with as much sincerity as she could manage. “You’d probably have a better time with Archer,” she murmured, glancing up at him.
She sucked in her breath, because there was heat and laughter in his eyes as he looked down at her. “But he’s not as pretty,” he said, sounding perfectly sincere, as he picked up a strand of her hair and stroked it. The sight of his long, gorgeous fingers rubbing against the silken strands made her stomach clench once again.
“Can I get you both some lunch?” Elena asked, setting down her basket.
I want to press my head against his hand like a kitten looking for comfort, Sophie thought in disgust, about to shake her head, when she heard Mal’s voice above her. “Sandwiches and coffee on the terrace wou
ld be very nice, Elena.”
Elena gave them both a dazzling smile. “It will take only a moment.”
Sophie waited until they were in the darkened kitchen. “I’m not hungry,” she said in a small voice.
“I am.” The house was cool and dark, with the curtains closed against the bright tropical sun. “And you don’t eat enough.”
That was enough to make her turn to stare at him. “I’m perfectly healthy.”
“You are. But you’re too thin.”
Her laugh was brittle. “You certainly know the right words to a woman’s heart.”
He pushed her out into the bright sunshine again, on the veranda above the pool, the water blue and beautiful in the afternoon sun. “This isn’t my first rodeo,” he said as he placed her at the table, setting the brakes. “I know what to say to a woman to make her my slave for life.”
The thought was so absurd she was almost speechless. Almost. “You must be out of your mind.”
He shrugged, stretching out in the chair beside her. “Sanity is hardly the hallmark of a professional killer.”
The thought startled her. I just fucked a murderer, she thought. She’d been so caught up in trying to blot it out that she’d forgotten who and what he was. Forgotten that he was just as likely to kill her as she was to kill him.