Why would he be testing her? Did he suspect she was pretending? How? Was she a crap actress after all? She had to make a decision quickly or he’d know she was pretending anyway.
She took a deep breath. It wasn’t as though she was ashamed of her body. She could do this. After all, this guy had given her the two most mind blowing orgasms of her life—maybe he deserved to see her. She wasn’t so sure about the old guy. But even as the thoughts were racing through her mind, her hand went to the row of small buttons running down the front of her robe.
Piers’ eyes widened as though she had surprised him. Then they darkened as her fingers plucked at the tiny buttons.
She waited for him to tell her to stop. After all, he was only doing this to prove a point—that she was under his will—wasn’t he?
But she reached the last button, and still he didn’t speak out. If he believed she was afraid of this, he didn’t know her. She pushed the sleeves down her arms and the bodice of the robe pooled around her waist, leaving her top half naked but for the black bra. His gaze played across her bare skin, lingering on the too full curves of her breasts. She could feel them swelling under his regard, her nipples hardening, pushing against the lace.
A small smile curved his lips.
Yeah, the bastard knew she was pretending. Goddamn it—it looked like she wasn’t going home anytime soon.
He hadn’t known the last two times, she was sure of it—so what was different? The old guy? Who was he? Or more to the point, considering where they were, what was he?
Piers was still gazing at her chest. How far would he make her go?
Reaching behind her, so her breasts thrust out toward him, she fingered the catch on her bra. Staring into his face, she whispered the word. “More?”
He nodded and her eyes narrowed.
She dropped her arms to her sides and scowled. “Well, if you want more, you’re going to have to take it yourself. Fucking pervert.”
She heard a choke of laughter from the old guy. But she ignored it, holding her breath as she waited for Piers’ reaction. Instead, a hiss came from the old man and her gaze shot toward him. He was staring at the sigil wrapped around her upper arm. She’d always told people it was a tattoo. Obviously, he recognized it as something else.
He stepped up close and lifted a hand. “Do you mind?” he asked at the last moment.
“Would it make any difference?”
He smiled, then stroked one fingertip over the intricate design.
“What is it?” Piers asked, his tone sharp.
Jonas glanced at him. “You’ve never seen one? I’m surprised. It’s a demon’s sigil. A sort of brand of indebtedness. And it’s old. Very old.”
“How old?”
Could he tell? It would give her away. Then what would happen?
“Five hundred years, give or take a few. Your little nun has been holding out on you.” He studied her. “Just what are you?”
Roz sighed. “Would you believe me if I told you I didn’t know?”
“Actually, yes.” He held out a hand to her. “I’m Jonas, by the way. Piers failed to introduce us.”
She eyed up the outstretched hand, reached out, and slid her palm against his. As she wrapped her fingers around his, a little jolt of power ran through her from the point of contact, as though some part of her recognized him. He must have felt it too, as his smile broadened. She tugged free. “And what are you, Jonas?” She held her breath, waiting for his answer.
“I’m a warlock.”
At his words, the air left her lungs with a whoosh. She glanced around, found the nearest chair, and dropped. For a minute she sat, contemplating the floor. He was a warlock. And he was openly admitting it here at the Order of the Shadow Accords. Where Asmodai had told her they would kill her, if they ever found out what she was. He’d told her they killed all people like her.
“Is that like a male witch?” she asked, just to make sure she hadn’t misunderstood.
“Witch, warlock…they’re just names given by people who have no real clue what they mean.”
People like her. Thanks to Asmodai. Roz could feel the fury rising inside her. She gritted her teeth. Asmodai had lied. He’d been lying to her for five hundred years.
“That fucking bastard.”
“Who?”
Piers had backed off and was leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching them both. She clamped her lips at his question. She had to think things through. Decide what to do next. Sticking a dagger in Asmodai’s black, lying heart would be her first choice. Was it possible to murder a demon? She was betting there were people here who knew the answer to that particular question. In fact, she was betting there were people here who knew all the answers. No doubt, that was why Asmodai had lied—he hadn’t wanted her to know what was going on. It might have allowed her to think for herself and maybe reduced her usefulness.
Or did he have other reasons?
Beneath the anger, she felt a faint hum of excitement. Was she going to finally learn some of those answers? A shiver ran over her skin and she realized she was sitting there half naked. She glared up at Piers.
“Well, now you’ve had your bit of fun, could I get dressed?”
He shrugged. “Pity. That really is one ugly outfit but go ahead.”
She tugged the dress up her arms and held it together.
“So you were faking it all the time?”
She shrugged noncommittally.
“And you remember everything we did?”
“Well, I don’t remember me doing much, but yeah, I remember you sucking my blood, if that’s what you mean. Ugh!”
“Ugh? From what I remember, you enjoyed it a lot—both times.”
She gave him a scornful glance and sniffed. “I was pretending.”
“Of course you were.” The words came out as a rough purr that sent shivers running down her spine. “Would you like to pretend some more?”
Heat washed over her at his question, flushing through her body before settling low down in her belly. A little pulse started its insistent throb between her thighs, and she glanced away. Her hands fisted at her sides, her nails digging into her palms as she fought to bring her unruly body under control.
What was it about this man that affected her so badly? He was gorgeous, but she’d met gorgeous men before and they hadn’t made her lose her common sense or her grip on reality. Hadn’t made her forget everything but the urge to push him back against the wall and rub up against him like a cat in heat. Her breasts responded to the idea, her nipples tightening, sending darts of sensation shooting down to her groin. She’d rip that T-shirt from his body…
Someone coughed, and she looked up to find Jonas watching her. She shifted her gaze to the vampire, her eyes narrowing at the amused quirk on his lips, only slightly mollified as her gaze clashed with his. She recognized her own hunger reflected and magnified in the midnight blue depths.
“So, should I leave you two alone for a moment?” Jonas asked.
“Yes,” Piers said.
“No,” she snapped. She made a concerted effort to relax, her fingers uncurling, the tension oozing out of her shoulders, leaving her a little shaky. Too much had happened over the last few days. She was struggling to take it all in. But even if the Order didn’t automatically kill people like her, she also knew they weren’t necessarily on her side. Her only hope of living her own life, free from coercion, was to get Asmodai off her back. To do that she had to finish the tasks, and that meant handing him the Key.
What did he want with it? Piers had told Christian that the Key opened the portals between worlds. All worlds. But while Asmodai might be a lying bastard, she didn’t believe he was truly evil. He was a demon, and she’d come to see that he viewed the world, and the whole morality thing, differently from most people. All the same, she was pretty sure he wasn’t some megalomaniac monster intent on taking over the world and subjugating the whole human race. But what did she know? He’d successfully managed to lie to her for five hundred years. Could she really believe anything he said?