He whipped out a handkerchief, wiping his fingerprints off the bottle of Scotch and the gla.s.s, then setting them back on the counter.

"What about Ally?" Taylor blurted out the first thing that came to mind as she tried to stall him.

"If you were so obsessed with me, why did you marry her? Or does she even exist?"

Those questions seemed to amuse Gordon, and he paused for a moment, that smug gleam back in his eyes. "You haven't figured out that part yet, have you? Ally very much exists. She's a Berkley. The last remaining one, in fact. As for why I married her, that was a matter of necessity. After Jonathan gets his life sentence or lethal injection, she inherits everything. At which point, so do I."

Of course. Taylor blinked in realization. That's what Gordon had meant in the car, when he'd said he'd become Dennis Kincaid to get everything that was coming to him when Jonathan was convicted of double homicide.

The man was deranged. But he was also brilliant. And if he pulled off this scheme of his, Taylor doubted Ally would be around much past the trial and the disburs.e.m.e.nt of her inheritance.

"You're impressed," Gordon observed.

"Speechless is more like it."

"What can I say? I'm a genius." He walked over, plucking the empty Poland Spring bottle from her hand and tossing it on the bench. "No need to wipe the prints off that one. I'll recycle it on my way out, like the good citizen I am." He seized Taylor's chin in a cruel grip, forced her gaze up to meet his.

"By the way, now you're stalling. I know it. And I don't like it."

She winced at the pain, nodding mutely at his accusation. She was treading in uncharted waters now. There were no instructions for what lay ahead. She'd kept Gordon talking as long as she could. But his need to vent and to gloat had been satisfied. Now he had other, more pressing, needs in mind.

s.e.xual gratification. Domination. Vengeance. And finality.

"It's time," he announced, as calmly as if he were telling her dinner was about to be served. "Shall we adjourn to the bedroom?"

Taylor scarcely heard him. Her gaze had darted to the counter, and was now focused on the nearly full bottle of Scotch sitting there. That might be the weapon she needed--if she could break away from him long enough to get her hands on it.

That wasn't in the cards right now, not with him backing her toward the master suite.

"You're shaking," he observed. "Is that fear or pa.s.sion?"

"Fear," she answered frankly.

"Because you don't want me," he taunted.

"No. Because I don't want to die."

One brow rose. "More candor. Brava." He continued pushing her toward the bedroom, his weight solid and unrelenting.

Taylor gripped the door frame, her breath coming in quick, frightened pants. "Would begging help?"

she asked in desperation. "I'm sure that's something Adrienne would never do."

"You're right. It wasn't her style." A muscle worked in Gordon's jaw.

"It's not really yours either. But I'd love to hear you do it. As for whether it would help, I a.s.sume you mean, would it convince me to spare your life? The answer is no. This is more complex than just ridding myself of Adrienne. I need to rid myself of you as well. You're in my blood. I can't have that.

So I have to have you. And then I have to snuff you out, just as I did her."

His hands slid beneath her sweater, gliding up her back to unhook her bra. "Back to the idea of your begging. It's a tempting offer. I think I'd enjoy hearing you do it. In fact, I want to hear it twice. Once, when you're frantic for me to bring you to climax, and once, when I'm ending your life. That might help me wipe out the image of Reed Weston taking what's mine--even after I ordered you to sleep alone.

You infuriated and disappointed me, Taylor. I a.s.sumed you were different. You're not."

Taylor could barely hear him over the pounding of her heart. She averted her face as he bent to kiss her, flinching in pain as his mouth moved down her throat in hard, bruising motions--her punishment for turning away. She prayed to G.o.d she'd find the strength to do what she had to. She couldn't give in to the urge to fight him. Not yet. Retaliation would mean torture for her, and a surge of adrenaline for him as he rea.s.serted his dominance. She had to go along with this sick delusion of his. Make it seem as close to a mutual s.e.xual encounter as she could. Play into his desire for her until he was really into it.

And when his mind was dulled by his hormones, then she'd attack.

Gordon shoved her the rest of the distance toward the bed, toppling her onto it. "Stay there," he ordered, shedding his clothes in a few quick, practiced motions--including the shoes with the lifts.

Then he popped out his contact lenses. "See? It's really me."

He held out his arms and pivoted around so she could admire his naked body. Then he came down over her, bracing one arm on either side of her and effectively pinning her to the bed. "Actually, it's an even better me. Maybe not my face. That needs work. It'll get done when all this is over. But my body is harder, more controlled, than you remember it." He slipped his hands under her sweater and bra, cupped her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "Then again, last time you only got a brief taste. This time, you'll get the full effect. Who knows? You might just thank Adrienne after all."

Taylor forced her mind to disconnect from her body. She had to, in order to make this work.

"What happens afterward?" she managed.

He paused, propped himself on one elbow. "After what?"

"After I'm dead."

A shrug. "Just what you'd expect. Dennis Kincaid will continue on at WVNY. He'll be a.s.signed to a new show, of course, since Taylor Halstead will have vanished into thin air. He'll feel terrible about it. But he'll survive. After all, he's a newlywed. So he'll pull himself together, and blend in with the woodwork until Jonathan's convicted and Ally's named sole beneficiary. Then Mr. and Mrs. Dennis Kincaid will get wanderl.u.s.t and bid our good-byes, taking off for parts unknown."

"That much I guessed. I meant, what happens to me?" Taylor's voice quavered. "What are you going to do with my ... with me?"

He looked intrigued. "You want the details?"

"I want to live. But, since that's not an option, yes. I want the details."

Another shrug. "Suit yourself. I'll dump your body in shark-infested waters off the coast. Not too close to here, and not too close to Montauk, where my yacht exploded. No pattern that could link my previous crimes to your death, just in case a piece of you surfaces before the sharks finish you off. I doubt it will. They're pretty quick. But things happen. So if any part of you does wash up on sh.o.r.e, it'll be because your mystery stalker is a rank amateur, and did a sloppy job. Enough details for you?"

"More than enough." Taylor forced herself to sound vulnerable rather than repulsed. "I guess I'm not as stoic as I thought."

"Maybe not." He buried his lips in her throat, his hands curving around her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "But you're even more of a turn-on than I remembered." His thumb rasped across one nipple--hard.

Taylor fought the urge to recoil--at the pain, at the very idea of his hands on her. Detach, Taylor, she ordered herself. Be a psychologist, not a victim. Don't let him win. Think.

Her mind took over.

Gordon wanted her. Not just to violate. And not just to add as another redheaded notch on the side of his bed. What made her different from all the other women he'd had since Adrienne, poor Steph included, was that she was a challenge. And Gordon loved a challenge. It fired his blood and his intellect.

She represented a worthy opponent. A woman who didn't fall at his feet like all his previous Adrienne subst.i.tutes. He wanted to win her over, to make her want him as much as he did her. He wanted her so aroused that she'd beg for her climax, beg for him. If he couldn't have her that way, he wanted her fighting. Fueling his rage with her struggles.

Last time, she'd given him that. Big mistake. Steph and the others had bored him. Different kind of mistake.

She could make neither. Nor could she just lie there, placid and unresponsive. That would drive him over the edge.

She needed to offer him something more. A challenge that piqued his mind as well as aroused his body.

So be it.

As if to confirm her thought process, Gordon shifted irritably, his thumb sc.r.a.ping her other nipple, this motion even rougher than the last. "Relax," he ordered. "You're stiff as a board. Stop worrying about afterward. Afterward doesn't matter. You'll be dead. You won't feel anything. So put it out of your mind. Just relish these last wisps of sheer physical pleasure."

Last wisps... wisps...

Now, that triggered a memory. An ugly memory. But a h.e.l.l of a good start.

"Smoke," Taylor murmured.

"Hmm?"

"That's what you called me the last time. You said I was smoke. Elusive. Intangible. Hard to capture."

His hand paused. "You remembered. I'm flattered."

She felt his touch gentle. Her reward, no doubt.

That was the lead-in she'd been looking for.

She sucked in her breath. "Gordon--wait." She flattened her palms against his shoulders. "Please."

He raised his head slightly. "Why? More stalling?"

"No. More candor." She licked her lips with the tip of her tongue. "Look, I get it. I know what the end result's going to be. But may I at least have some say about what happens in between?"

He looked a little surprised, and a lot wary. "Go on."

"You say you want me. That I'm in your blood. You also keep telling me what an amazing lover you are. Well, if I'm about to die, I'd like to do it with minimum pain preceded by maximum pleasure.

Would you consider going that route rather than a brutal one?"

His eyes narrowed. "What kind of game are you playing?"

"No game. Just two last requests."

"I'm listening."

"First, I'm asking if this can be mutual instead of rape. I'd like you to make this good for me. Use your skill rather than your strength."

"And the second request?"

"I'm asking that you kill me as quickly and painlessly as possible. You had an amazing degree of control last September. You used just enough pressure on my windpipe to make me black out, but not die. Since then, you've had advanced martial-arts training. What I'm asking would be a piece of cake for you--if you chose to do it. I'm hoping you will. In fact, I'm begging you. Please."

There was that cutting stare she remembered all too well--a stare that sent p.r.i.c.kles of fear up her spine. He was a.s.sessing her, deciding what she hoped to gain, and what he stood to lose.

Please, she prayed. Let it have worked. She'd pulled out all the stops. Played into his ego. His intellect. His l.u.s.t. His craving to dominate.

"Let me get this straight," he said at last. "You're planning to respond to me--just like that?"

"No, not just like that." Taylor didn't have to fake the tears that filled her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. "Right now, I can't imagine responding at all. Right now, all I can think about is suffering and dying. So I guess it's up to you."

A subtle gleam. "Throwing down the gauntlet, are we?"

"If that's the way you want to view it, yes."

"How do you view it?"

As a last-ditch effort to save my life, she thought silently. "As a plea for leniency and a final indulgence."

"A plea. You're begging me to seduce you?"

"I'm begging you to try."

Gordon smiled, an ugly, triumphant smile that was so him, Taylor could no longer see a shred of Dennis, different face or not. "If I try, I'll succeed. As long as you go with it."

She gave a shaky nod, her eyes sliding shut. She forced her muscles to relax, to sink into the bed.

She wanted her body language to convey that she was prepared to be won over.

He bent down, capturing her tears with his tongue. "Now this is the way it should be. You. Me.

Heaven and h.e.l.l. Together for one perfect, frozen moment in time. All I dreamed of. The fitting end we both deserve." He covered her mouth with his, coaxing her lips apart.

She kept her mind and body separate. Her mind watched, dictated her movements. And her body complied.

Gradually. She gave in to him gradually. Anything less would set him off. Anything more would arouse his suspicions.

He kept kissing her, deepening the kisses until she could feel him shuddering with desire, his erection throbbing against her belly. But he made no move to tear off her clothes and thrust into her. He was exercising the control he'd gloated about.

Good. Very good. The longer she was dressed, the better.

She didn't give a d.a.m.n about her modesty.

She gave a d.a.m.n about her shoes.

He was really into it now, muttering hot phrases against her skin, kissing her neck, her throat, her mouth. She returned his kisses, first tentatively, then with a kind of hopeful desperation, like the survivor of a shipwreck who'd spotted a life preserver.

"Put your arms around me," he commanded, his voice rough with pa.s.sion.

Taylor wanted to weep with joy. She obeyed, somehow managing to curtail her enthusiasm as her arms glided around his neck.

Her hands were free.

She sighed into his open mouth, her breath eliciting another hard shudder. His l.u.s.t was definitely running the show here, all his mental faculties going into maintaining his self-restraint and the careful manipulation of his body. His hands slid down her arms, and for one horrifying moment, Taylor was afraid he planned to hold his grip. But his palms drifted down to her shoulders, his fingers threading through her hair.

He was definitely far gone enough.

Now she had to get him to shift positions so she could have the access she needed.