Still, despite my surprise, I played it cool, as though Grayson seeing the scar didn't matter to me at all. I shrugged. "So I have a scar. Lots of people do. Hardly worth mentioning."
He shook his head. "Not just any scar. It's silverstone. The metal is in your skin. When I shook your hand that night, I felt it. And now," Grayson cocked his head to one side. "I can hear it."
I stared at him. He must have more than a small talent for metal, if he could do all that. Once again, the thought struck me that Owen Grayson was someone worth watching, someone to be very careful around. Perhaps even someone to get rid of. But my curiosity wouldn't quite vanish enough for me to take that final step. Not yet. Not until I knew exactly what he wanted.
"And what does the metal in my hands sound like?"
He gave me a small smile. "It sounds sad. Hurt.
Lonely."
I kept my face blank, even as the emotions and memories raged inside me. The feel of the spider rune medallion burning into my skin, the smell of my own melting flesh filling my nose, my hoarse screams echoing in my ears, the Fire elemental's cackling laughter drowning out everything else. Somehow, I pushed the memories back and focused on Owen Grayson's face, on his violet eyes, which were still glowing ever so slightly.
At that moment, I seriously considered hurting Owen Grayson. Even killing him. Because somehow, Grayson had stripped away part of my defenses, part of my anonymity.
He knew too much about me, knew too many things I was so careful to conceal. He could be a threat. To me, to Finn, to the Deveraux sisters. I didn't like threats.
So I decided to get down to business.
"My scar sounds sad, hurt, lonely? That sounds like a lame come-on to me," I mocked. "Surely, you can do better than that, Mr. Grayson."
Owen laughed - a loud, hearty laugh. I'd amused him. He was laughing in the face of his own possible death. Despite the stupidity of his action, I had to admire his bravado. It, and this little spark of interest, of curiosity I had about him, was all that was keeping Grayson alive.
"So what do you really want?" I asked once Grayson's laughter had died down.
"From you? I haven't quite decided. But the possibilities are interesting." His eyes wandered down my body again in a frank, assessing way that told me he liked what he saw. His gaze settled on the heart-and-arrow rune that hung from my black velvet choker. "Although I never would have taken you for one of Roslyn Phillips's girls."
A hard smile curved my lips. "I'm a woman of many skills."
"I just bet you are," he murmured.
"Let's get down to business," I said. "Because I have other things to do tonight besides stand out here in the dark with you."
Like killing Tobias Dawson. Five minutes had passed since I'd left Mab Monroe in her own bathroom with Jake McAllister. Since I hadn't heard any screams or scurries of activity, she hadn't found his body in the bathtub. Which meant I still had a small window of time left to find, attract, and kill Dawson.
Owen Grayson nodded. "Very well. As I was saying, I was quite surprised to see you here tonight. But once I did, I decided to approach you."
"Why?"
He shrugged. "I thought you might like to dance."
I stared at him. He seemed to be sincere. Owen Grayson attracted to me? My eyes narrowed. Or perhaps he'd just seen the rune around my neck and realized what it meant - that I was supposed to fuck anyone here tonight for free. Either way, I supposed stranger things had happened.
"But I wasn't quite quick enough to catch you before you left the ballroom," Grayson continued. "And then I heard you speaking with Mab in the bathroom. Which interested me that much more, Gin. May I call you Gin?"
"Sure. No need to stand on ceremony at this point. As for what you overheard in the bathroom, I can't imagine why two girls talking about getting it on would be of interest to a guy like you." Sarcasm dripped from my voice like hot gravy off a biscuit.
His violet eyes glittered in the semidarkness, and he smiled. "Of course not."
"So you want to fuck me then," I said in a blunt tone.
"That's what this little conversation is all about. The talk about my knives, the stroll on the terrace, the handholding and come-on about what my scar sounds like. Interesting technique. Tell me, what was your next move? Maneuvering me up against the wall here? Or me accidentally falling on your dick?"
Grayson laughed again. "Of course I want to fuck you, Gin."
He stared at me. I saw the desire in his violet gaze, but it wasn't as lecherous or prurient as the other looks I'd been getting tonight. Oh, Owen Grayson seemed to be as sexual and fond of the female form as the next man.
But genuine interest also shimmered in the businessman's eyes, as though he was enjoying our sparring conversation as much as he would lifting up my skirt.