She took hold of my arm and swung it into the air.

“No!” I whisper-hissed, but she only winked at me and pushed me up out of my seat. Before I knew it I was standing, and a spotlight had landed on me, alongside Jack’s dark, indecipherable gaze. I stood frozen for a moment, uncertain of what to do, and then Marina was calling me to the stage and my feet were moving one after the other, the traitorous bastards. Okay, so maybe I was going to stick it to Mum sooner than I thought. And really, it was oddly liberating.

Jack held his hand out to me when I reached him, and I placed my palm in his. Without realising it, I’d given him the hand that had been burned. When he gripped it, I hissed in a tiny breath at the sting.

“Sorry,” he murmured, but he didn’t sound sorry.

“It’s okay,” I replied as he led me to an upright wooden panel. Taking my shoulders in his big, warm hands, he gently situated me against it, my back flush with the wood.

“I hope you’re good at holding still,” he said, and his breath hit the side of my neck.

“Why?” I practically whispered. He was incredibly handsome, even more so now that I was seeing him up close, and I felt a little drunk on it.

The edge of his mouth twitched, like he was holding back a smile. With one hand braced above my shoulder, he leaned in as he replied, “Because, blondie, I’m gonna be throwing knives at you, and I’d really hate to make you bleed.”

Again, he didn’t sound like he meant what he said at all. And I didn’t think there was a single pore on my body that wasn’t tingling. I remembered items number three and four on my list:  Have sex with a stranger and do something dangerous. Perhaps if I could get Jack McCabe to do me, then I could kill two birds with one stone.

I hadn’t noticed before, because I was too busy staring at him, but there was a belt attached to the wood. I stood there as Jack took it and buckled it extra tight around my waist. He gave it a firm tug once he was done and smirked. I’m not sure why, but the action caused me to tremble. I think he noticed, too, because his eyes grew darker, if that was even possible.

Surprising me, he placed his flattened-out palm on my belly. I had to try my hardest to concentrate on his words rather than the fact that my libido (the little slut) was willing his hand to move lower.

“This is your core. Visualise it. Focus on it. Keep your body in this exact position, and everything will be fine.” There was the tiniest edge of a smile tugging at his lips, and it made me wonder if he was enjoying this, if maybe he was trying to make me nervous.

Sucking in a breath, he continued randomly, “You smell like turpentine.” Then he drew up to his full and impressive height, and walked to the other side of the stage. I knew I smelled like turpentine because I often used it to clean my paintbrushes, and sometimes the smell got into my clothes. That wasn’t the part that preoccupied me; that part would be the fact that he’d taken the time to smell me, and I didn’t know whether I should be weirded out or turned on.

Okay, so I knew which option my libido was going for. And really, maybe I was just as much of a weirdo, because what I’d wanted to reply was, “You smell like kerosene.”

Jack gathered a selection of small throwing knives from the floor and demonstrated the sharpness of each by flinging them one by one into a block of solid wood, where they embedded themselves as though slicing through butter. My heart began to race, and I could feel adrenaline starting to flood my system. I was shaking very slightly all over as I remembered Lola’s words.

I swear, every time he throws a knife at someone, I can’t be certain whether or not he means to hit or miss.

I was hoping it was the latter. Perhaps I was crossing my “something dangerous” off the list after all. Damn my life. Why couldn’t it have been the sexy danger? Jack didn’t even announce that he was starting when he stood at least ten feet away from me, flipped a knife in his hand, caught it, then lunged with his whole body and flung the knife right at my head. I squeezed my eyes shut, and a hollow thud sounded at my ear where the knife had, thankfully, hit the board. Sounds of nervous excitement and clapping came from the audience as Jack continued his assault on me. He moved his body with the kind of skill that only comes from obsessive practice.

Adrenaline drowned me, my chest rising and falling rapidly.

A small squeak of fright escaped me when he threw a knife at my hip and it barely missed. In fact, I could feel the hard edge of the steel pressing against me. I was surprised it hadn’t cut into the fabric of my coat. Jack prowled around the stage, gaze on me, calculating his next throw. Everywhere his eyes looked, I felt positively laid bare. Molested by disinterest.

I might as well have been a sack of potatoes for all the care he showed as to whether or not he might cut me. Deciding I couldn’t take any more, I kept my eyes closed until it was over and all six knives had been thrown.

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

When I finally opened my eyes, Jack was standing before me, unbuckling the belt that held me in place. I didn’t move even after I’d been released, still trying to come to terms with the terror I’d just endured. All of a sudden, Jack McCabe was more scary than sexy.

“That was a close one,” he said as he pulled out the knife that had landed just below my ear. I glanced to the side to see a tiny lock of my hair fall to the stage floor. Oh, my God.

“You cut off my hair,” I gasped.

“Only a small bit. Don’t worry — I didn’t leave a bald patch.” He chuckled darkly.

I didn’t know what to say, but I was momentarily appalled at how cavalierly he was taking all this.

“I could sue you,” I said, and then instantly grimaced. I sounded like my mother. It was only hair, after all.

He leaned in, and I thought I saw him bare his teeth for a second. “Go ahead, pumpkin.”

He said “pumpkin” with all the disdain most people would put into the word “bitch.” I didn’t feel safe right then, so I quickly scrambled off the stage and returned to my seat. In all honesty, I felt a bit like going home and having a nice private little cry. Get all the fear and sexual frustration out, you know.

“Have fun?” Lola asked when I reached her.

“Oh, yeah. Big time. Thanks for offering me up for sacrifice, by the way,” I said, annoyed.

She laughed loudly. “It’s the sexiest thing that’s happened to you all year, admit it.”

I snorted. She was dead right, but I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of letting her know it. Forcing myself to get back into the show, I watched the rest of the acts. They included a contortionist named Violet whose eyes and hair matched her name. She had to be wearing contacts. There was also a husband and wife duo of lion tamers, two clowns, and a group of three stuntmen, two of whom stood on the shoulders of the third as he drove a scooter around the stage.

By the time it was all over, I’d just about gotten past the adrenaline rush of having knives thrown at me. I watched as Delia and her girlfriends walked by, giving me snotty looks as they did so.

“Shit, did you shag one of their boyfriends or something?” Lola asked, amused. I’d almost forgotten that she was still sitting next to me.

“Nope. I think they might be jealous that I got to have a near-death experience and they didn’t,” I deadpanned.

“Ah, I see. Near death at the hands of Jack McCabe is certainly something to envy,” she joked, and nudged me with her elbow.

I laughed despite myself. Lola stood and gestured for me to follow. “Come on, you look like you could do with a drink.”

I stood, and she linked her arm through mine. Again, her familiarity was odd, but I went with it. I kind of liked her oddness. She brought me through a side passage that led backstage, and I saw the three stuntmen packing up their equipment. Lola waved to them.