Page 15 of The Penalty

“I wouldn’t dream of it, Romanoff. You’ve well and truly caught me in your snare. Should I be sending a picture of you to my friend? Just in case you’re the one who’s about to take my life. Was this all a smoke screen?”

“Don’t take my picture!” I blurt out as he holds up his phone. Words too sharp, slashing through the heat of the moment, threatening to leave it in shreds.Get it together, Cecelia.“Please. I don’t like my picture being taken.”

It’s not true.

I have no problem with friends taking my picture. I only object when the media shows up and immortalizes my worstmoments in the press. But if he takes my picture now, he might post it on-line for the world’s consumption. And if he has comic book friends, someone could recognize me. It’s a tangled mess I don’t want to get involved in. This weekend is for me. The red wig and the tight costume are an excellent shield against the world and other than the desk agent, no one has recognized me yet. Even Dev after spending the day together.

But what happens when I remove the wig? Will my pale blonde hair give me away? Is this a bad idea? Or can I get away with leaving it on? A little superhero play in bed could be fun. But I can’t leave it on all night if he stays.

He lowers his phone to his side, slipping it into his pocket as I’m frozen in the act of pushing the door open. Then he lifts his other arm, reaching over me to grasp the top of the door frame. The move brings his body closer to mine, infringing on my space in a way that chases the intrusive thoughts out of my head.

One hand reaches up to cup my cheek, tilting my face up to his. “I won’t take your picture if you don’t want me to. I know what it’s like to have someone intrude on your privacy. But just so you know. I wouldn’t have posted it online or anything if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m not even on social media.”

What? I can’t have heard that right. A college guy around my own age who is not on social media is an anomaly.

“Like any social media? At all?”

“Nope. I like my privacy.”

Well, that explains a lot, and it changes everything.

I reach up, his stubbly cheeks coarse under my palms, yanking him down to my level. He seems surprised for the barest of moments before he reacts, delving between my lips to meet my demands. His hands tighten on my cheeks as he pulls me in closer and walks me backward until I’m pressed up against the half-open door.

I stumble, laughing as it gives way under my weight, but he keeps me upright and moving. Like he’s been waiting all day for this, just like I have.

“What about dinner?” I ask.

His eyes go dark as he mumbles against my lips. “There’s only one thing I’m hungry for right now.”

I was already on the edge of reason, but that shoves me right over. A bolt of need shoots from my tingling lips to my core, and my pussy clenches.

“Fuck yes.”

The door clicks shut, forcing me into the present. I reach over to snap the latch and flip the dead bolt without breaking out of his hold.

His thumbs trace shivery circles on my cheeks and then his hands travel up further and further until they’re teasing the edges of the wig that’s been keeping me safe from recognition all day.

I nip at his lower lip when he stills the kiss, trying to urge him on, but he pulls away, breathing a little heavier than before.

“Let me help you get this thing off.” His voice is gruff.

The anxious thoughts try to kick in again, tensing my muscles and leaving me a little unsure. If I let him, he’ll see me forwho I am. Not the confident kick-ass persona that’s easier to maintain when I’m wearing the costume. But it’s okay. There’s something about him that puts me at ease. A sense of protection and safety. Maybe it was the way he casually held my hand off and on all day, as if to make up for pulling away that one time. The way he let me sweep him up in the path of my hurricane first thing in the morning, or how enthusiastic he was about the women in comics panel. Whatever it is, there’s something easy about being around him, so I make a conscious effort to relax my shoulders and nod.

His strong fingers slip under the edge of the wig, easing it up, but I wince as the pins holding it in pace tug at my scalp.

“Sorry. I’ll just...”

I laugh. “It’s fine. Just had to pin it in place. How did you think I was keeping it solid all day? It’s not like we’re in a movie where everyone’s hair and makeup magically remain perfect in the middle of a literal war. These things take a little extra care.”

I reach up to help him, placing my smaller hands over his to find the combs and pins holding it in place. He’s surprisingly gentle for such a big guy, taking care to pull out the pins and untangle the strands so they don’t yank on my scalp.

When all the fastenings have been dropped to the floor, he guides the piece up and off, placing it on a side table carefully so it doesn’t get wrecked.

Of course, I’ve got a hairnet on to hide any and all strands of my own hair. He removes that next and my long pale locks are finally free, falling in a rumpled mess to my shoulders.

He pulls away from me, hands dropping to my shoulders and his eyes widen as if he’s consuming every inch of me. My face, my hair. He runs his hands through it, taking care to untangle the delicate strands. A shiver runs across my scalp at his gentle touch.

“Gorgeous.”

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