Page 17 of Deadly Sights

I almost stumble at his revelation so readily given but correct myself without revealing the slight shock his compliment delivers to my system. His merest praise causes my breasts to swell and areas to throb that shouldn’t.

There’s something wrong with me. I’ve started wearing pajamas because my attempts to keep him out have been for naught. On top of my change to accommodate his appearance in my life, a week has gone by and he’s still alive. Still breaking into my apartment despite the upgraded security. Still cooking amazing dishes—he even drops in on me during my legitimate business hours to bring me home-cooked lunches—and styling my outfits. The food is damn good and too tempting to ignore. So far I’ve resisted wearing his recommendations, but it pains me every time.

His knack for style shouldn’t surprise me. Everything he wears is designer-chic on steroids. As we walk up the path to the privately owned castle hosting today’s event, I peek at him from the side of my eye. The tux he selected to crash the wedding I’m attending is foreplay in action. The material makes love to his broad shoulders, thick arms and thighs, and firm stomach.

I curl my fingers into my palm to stop myself from reaching for him. Ever since he said he knew me from before my accident, I’ve held my curiosity at bay. But I want to know everything he knows about me. To distract myself, when Gary called, I jumped at the chance to take this job that meant flying across the Atlantic and to the southern coast of Spain.

Because Julian sniped my last target right under my nose, I have to redeem myself. Speaking of which…

“Are you here to steal another assignment?” I stop to glare at him.

Amusement lights his golden eyes. “I’m your plus one.”

“Funny how I don’t recall asking you to be my date.”

“And you’ll never have to.” He takes my hand, drawing me closer until he wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me into his chest. “I’m here for you. No other reason.”

He leans forward and I focus on his distracting lips, my eyes nearly falling close. In London, he stopped himself from kissingme. Ever since, I’ve wondered what his lips would feel like pressed against mine. Heat radiates from beneath my skin and my heart skips its regular beat. When he’s a breath away from answering my unasked question, he raises my hand and kisses my knuckles.

How can I feel so turned on by a simple brush against my hand and disappointed that it isn’t on my lips? I pull away, hiding my shortness of breath by pretending to fix my shoe. “Death and dating, how romantic.”

He chuckles at my droll comment while he waits for me to stand. “Being near you is all the romance I need.” He places his hand on my lower back and leads me into the Spanish castle. “So, who’s the target and how are they meant to die?”

I glance at him from the side of my eye.

“Consider me your support staff, here to aid you in achieving your goals.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I swear, as a lifelong Nadira fan club member, president, and organizer.” He crosses his heart, causing me to roll my eyes.

Yet I find myself saying, “The father of the groom. He pissed the wrong cartel off when he stole a shipment of weapons and drugs.”

“And how is he supposed to die?”

“Publicly and painfully.”

“I can’t wait for the show. I imagine I’ll be riveted to my seat as I watch you work. Maybe I’ll pick up a few tips. You were always generous with that.”

“With what?” I jump on his slip.

Ever since our conversation last week, he’s been careful not to mention anything about my past before the accident. And with the dreams I’ve been having about an unfamiliar place, his evasiveness only increases my curiosity.

“I’ll tell you one day.” He kisses my palm in apology. “I promise I’ll reveal everything.”

I snatch my hand away, hating that he knows more about me than I do, and I follow the crowd.

A set of arches depicting images in bas relief open to an Andalusian-style ballroom. The painted tiles lend an air of romance to the day. It’s a pity the bride will leave in tears and the wedding guests will remember this occasion for all the wrong reasons; mainly me.

I find an inconspicuous seat, but with Julian beside me I won’t attain the level of invisibility I usually do. Throughout the ceremony, a fight for possession of my hand ensues. Before it gets out of hand, he whispers in my ear, “If you keep this up, you’ll draw attention to yourself. Just give in and grant me this small pleasure.”

I glare at him, wishing it is because he’s right about my actions attracting unwanted attention and not because of the way my pulse races at his confession or the rightness in the way his hand closes over mine. In response to my quiet but hostile reaction, he kisses the tip of my nose.

“You’re very sexy when you contemplate ways to kill me.”

I give up.

“Good, because I’m prepared to lose a limb for this privilege.” He raises our joined hands to his mouth and kisses my fingers.

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