Page 92 of Impenitent Claim

“Waiting for you.”

I pursed my lips and tapped my foot on the plush carpet. “Do you have any idea how incredibly stupid this is, Ilya?”

The spectre inclined his chin. “How’s your knee?”

“Fine!” I gathered the kit off the ground and stalked to the bench at the foot of my bed. Snapping it open, I brought out the necessary supplies, only to pause partway through assembling them. This was going to hurt. While I had a higher pain tolerance, digging around in my own flesh for glass would probably make me tear up.

My stalker was not going to see that part of me.

I pushed to my feet, refusing to limp, and went to the dresser to pull out a sleeper set. Keeping my back to the monster, I began to change with the help of the towel as a shield. I risked a peep.

He was being the perfect gentleman, sitting demurely in the armchair across the room and studying a book.

That annoyed me even more.

“Did you escape the party to play peeping tom on me in the shower?” I sassed.

“I didn’t have your invitation to go in there.” He tipped his head to the side, eyes glued to the book.

I wanted him to look! It made no sense, because I kept the towel in place, but I wanted to see the heat in his gaze—feel it burn my skin!

“I didn’t give you an invitation to come here, and yet here you are,” I countered, this time with less venom in my voice.

Ilya closed his eyes and pulled a deep breath into his lungs. “You did, siren. You called me; I’m here.”

I opened my mouth, but he kept speaking.

“You came into my club, youchoseme, you gave me…everything.”

My voice turned breathless as my heart pattered in my chest. “And that was all it took for you to chase a stranger—a one-night stand!—across the country?”

“Yes,” came the simple admission.

I groaned, falling into the dresser. His gaze snapped to mine. Nothing could have prepared me for the intensity of that look. It wasn’t a burn, no—oh, no! It was an all-consuming inferno. Ilya kept his gaze pinned to mine, not dropping it to take in the expanse of skin that showed from the towel slipping.

“Where is this going, Ilya?” I breathed. “I’m supposed to be married soon. Even if I could break the engagement, I would never be allowed to have you.”

Something flashed in his gaze. “I’m not letting you go.”

“So, what? You’ll keep stalking and screwing a married woman until we’re caught?” I scoffed, a rough laugh lacing my voice.

“You won’t be marrying him.”

Hope leapt in my heart. “What? What do you mean?”

And then my brain processed his words. This man was a killer and had taken down a capo—probably other soldiers in the famiglia too, disguising their deaths as casualties of the turf war.

“I’m taking you away from here,” Ilya asserted.

Thatwas too good to be true. Laughter, riotous and mocking, bubbled up my throat. I threw my head back and laughed until the tears streamed down my face. And here I thought he had an actual plan. That there could be some way I could be with him that didn’t involve dreams and wishful thinking.

“You don’t believe me?” He’d moved and now stood directly in front of me.

I braced my elbows on the top of the dresser, looking up at him with tear-stained lashes. “No, I don’t.”

“You should.”

“You’re a lunatic.”

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