Page 158 of X Marks the Stalker
Instead of disappointment, his eyes soften. His hand cups my cheek, thumb brushing across my lower lip.
“Nothing to be sorry about,” he says. “You are my woman. And I love you, with or without the Society.”
“I love you, too.” Relief floods through me, tension I hadn’t realized I was holding melting away. I smile against his palm, then press a kiss to his chest.
“I can help, watch, prepare. Whatever you need.”
His arms tighten around me, pulling me closer. “I would love that.”
I nestle deeper into Xander’s embrace, savoring the warmth of his skin against mine. His breathing evens out, that perfect rhythm that tells me he’s drifting toward sleep. I trace the line of his collarbone, memorizing every contour of his body.
“You know what’s strange?” I whisper, not sure if he’s still awake enough to hear me.
His fingers flex against my shoulder. “Hmm?”
“I’ve never felt safer than I do right now. In bed with a serial killer.”
Xander’s chest rises with a soft laugh. “You make it sound so romantic.”
“It’s the truth.” I prop myself up on one elbow to look at him. His features are softer in the dim light, vulnerable in a way he rarely allows himself to be. “Most of my life, I’ve felt hunted. Now I’m with the hunter.”
He reaches up to brush a strand of hair from my face, tucking it behind my ear. “You’re not prey, Oakley. You never were.”
I lean down to press my lips against his, a gentle promise.
Chapter 38
Oakley
Three months later
Thetap-tap-tapof keys pulls me from sleep. Rapid-fire clicks, rhythmic and precise. Without opening my eyes, I know what he’s doing—reviewing overnight surveillance footage, checking security protocols, probably hacking something ridiculously illegal before most people have even reached for their alarm clocks.
Just another Tuesday morning with my serial killer boyfriend.
“I can feel you analyzing me,” he says without turning around.
I crack one eye open. Xander sits at his desk by the window, shirtless, his broad back bathed in the soft glow of three monitors. The intricate tattoo covering his left shoulder blade shifts hypnotically as he types. Lean muscles ripple along his spine with each movement, controlled power temporarilyleashed.
My mouth goes dry at the sight. Three months of waking up to this view, and it still makes my heart stutter.
“Not analyzing. Admiring.” I stretch across his absurdly expensive sheets. “Some of us appreciate a good view in the morning.”
He glances over his shoulder, his eyes warming as they take in my disheveled state. A slow smile spreads across his face, dangerous and playful all at once.
“The view from here isn’t bad either.”
“Flirt.” I roll onto my side, propping myself up on one elbow. “Find anything interesting in your creepy morning ritual?”
“Someone tried to access the building’s security system.” His fingers fly across the keyboard, forearm muscles flexing beneath skin decorated with a binary code tattooed in a band around his wrist—ones and zeros that spell out something he refuses to translate for me.
“Tried?”
“Let’s just say they experienced catastrophic hardware failure.” His lips curve into that smile that still makes my stomach flip. The one that belongs to the version of him I found watching me through cameras hidden in my apartment all those months ago.
He catches me staring and raises an eyebrow. “You’re watching my hands again.”
Heat rises to my cheeks. “I’m watching your technique. Professional interest.”
