Page 33 of Hit Man
I’m not sure why I never considered this. A billionaire like Juan Carlos probably has to have high-tech security. But why wouldn’t I have noticed the flashing before?
“Are they connected to the main power grid?” I ask when we dip into the shrubbery and he draws in nearer.
“Yes.”
“Whoever installed it is an idiot. No power, no cameras,” I can’t help but say.
“It’s what you’d expect from a bunch ofpendejos. Now shut up and keep close.” He slows our pace on the next dip into the shrubbery before we stop altogether.
“Shhh.”
Sticking his head out, he searches left and then right before stepping out onto the main pathway, dragging me along behind him.
“Keep a fast pace but don’t run.”
My eyes widen when I spot my bungalow less than a hundred feet away.
“Head down. Let’s go.” He leads me toward my bungalow. “Is the red dress still on the picture?”
“What?”
He turns his head and glares at me. “The red dress. Is it hanging where I tossed it and still over the picture?”
“It was when I left the bungalow earlier. Chances are high housekeeping never came.”
“They didn’t.” He stops before the door, just beneath the overhang. “Take off your jacket.”
“Why did they chase us? What don’t they want us to see?”
“Not the time for questions,” he snaps, throwing open the door. “You’re a goddamn
nuisance. I should have let them catch you,” he continues, shoving me inside. “Move it. We’ll discuss why you were spying on them later.”
“What in hell’s name is going on?”
“If you don’t do exactly as I tell you, I’ll do it for you.” True to his word, the devil kicks the door shut, grabs me by the hand, and drags me over beside the one functional bed.
“Your jacket. Hurry the fuck up, Aubrey.”
He kicks off his sneakers. Holy shit, is he seriously? . . . Yep . . . He tugs his wet shirt over his head. If I’ve kept count correctly, I’ve seen him naked more times than not.
A single bead of moisture slowly trails down his muscled chest. Across his hard nipple, down along the cut of his abdomen, making a tempting journey along the fine whisper of hair that dips down inside the material before the bead is soaked up by the elastic waistline of his sweatpants.
It’s like my thoughts are temporarily stuck in slow motion. That none of this is real. Except for that bead of moisture, except for his familiar presence. I don’t know why this calms me down. Whenever this devil is around, trouble follows.
With one hand, he holds his pants in place and with the other, he practically rips the raincoat off me.
“Are you trying to get us killed?”
So much for calm. I open my mouth unsure what to say but his entire body is practically humming with anger, and something else . . .
His lips slam into mine, stealing away my surprised gasp. His tongue plunders my mouth. His kiss demands, and demands even more. Urgent. Unbelievably unexpected.
I resist, for exactly five heartbeats. Until I kiss him in return, all the adrenaline and fear, worry and panic, my desperate desire for him even though he’s bad news, all escalates in this kiss.
I moan.
He stiffens and pulls away.
