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“Who knew the mob’s feared assassin was lacking.”
One second I was in front of him, staring into those wild eyes, the next I was pressed face-first to the wall with Kieran’s hard body caging me against it. His strong hands were pinning mine to the wall. My knife was gone.
His chest moved roughly against my back, his breath made my hair dance along my cheek and lips, and I ached to push against where I could feel his hardened length in his jeans.
Oh God.
What is wrong with me?
I tried to force a wild laugh from my lungs.
I tried to taunt him.
But there was nothing.
“How long?” he demanded, his voice hoarse.
I curled my hands against the wall and shivered beneath him when he moved closer and pressed our hands harder to the wall.
“What?” I asked breathlessly.
“How long have you been watching us?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?”
A huff tumbled from my lips when his mouth met my ear. The sound ended on a whimper when the movement forced my butt against his erection.
I needed the heavy, sickening feeling weighing my body down. I needed the disgust and hatred at having a man so close. I needed the reminder of who I was and why I did what I did.
But all I could smell was the subtle hint of his soap.
All I could see was his tattooed arms twisting over mine.
All I could feel was his lean muscles crowding around me in a way that felt so foreign and good.
And I wanted more . . .
Weak. So weak.
“How long?”
My body tensed.
If he had yelled the question, it might have been easier. But there was something truly terrifying in the soft tenor of his voice. And for the first time, I was afraid to be in the same room as him.
But I wasn’t scared for my life.
I was scared for my soul.
I slowly looked over my shoulder and forced myself to hold his disturbing stare. “Nearly half my life.”
“Why?”
“I have my reasons.”
His eyes burned coldly, maliciously . . . and with something I couldn’t define. “Then tell me why I shouldn’t kill you now.”
“Because you don’t want to.”
