“I did. A shit load of it. Thank God. I don’t know how Ronan would react if he found out it was blown to smithereens.”
“I can tell you from experience, not good.”
“No, I suppose not,” he agrees. It seems a near-death experience has drastically adjusted his bad attitude. “Stay put. I’m going to get you some ice to put on your head. That’s a nasty gash. It’s going to bruise.”
“It’s not my first war wound,” I assure him, touching the tender spot above my eyebrow. “Looks like you’re going to have a couple black and blues yourself.”
“I don’t doubt it.” He rubs his jaw, which I assume is sore.
Declan grabs the ice bucket and heads for the door. Before he leaves, I call out to him, “Hey.” He turns to look at me. “Thanks for pulling me out of there.” I’m wholeheartedly earnest. Which is a rare sentiment coming from a contract killer.
He nods with a knowing smirk. “I told ya, I owed you.”
“Consider us even.”
“I already did,” he states presumptuously just before he leaves the room.
I roll my eyes and lie back on the bed. How do I find myself in these fucked-up situations?
The glow of the bathroom light comes off like a calling card. The idea of a hot shower is suddenly more than appealing. It’s essential. There’s so much blood and dust and grime caked on me I just want to purify my skin. Cleanse the entire day away. It’s been a hell of a long one.
I slide off the bed and begin to undress. Losing my clothes right in the middle of the room, I also abandon my dark wig on the back of the desk chair. I feel like myself again. Purged of another false identity.
Turning the shower head on, I watch the water quickly heat until it’s steaming, then I step underneath the spray and let it scald my skin, with the small, menial, but irrational hope it absolves me of all my sins.
* * *
Declan
I findFallon missing from the bed and the shower running when I return to the room.
Her clothes are strewn on the floor, and a dark wig is hanging lifelessly on the desk chair. I run my fingers through the soft strands, adrenaline still coursing through my veins. I’ll admit, I was pissed when Ronan told me he was sending her. Pissed that he wouldn’t come himself.
Pissed that he sent me away on this bullshit job to begin with.
But shit could be worse. I could be dead, and not all alone with a naked, beautiful, lethal woman.
I don’t know which one turns me on the most?
She took my breath away the moment I saw her. But I couldn’t let her know that. It takes more than a pretty face to derail a man like me. But then she spoke, and then she fought. And she gained my respect the same way she gained Ronan’s obsession. She slipped under our skin without even trying, without us even knowing until it was too late. That’s the mark of a true professional. The spark of an addiction.
He would slit my throat if he knew how close I am to her naked body. That only a thin wall separates us.
The idea tickles me as well.
I’d have to be suicidal to walk into that bathroom unannounced, but near-death experiences make a man feel invincible. Make him believe he’s capable of anything. Like seducing a woman who’s as deadly as he is. Or putting his life on the line because his boss made it clear that no one touches her but him.
I’ve never been good with restrictions, or rules, for that matter, so I don’t really give a fuck what Ronan says.
What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. And I’m itching to do something death-defying. Itching to light the adrenaline trapped in my veins on fire.
And I know Fallon is just the woman to strike the match.
Still holding the ice bucket, I stride into the steamy bathroom like a man with nothing to lose, and my heart pounding strong and steadily like a battle drum.
Only her curvy silhouette is visible through the foggy glass door, but it’s enough to turn me on past the point of no return.
Placing the ice bucket in the sink, I run on pure instinct now. On pure want and pure need. On pure, unadulterated desire.
