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Her eyelids flickered. “I wasn’t sure.”
“Then why was the famous Reaper—the roughest, toughest slayer on the planet—sitting outside a bodega drinking a soda and waiting for me to return instead of tearing apart the city looking for me?”
She wrapped her arms around her body and gave me her back. “No.”
Her anxiety was still off the charts, but I sensed something beneath.
Longing.
Hope.
And that gave me hope.
I went to her. “Ridley.”
“What?”
“Turn around and look at me.”
Her shoulders heaved but she turned to face me, chin lifted, fists clenched like I was her opponent.
I took her right fist, smoothed out the fingers. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Nobody’s going to make you do anything you don’t want to. Just think about it, okay?”
She blew out a breath. “It would never work, Zaq. This isn’t some fairytale. In the real world, rich and powerful syndicate princes don’t mate with slayers.”
“I’m not that powerful. You’re thinking of my father, not me.” And you’re not a slayer anymore.
But I didn’t say it aloud. That would be cruel, even if it was the truth.
She snorted. “Yeah, right. And I suppose you’re not that rich, either.”
“I’m not. Yeah, I have a nice-sized trust fund, but I only keep ten percent of the interest for myself. The rest goes to charity.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
Her brow creased. “How did I not know this?”
I almost laughed. Finally, something she hadn’t discovered about me. “Nobody knows but my brothers.”
“Huh.” She shook her head. “But it’s not just that. I don’t do this, Zaq.” She pulled her hand free and waved it between us. “Relationships.”
“Never? But you’ve had sex before.” Something dark and primitive moved through me. “You don’t mean you only had sex with your targets?”
“No!” She recoiled. “I never have sex with my targets. Until you, that is,” she added with a shake of her head. “I told you, my cover is a merc for hire. I go in as a bodyguard or a member of their security like with Moreau. Those men I had sex with, they were mainly other slayers who didn’t want a relationship any more than I did. I spent my high school years at an SI training camp. I had hook-ups, but never more than once and not very often. I don’t know how to do this whole man-woman thing. With a man I know. Not that we’re together—you and me, I mean.” Her face reddened. “Crap. This is so awkward. I’m so awkward…”
Tenderness filled my chest.
Gods, this woman.
But she’d told me something important. This was real. She wanted me as much as I wanted her. She just didn’t know how to deal with it.
I caught her by the waist. “You’re not awkward. And we are together.”
Her mouth formed an ‘O.’ “We are?”
“Yes.” I brushed a kiss over her rounded lips. She smelled good from her bath, clean and lemony. “We’re together, involved, exclusive—I don’t care what you call it as long as you understand you’re mine. So get used to it. When this is over, you’re not going to just walk away. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you.”
