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He knew what it felt like to hold her body against his. And right now, his body answered to hers in every way possible.
He knew everything about her as well. She only allowed herself to drink hot chocolate over the holidays. She kept a stash of chocolate in the drawer by her bedside but resisted eating it. Her favorite color was orange. The color of sunshine. His sunshine.
Peyton Adams was his, but she had no idea. He was here to make that fact known to her. She belonged to him. From that first moment he had seen her to the first time he had touched her, and all the years in between up until now.
He thought he was going to play it cool when he walked into Ralphie’s Busy Bar. Pace himself. Ease them both into it. He intended to let her take control of the situation for as long as she needed, but she changed the dynamic by revealing her engagement to another man.
It wasn’t true; he knew that.
Eric Jacobs had, as of yesterday, packed all his most precious belongings—well, what could fit into one suitcase—and disappeared into the night. She was lucky that Declan left him alive. Although, if she continued saying his name, he might change his mind about ending Jacobs.
He used the bobby pin he’d surreptitiously taken from her luscious hair when they were in the bar to unlock the cuffs. She hadn’t even known he had touched her hair.
Stealing the clip from her hair served as an excuse to indulge in touching the cool, silky waves of her tresses, as the anticipation of touching her had been unbearably agonizing.
Breaking into her bedroom in her parents' house had lessened his control considerably as well. Her perfume lingered in the air, and she clung to him. Stroking her clothes had made his blood run hotter. Touching her panties had made his cock harden.
What would she say if she knew he had stolen a skimpy pair and slipped them into his pocket? That everytime he put his hand into his pocket, he caressed the soft pink lace as if it were her soft wet pussy. And that was probably the most innocent thing he had done as far as she was concerned.
But everything about her weakened him—always had.
He had let her have her freedom while he watched from afar. But the time had come to claim her. He expected her to retaliate; after all, she didn’t know who he was.
Not in this moment, and not back then either.
And that wasn’t to say that if she knew who he was, it would help his case in claiming her now. He was still a notorious hitman.
He also did kidnap her after all and kept her for twenty-one nights.
But she was his whole world. His whole universe. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for her. She was the only part of him that he could still feel, whereas the rest of him was ice cold.
For a moment, flashes of his life whisked past him.
He’d gone from a homeless kid to an expert pickpocket. He’d gone from a petty thief to a trained killer when he was plucked off the streets by men in black SUVs.
Every bit of emotion, softness, and humanness was trained out of him until he was only a vessel of violence. An empty shell. Programmed to obey orders and carry out hits. He accepted assignments from governments and the mafia alike. He got so good at it that it was him calling the shots from the shadows. Shadow. His favorite alias.
Peyton Adams was the part of him that kept him alive. A constant in his mind, his heart, his body, and his soul since the first moment he saw her.
She had been eighteen years old the first time he had caught a glimpse of her. Days before his own twenty-second birthday.
She had been nineteen years old the first time he touched her lips.
And she hadn’t known who he was—not his name or his face. He had no intention of returning her once he took her, but the timing had been all wrong, and he still had too many hits and loose ends he needed to take care of before it was safe for her to be with him.
But he watched her the entire time.
Where she went.
Who she spoke to.
Who dared to look at her the wrong way—they never saw the light of day after that.
Who she dated.
No one.
He believed that she belonged to him, and deep down, she knew it too. He believed that with every fiber of his being, and he accepted that he was a fucking nutjob for thinking that, but nothing was going to make him stop.
