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Shane reaches his conclusion at the same time I do.
Shane:These people both had public engagements last night. They’re weird artist types, not people who hire hit men.
Hercules:You think the shooter was hired?
Shane:Can’t say for sure, but my gut instinct is no. She keeps to herself most of the time. It seems personal.
That’s nothing, then. We have no leads, and no idea why somebody would’ve shot at her, which means…
There’s no telling how long this job could last.
I finish the scrambled egg sandwich. These are the best eggs I’ve ever had. I don’t know how to feel about that. I can’t picture Hades cooking eggs, anywhere, at any time in his life, but Icanpicture him teaching Daisy how to do it. I’m pretty sure he taught her everything, including that glare.
Picturing her at the stove, her top skimming the curve of her ass, sends a rush of blood to my cock.
“This is a job,” I say to the empty kitchen. “It is ajob.”
Hercules:Is there a shower I could use?
I know there is, but for appearances’ sake…
There’s a long-ass pause. Dots appear on the screen, then disappear. Appear again. Disappear.
Hercules:A shower is a thing that sprays water so people can get clean
Daisy:Guest bedroom. Door to your left
The door in question at the end of the little hall to the main bedroom. I get my bag and go.
It’s a similar setup to Daisy’s room, but at the front of the house. I can see the gatehouse through the blinds. Bed’s made up with navy sheets, and the room is clean. A watercolor is propped up on the desk, a blue and green tangle framed by dark columns. I lean over and sniff the candle sitting next to it. Something both floral and woodsy wafts straight into my brain’s pleasure center. Smells good.
Smells like her.
Fuck.
Stripping off my clothes and getting in the shower does nothing to take my mind off her. According to the rules of engagement—protecting her, at all costs—I’m supposed to be focused on Daisy.
I’m sure as hell not supposed to be focused on how her body looked in that dress she answered the door in. I’m not supposed to focus on how it would feel to take that dress by the hem and tear it off. I amnot supposed to focuson running my fingers through her white-blonde hair and leaving teeth marks on her neck and—
My fist is on my cock before I can thinkinappropriate work behavior.I spent all night on a plane, thinking about her. I sat by her bedside while the sun rose, making sure she was still breathing. I caught the scent of her shampoo when she came out of the bedroom.
It’s this or die.
I brace one hand on the shower wall, shoulder aching, and the world’s most depraved shit crowds into my mind. Holding her down. Biting her. Licking her. Making her cry. Making her come. Making her scream.
Making her beg.
Begme.
The thought of my name in her mouth in a broken gasp sends me over the edge. I come so hard I can’t hold onto my cock. I use both hands on the tiles to stay upright.
Okay.
Fuck, okay.
That should be enough to get me through the rest of the job.
I laugh out loud, becauselook at me.Both hands on shower tiles, knees weak from how hard I came thinkingabout her, light-headed as fuck.
