35
1024 Words
“Told you I would. I keep my word. You’ll learn. By the way, do you always sleep fully dressed?”
The answer is yes, but I ignore the question and ask one of my own. “On a scale of one to ten, how mad are you?”
“Ninety-four. You got a lotta makin’ up to do.”
The innuendo in his voice sends a shiver of delight down my spine, but I don’t want to get ahead of myself. He could be about to put me in handcuffs.
“Are you going to turn me in to the police?”
“Do I seem like I’m in a big rush to do that?”
I narrow my eyes and inspect his face, then admit, “Not really.”
“There you go.”
We stare at each other. He brushes a knuckle over the rise of my cheek. “So you’re a thief.”
“And you’re a mercenary.”
“Not my preferred term, but yes. Gotta say I like your voice even better without the fake French accent. Tell me your real name.”
“Um…Elizabeth.”
He sighs.
“Lauren?”
He says flatly, “Cut it out.”
I make a calculated gamble, because I know he’ll be able to tell if I’m lying. Besides, he can’t get far without a last name. There must be millions of women with my first name.
“Mariana.”
He examines my expression, then nods. “Pretty. And unusual. Suits you. Mariana what?”
“Let’s not get carried away, cowboy. This is only our second date.”
“Yeah, but look how good the first one went.” He adds sourly, “Except the end. That sucked big-time.”
The staring recommences. I can tell he really wants to kiss me. He also wants to take me over his knee and spank my ass.
And not in the good way.
I admit sheepishly, “You have every right to be angry.”
He c***s an eyebrow, drawls a sarcastic, “You think?”
“Yes.” I take a steadying breath. “But I’m just so goddamn happy to see you, I hope you can ignore how mad you are for a second while I do this.”
I stand on tiptoe and kiss him.
He responds instantly, a low groan rumbling through his chest, a big, rough hand digging into my hair. The other hand grips my bottom, dragging me closer. He drinks deeply from my mouth, pressing me against him so I feel him grow hard.
He breaks away first, chuckling, and says in a throaty voice, “Guess Tabby was right.”
“What?”
“Never mind. Listen. Here’s how this is gonna go. I’m gonna get us both naked. Then I’m gonna make love to you. Sweet this time, not rough, ’cause you gave up the right to dictate terms when you pulled a spider monkey and crawled off the balcony and left me feelin’ like a dipshit. Which is a pet peeve of mine, by the way. Then we’re gonna talk—”
“Talk?” I repeat, a note of panic in my voice.
“Talk,” he says firmly. “Like normal people do after sex.”
I laugh a little breathlessly. “You think we’re normal people?”
“Shut up. After the talk, you are not gonna dose me with drugs. You are not gonna disappear. What you are gonna do is tell me who did that to your throat so I can kill him.”
All the air leaves my lungs. We’re eye to eye, so he can see what his words have done to me, how terrified I suddenly am.
My voice breaking, I say, “I can’t.”
He growls, “You mean you won’t.”
I shake my head. “No. I mean I can’t. And that’s not a lie. It’s just…” I blink away the sudden, awful memory of bloodied bodies lying motionless on burgundy carpet. “It’s just that I work for monsters. One of the cardinal rules of monsters is you’re not allowed to tell anyone they exist. And it’s not only my life that ends if I disobey the rules.”
He studies my face in silence. “So you’re not a thief by choice.”
“I’ve been a thief since I was six years old. It’s what I do. It’s who I am.”
“It’s how you survived, maybe, but it’s not who you are.”
I try to pull away, but Ryan doesn’t allow it. He holds me in place, gently but firmly, and says, “I can help you.”
My laugh is short and bitter. “Don’t be a cliché. I’m not a damsel in distress, and you’re no knight in shining armor.”
“Not to toot my own horn, Angel, but my armor is so fuckin’ shiny, it’d blind the sun. I can help you.”
This conversation is making me emotional, something I detest more than men who wear argyle socks. “I don’t want to talk about this.”
“Tough s**t,” he replies, and swings me up into his arms. Then he deposits me on the bed and lies on top of me.
If I didn’t like it so much, I’d fish the other knife from the under the pillow and aerate him.
“Now look,” he says, sounding reasonable. He braces his elbows on either side of my shoulders and props his chin on his hands. “You don’t know about me, but I’m kinda the shit.”
When I make a face, he smiles. I close my eyes and mutter, “Unbelievable.”
“Ahem. As I was saying—I’m kinda the s**t. I don’t have my bio with me, but you’ll just have to take my word that it’s real impressive—”
“Oh. My. God.”
“—and my major spec-i-al-i-ty—”
“That word doesn’t have five syllables.”
“—is rescuin’ people from bad situations.”
- Writer
