Bounded by Protection

The Assassin in the Bedroom

Savannah never planned to kill her husband in his sleep. But as she watched him breathe, her fingers itched for the knife.

Three weeks had passed since the Isabella incident. Three weeks of calculated moves and countermoves. Three weeks of Armando watching her with newfound interest, as if she were a puzzle he was finally enjoying solving.

Tonight was supposed to be simple. Armando had returned from a business trip to Mexico,exhausted, according to Alex's careless comment at the dinner table. The perfect opportunity. His guard would be down, his reflexes dulled by fatigue and the two fingers of whiskey he always drank before bed.

Savannah had slipped into his bedroom just after two in the morning, the house silent except for the occasional creak of the security team patrolling the grounds. Her bare feet made no sound on the plush carpet as she approached his king-sized bed, knife held loosely at her side,the same knife that had ended Isabella's life.

The room was bathed in moonlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long shadows across Armando's sleeping form. He looked different in sleep,younger, almost peaceful without the perpetual calculation in his eyes. His bare chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm, the sheets pooled at his waist revealing the intricate tattoo that covered his left shoulder and part of his chest,the Leon family crest intertwined with symbols of power and protection.

Savannah stood motionless, studying him. One clean strike to the carotid, and it would be over. The man who had taken everything from her, who had kept her caged for four years, would be gone. She would be free to reclaim what was rightfully hers.

Her hand tightened on the knife's handle.

"Are you going to stare all night, or are you going to use that blade?" Armando's voice, clear and alert, shattered the silence.

Savannah didn't flinch, didn't retreat as his eyes opened, dark and aware. There was no surprise in them, no fear,only a calculating interest.

"You're awake," she said, her voice steady despite the rush of adrenaline through her veins.

"I've been awake since you opened the door." He didn't move, didn't try to reach for a weapon or call for his guards. He simply watched her, his expression unreadable in the half-light. "Did you really think I'd be caught unaware in my own bedroom?"

"I thought the great Armando Leon might need rest after playing kingpin all week." She took a step closer, the knife still at her side. "Ruling two empires must be exhausting."

His laugh was low and rich in the darkness. "One empire, querida. Yours was absorbed into mine the moment your father signed those papers."

The reminder stoked the rage that had been simmering inside her for years. "It was never his to give."

"And yet here we are." He propped himself up on one elbow, the movement casual, as if they were discussing breakfast plans instead of murder. "You with a knife, me without a shirt. Almost romantic, wouldn't you say?"

"There's nothing romantic about this marriage," she spat.

"No?" His eyes trailed over her deliberately,from her loose ginger hair down to the thin silk nightgown that skimmed her thighs. "Then why are you in my bedroom at two in the morning instead of putting that knife to better use? You've had a thousand opportunities to kill me, Savannah. Yet here you stand, hesitating."

She raised the knife, moving to the edge of the bed. "I'm not hesitating. I'm savoring."

In one fluid motion, Armando sat up fully, the sheets falling away to reveal black silk pajama pants slung low on his hips. "Then by all means, mi reina, savor away." He spread his arms wide, leaving his chest exposed,a clear target. "Just make it count. Because if you fail,"

"I won't fail." She was beside the bed now, close enough to strike. Close enough to see the faint scar on his collarbone, another across his ribs,evidence of the violent life he led before she knew him.

"Then do it." His voice dropped lower, almost a caress. "Show me what Roman Sanchez's daughter is made of."

The knife was at his throat now, the tip pressing just hard enough to draw a single drop of blood. Armando didn't even blink. His pulse remained steady beneath the blade, his breathing even, his eyes locked on hers with an intensity that made her skin prickle.

"Go on," he urged softly. "One quick s***h and you've won. Everything you've wanted for four years, right at your fingertips."

"Why aren't you fighting back?" she demanded, confusion threading through her determination. "Why aren't you calling your guards?"

His smile was slow, predatory. "Because I'm curious, Savannah. I want to see if you can actually do it." His hand moved, not to stop her but to cover hers on the knife handle, pressing the blade more firmly against his own throat. "Can you? Can you kill the man you've been watching for years? The man whose bed you're so desperate to avoid even as you dream about it?"

"I don't dream about you," she hissed, but the lie tasted bitter on her tongue.

"No?" His free hand reached up, fingers tangling in her hair at the nape of her neck. Not pulling, not forcing,just holding. "Then why do I hear you call my name in your sleep when you think I'm not listening?"

Her hand trembled, the knife wavering against his skin. "Shut up."

"Make me." It was a challenge, spoken against her wrist where his breath was warm, his lips almost touching her racing pulse.

She wasn't sure who moved first. One moment the knife was at his throat, the next it was clattering to the floor as Savannah crashed her mouth against his in a kiss that was more like a battle,all teeth and tongue and four years of suppressed rage.

Armando responded instantly, his hand tightening in her hair as he pulled her down onto the bed, flipping their positions until she was pinned beneath him, his weight pressing her into the mattress. His lips were demanding, skilled, coaxing responses from her body that she'd denied for years.

"I hate you," she gasped against his mouth, her nails raking down his back hard enough to leave marks.

"I know," he growled, his hand sliding up her thigh, pushing the silk of her nightgown higher. "Hate me harder."

She bit his lower lip, tasting blood, feeling a surge of satisfaction at his sharp intake of breath. His retaliation was swift,teeth grazing the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder, hand finding her breast through the thin fabric, thumb circling until she arched against him involuntarily.

It wasn't gentle. It wasn't loving. It was years of tension exploding into something primal and desperate. His hands were everywhere, mapping her body like territory to be conquered. Hers were just as demanding, exploring the hard planes of muscle she'd only glimpsed before, discovering the vulnerabilities she could exploit.

When his fingers found the heat between her thighs, Savannah gasped, her head falling back against the pillows. Armando took advantage, his mouth trailing fire down her throat to the phoenix tattoo at the side of her right breast, now exposed by the disheveled nightgown.

"Is this what you came for, querida?" he murmured against her skin, his voice rough with desire. "Not to kill me, but for this?"

"f**k you," she snarled, but her body betrayed her, hips rising to meet his touch.

His laugh rumbled against her chest. "That seems to be the plan."

Something snapped in her then,the last thread of restraint. She shoved him onto his back with surprising strength, straddling his hips, her nightgown bunched around her waist. Armando's eyes darkened as he looked up at her, hunger and something like admiration crossing his features.

"If we do this," she said, her voice low and dangerous, "it doesn't change anything. I still want my empire back. I still want you gone."

His hands gripped her hips, fingers digging into soft flesh hard enough to bruise. "If we do this," he countered, "it changes everything. Because once I have you, Savannah, I won't let you go."

It should have scared her. It should have sent her running. Instead, it sent heat spiraling through her core, a challenge she couldn't resist.

She leaned down until their lips were a breath apart. "You've never had me, Armando. Not really."

"I'm about to." His voice was a promise and a threat rolled into one as he captured her mouth again, one hand tangling in her hair while the other traced the curve of her spine, learning every inch of her as if memorizing a map.

Clothes were shed with urgent hands, the silk nightgown torn in his haste, his pajama pants kicked aside. And then there was nothing between them but skin and breath and the years of tension finally finding release.

He didn't yield control easily. Neither did she. Each touch was a battle, each kiss a negotiation. When he finally entered her, they both froze for a heartbeat, the reality of what they were doing crashing over them like a wave.

"Look at me," he commanded, holding himself still above her.

Savannah forced her eyes open, meeting his gaze. For once, the calculation was gone, replaced by raw hunger and something else,something that made her heart stutter in her chest.

"Say my name," he demanded, his voice strained with the effort of restraint.

She shook her head, defiant even now.

His hips shifted slightly, drawing a gasp from her lips. "Say it."

"No." She wrapped her legs around his waist, taking him deeper, watching with satisfaction as his control slipped.

"Dios mío, you're stubborn." It was almost admiring as he began to move, setting a rhythm that had her clutching at his shoulders, fighting not to cry out.

They moved together in the moonlight, the line between hatred and desire blurring with each thrust, each breathless moment. It wasn't gentle. It wasn't tender. It was a confession neither of them was willing to make with words.

When the pressure built to its breaking point, Savannah found herself whispering his name like a curse and a prayer. "Armando."

His response was to drive into her harder, his hand finding hers and pinning it above her head, fingers interlaced as he brought her to the edge and over, her release triggering his own. She felt his body tense, heard her name torn from his lips as he shuddered against her.

For several long moments, they lay tangled together, hearts racing, breath mingling. Reality slowly seeped back in, bringing with it all the complications they had momentarily forgotten.

Savannah moved first, attempting to shift away. Armando's arm tightened around her waist, holding her in place.

"Where do you think you're going?" His voice was rough, his breath warm against her neck.

"Back to my room," she replied, trying to keep her voice cold despite the lingering heat in her body.

"Stay." It wasn't a request. Nor was it a command. It hung somewhere in between, an offering she wasn't sure how to interpret.

She turned her head to look at him, surprised to find his expression almost vulnerable in the aftermath. "This doesn't change anything."

"It changes everything," he countered, tracing the curve of her cheek with his thumb. "You chose this over killing me. That's a decision with consequences, mi reina."

Savannah sat up, pulling the sheet around her body. "I can still kill you."

His smile was slow and knowing as he reached down to the floor, retrieving her forgotten knife. He pressed it into her hand, closing her fingers around the handle.

"If you want me dead, mi reina," Armando whispered against her lips, "you better not stop next time."

She stared at the knife in her hand, then at the man beside her,the enemy she'd just taken to her bed, the husband she'd sworn to destroy. The lines had blurred tonight, leaving her uncertain where hatred ended and something far more dangerous began.

Without another word, Savannah slid from the bed, clutching the sheet around her. She paused at the door, knife still in hand, and looked back at Armando sprawled across the sheets, watching her with those calculating eyes.

"Next time," she promised, "I won't get distracted."

His laugh followed her into the hallway. "We both know that's not true."

She closed the door behind her, leaning against it as the reality of what she'd done washed over her. She'd gone to his room to kill him. Instead, she'd given him a weapon to use against her,desire.

The knife felt heavy in her hand. An opportunity lost.

A weakness revealed.

Or perhaps a new strategy entirely.