The Heiress and the Hitman

Chapter Three: KISS OR KILL

Twelve hours.

That’s how long the lockdown would last before the system resets. Twelve hours till freedom. Till then it was just me, in nothing but the tiny silk nightgown I'd worn for Marcus. It barely counted as clothing and was thin enough that the emergency light makes every curve visible. And there was him of course. The Assassin.

He hasn't said a single word since I spoke although his eyes never left mine. Storm-grey eyes drag slowly from my bare feet, up the trembling line of my legs, over the clinging silk that hides almost nothing, to the tension locked in my shoulders. I feel the appraisal like a physical touch and I’m suddenly aware of how small the nightgown is, how the fabric clings where wine has soaked through. Shame burns low in my stomach, sharp and ironic. I had dressed for seduction tonight... Not survival.

His eyes seem to be burning with questions. He tilts his head slightly.“If you’re my wife… why do you look so afraid of me?”

My mind fractures. I'll have to work on my body language. I try to appear relaxed but my body refuses to cooperate. My hands can't stop shaking. Damn it.

Aloud, I manage something small. “I'm not afraid of you. You scared me... when you fell. The blood. I thought—” I stop, swallow. “I thought I’d lost you.”

The lie settles easier than it should. Lying has always come too easily to me. Must be the Hudson's Family genetic trait. Our family boasts of rather distinguished liars after all...

He stands. Too easily for someone who probably just cracked his skull open. He's tall, broad shoulders filling the space between us. I resist the urge to shrink away. Even injured, he radiates command, the kind that doesn’t need volume or violence. When his balance falters for a second, I step forward on instinct, hands out to steady him. I hate myself for it the moment my palms meet his chest.

His skin is too warm through the black shirt. Fever already creeping in. His breath sounds uneven. For one terrible heartbeat he slumps, heavy against me, and panic spikes sharp in my throat. It should be a relief for me if he collapses but for some reason I don’t want him dead. I've had enough of watching people die...

He steadies himself. His voice rough, “My name is Nicolai Noir… that’s all I know. I… I don’t remember anything else. My memories... I can feel them, but I… can’t reach.”

I nod slowly, forcing calm into my posture. Nicolai Noir... The name of a killer. The less he remembers the better.“You took quite a hit to the head. You should rest." I murmur beside him.

He looks at me again. “I don't remember you... " His grey eyes narrow slightly "But I feel like I should."

The words thicken the air. I force my hands to remain steady. "It's only natural that you should. Like I said. I am your wife." I lie through my teeth, my voice giving nothing away.

His hand closes around my wrist. Firm but not violent. I resist the urge to flinch. His thumb brushes the frantic pulse there, and I can’t tell if he’s grounding himself or testing whether my heart is lying too.

Fear tangles with something hotter, something I refuse to name. Logic screams at me to pull away. My body leans in instead. I have to make him believe me somehow. For the next Twelve hours.

“You're my wife?” he asks quietly.

I hesitate. Then the answer comes soft, convincing, a performance so smooth I worry it might be too much. “Yes.”

He doesn’t react to my answer. Just watches me like he’s trying to feel the word through my skin. He doesn't believe me. Doesn't trust me.

I shrugged “We're pretty much still newly weds... We eloped. Four months ago. Private ceremony in Lisbon. No family. My family would disapprove so we've been keeping it secret."

He seemed to be processing this information slowly. I wasn't sure if he was buying it or not. His face remained unreadable. "How did I fall?" His gaze dropped to his left arm which dangled uselessly by his side. It was definitely broken. There was also a slight cut across his temple.

"You slipped on Wine." I reply quickly. "I was drinking, I accidentally broke the Bottle and we got into an argument... You tried to calm me down but then you slipped and fell down the stairs.” Those tortured grey eyes of his seemed to pin me in place making every word heavier. "You don't like it when I drink... I have a bit of an alcohol problem you see." At least that part wasn't a lie.

His question catches me off guard. “Did I hurt you?” his gaze is almost piercing now. "No..." I'm unable to look away. "You'd never hurt me."

I don't know if I've managed to convince him. But at least he isn't looking at me like he wants to murder me. For now at least... Until his memories return. Then he'd be the Assassin again and I'd be his Prey... My legs suddenly feel weak. I wobble and catch myself. My heart racing like a caged animal.

He notices I’m swaying and catches me with his good hand. My head aches from too much wine, adrenaline... Fear. But fear is seamlessly replaced by another rogue alcohol induced emotion. I was painfully aware of how close we were now and how little I was wearing.

His hand caught my waist. Large. Warm. Instinctively Possessive. He steadies me effortlessly, pulling me closer until the size difference is impossible to ignore. My breath shortens because part of me likes how easily he moves me, how solid he feels. Part of me is also worried that I've lost my f*****g mind.

“Careful,” he murmurs. His arm grazes the outer curves of my breasts as he steadies me. His gaze drops to my chest. My breath snags. Then his eyes go even lower taking in the rest of me. I was fully aware of how deliciously tempting I looked right now. My long dark hair cascading down my back, my curves on full display in the see-through nightgown. Strangely enough I wasn't bothered by his gaze one bit. My n*****s drag against the rough edge of his jacket. It's sharp... almost painful. I swallow hard. Yet another surprising turn of events. Was I attracted to my Soon-to-be Killer? Yes. He was handsome but he's still a Killer. A literal Assassin.There's no way I was attracted to him. I was only playing a part, that must be it. I have to be convincing after all.

So I brush the foolish thoughts away and do the most convincing thing I could think of.

I kiss him.

The kiss starts slow... Testing. He hesitates for half a second then instinct takes over and he's kissing me back. His hand slides into my hair, fingers curling at the nape. Tilting my head exactly where he wants it, he deepens the kiss. His mouth demanding, tongue tracing the seam of my lips until I open for him. I suppress a moan and subconsciously press my thighs together. His tongue invades my mouth mercilessly. I dig my fingers into the hard plane of his chest. Muscle shifting as he lifts me slightly, weightless, onto my toes. A low rumble comes from deep in his throat and he pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against mine. Breath mingling. His grey eyes are darker now. Less confused. Hungry. I've awakened something in him.

He exhales sharply, and I remember he's supposed to be injured. "You should sit." My voice comes out hoarse. He sits on the edge of the sofa, hand still on my waist like he doesn’t want to let go completely.

I try to step away. I need the distance. I need to remember he came here to kill me. His grip tightens, holding me in place.

“Aria.”

I freeze.

I never told him my name. Or… did I? I don't remember. Well it doesn't matter anymore. He knew my name. Of course, he was an Assassin after all. My name was basic information But if he remembers my name... What if he remembers other things. Like the fact that he's supposed to kill me.

As if reading my thoughts, he speaks again. “You're trembling, Aria.” he sounds different this time. There's a glint of the Assassin from earlier in his calculating grey eyes. His grip on my waist tightens. Not enough to hurt. Just enough to remind me he could.

“You look pale... Are you alright?" His eyes narrow infinitesimally and I could've sworn there was a glint of amusement somewhere in them.

My pulse roars in my ears. Did he remember why he's here? Is he pretending? Has he been pretending this whole time just to mess with me. Pretending to lose his memory... Letting me spin the lie, watching me tie myself tighter to him while he waits for the perfect moment?

The Penthouse feels smaller now, the air thicker, every tick of the unseen clock scraping against my ribs. I stand frozen in his arms, lips still tingling from the kiss I never should have given, watching the man who came here to kill me watch me back... Like a Predator toying with his Prey.