She won’t relax, not entirely.
The vial in my pocket provides a simple solution for that. After one pour and five minutes, I can search the place properly. I just need an opportunity.
“It was just so weird. That car at the end of my street too. I don’t know. Felt like someone was watching.”
She recognizes that she’s prey.
Just hasn’t processed that she’smyprey.
That’s when sudden clarity strikes me. She knows nothing about the diamonds. A woman like this, who practically oozes goodness, is incapable of hiding twenty million in stolen merchandise.
Which indicates I’ve wasted days on the wrong target. Days of surveillance and planning that led me to the kitchen of a kindergarten teacher who jumps at shadows and says “heck” instead of “hell.” If she has the gems, it’s because someone planted them on her. She has no idea. Which means they could be stashed anywhere at all.
The realization should anger me. Should prompt me to want to leave, regroup, and start over.
Yet, I remain.
Well, I can’t leave. She could still have them.
Andshe’shere.
She leans back against the sink, finally meeting my gaze directly. “Why are you really here, Kolya?”
I can taste her fear in the air, see hesitation in the slight tremble of her lower lip, but underneath, I glimpse that unmistakable hum of desire. A pull I wasn’t prepared for.
A complication I don’t need.
For the first time in a decade, I have no idea what to do next.
Drug her. Search the house. Leave. Be clean, efficient, and professional.
The vial, a reminder of purpose and duty, weighs heavy in my pocket. But that plan is slipping through my fingers. I know I’m going to kiss her, and I won’t stop there.
This isn’t the mission. This is…
Reckless.
I prowl toward her anyway.
One step. Two.
She doesn’t try to flee, though she could.
The kitchen offers an escape route. The back door is mere feet away.
Instead, she stays still, her breath hitching as I close the distance between us. Her lips part slightly in invitation.
I don’t accept these types of invitations. I don’t want people. I don’t crave connection. For years, I’ve actively avoided such things, placed everyone at arm’s length. Connection means vulnerability. Vulnerability means weakness.
Weakness gets you killed. These are the rules I live by. The rules that have kept me alive.
But here, now, this innocent woman desiring me…rouses a creeping sensation I don’t want awoken.
It’s nothing but meaningless, biological lust. I’ve gone too long without release. That’s all. She’s just a convenient body. Someone who won’t say no so long as I don’t push her too far.
Just thinking of how far I’d like to take her gets me hard.
Her eyes—wide, brown, trusting despite everything—search mine. She wets her lips, a nervous gesture that shoots heat straight to my groin. Her ridiculous sunshine t-shirt clings to her breasts, rising and falling with each quickened breath. Thecontrast of her, all brightness and color, against the darkness inside me creates a void I long to fill.
