“For fuck’s sake, Bouche, I’m not gonna hurt you. I’m trying to help.”
“Help?” He scoffs. “Or are you just waiting for Boone to call again so you can ‘take him out.’ Is that the right term? So you can murder my brother?”
“Stop, okay? Just fucking stop. If I was as ruthless as you want to make me out to be, don’t you think I would’ve handled this a lot differently?” I open my coat to show him my weapon. “I could have this pressed to your temple while we drive to where your brother is right now. By morning, there could be two bodies to find in that hotel room. So don’t fucking get it twisted that I’m playing some kind of long game here. I’m the one putting myself at risk right now. If my boss found out, he’d…”
My words trail off. I don’t know what Shadow would do. None of us have ever gone against our orders before.
Bouche tilts his head back for a second, revealing his prominent Adam’s apple. “What now, then?”
“If these guys hired my company, they’re serious about ending Boone. They won’t back off. I was put on the job because it’s not been easy to find him, and I’m good at uncovering what I need.”
“But you didn’t know he was my brother?”
“To be honest with you, I’ve been a little distracted. I haven’t put as much effort into it as I should have.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t want this to end.”
“This?”
“You and me. I figured once it was taken care of, I’d have no reason to keep going to your games. No reason to keep seeing you. I wanted to keep it a little longer.”
My answer seems to disarm him and his shoulders drop slightly. “This is so fucked up.”
“I know, but I haven’t harmed your brother.”
“You want to.”
“Not want. Until tonight, it was just a job.”
“Do I even want to know how a seemingly decent guy becomes a hired killer?”
I shrug. “Would it help?”
“I don’t fucking know.”
I stand and approach, moving slowly to give him time to react. He glares at me, but that hatred is tinged with heat. He still wants me.
“Bouche,” I whisper, sliding my hand around the back of his neck. His eyelids flutter closed as he crashes into me, our tongues tangling in a heated kiss.
I pull him close, twisting my fingers in his hair and soaking in the feeling of his hot mouth on mine, the minty taste of his tongue, the soft grunts he releases.
Then he shoves me backward until I hit the wall behind me, putting all his weight into me but maintaining the kiss. His hard cock nudges mine, and I slide my hand down his body to untuck his dress shirt.
“Want to fuck you,” he whispers. “But I hate you.”
“You don’t hate me, gorgeous.”
“I do.” He bites my bottom lip hard enough to draw blood and I hiss. “But I can’t get enough.”
“Then fuck me if it’ll make you feel better.”
He breaks away suddenly, panting, the glare returning. “How do I know I can trust you?”
“You tell me.”
His expression hardens and then he says, “Give me your gun.”
