“And yet you’re still wrestling with something.” I search for some sign that she’ll concede to that assessment, but it never comes. “It’s not judgment. I don’t think less or more of you based on your profession, but I cannot allow you to have a target on my premises, no matter who it is. The penalty for violence is elimination. And I …”
Shock tinges her radiant face, her fingers splaying over her stomach. “You’re trying to spare me?”
I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. But the hope is that we both emerge unscathed.
Pulling one hand from my pocket, I slide it over my mouth. “There is no point in letting this get ugly.”
“You don’t even know me,” she mutters.
I already feel like you’re meant to be mine.
Where the hell did that thought come from? Nonsense.
A horn blares somewhere in the distance, pulling me from that unwelcome spiral and affording me a breath of composure. “I know enough to wish you well.”
She grips the railing at her back, those emeralds brimming with so many contradictory things that it’s a mystery which she’ll choose. “Do you know enough to … to wish for more than that?”
Sex and seduction are often weaponized for missions. She’s likely determining if the heat between us is an angle that can keep her foot in the door. If that’s not the case and that was a sincere consideration, then that’s a problem that is equally troublesome. Her attraction to me was evident, but it sounds like she’s asking for something I can’t give.
“If that is a genuine proposition, it is your greatest reason to flee.” I step beside her, my hand inches from hers on the railing while I face the free-flowing river and she remains squared to the city. “I would douse that pretty flame inside you.”
“That’s … arrogant. Don’t go getting ahead of yourself,” she volleys as a flock of birds soars above us—a testament to the appeal of deliverance. “I never stay for more than a quick spark.”
Ignoring the misplaced, all-consuming rage that courses through my veins at the thought of Zara and a string of one-night stands, I push off the railing, so fucking frustrated. “I’m offering you the chance to walk away. No retribution. No report of your name.”
“Report of my name to whom?”
“It doesn’t matter. There are so many ways I could bury you, but I don’t have to. Walk away, and it will be as though we never met. Are you in danger if you don’t complete the job?” I slice myarm through the air at the sight of her blank face. “I have people who can erase you. Is that what you need?”
Her jaw sets with a declaration of her fight. “You might have your guards, but we are one-on-one right now. There are people everywhere. You can’t shoot me here, any more than I could you. And if you let me go, what’s stopping me from taking you out on your way back to the resort, when everyone thinks I’m long gone?”
I whistle—sharp and loud—and the hordes of people littering the loading area, sidewalk, ticket line, and overlook freeze. Hands on their weapons.
Her mouth falls open, and the first glimpse of fear mars her features as she puts it all together. Taking her straight from work so she couldn’t gather more than the few measly weapons she had on her. Walking her through a city she didn’t know so she was too disoriented to devise an adequate escape plan. The barricade and policemen we passed. The people tarrying without leaving.
She’s out of her depth.
“I don’t just own La Lune Noire, Zara. I own this city. I could have you killed right here and simply go back to my day while someone else cleaned it up. I also have resorts all over the world that afford me power that reaches farther than you can fathom. I’m offering you a hell of a deal. You’d be wise to take it.”
With that, I turn my back on her, my stomach in my throat as I stride toward my idling limo, my men enclosing me. The plain-clothes security guards are still not moving, so the smack of her heels on the concrete reaches me seconds before she scurries around my entourage.
“I’m not taking it,” she announces.
I’ve never simultaneously loathed and loved a single sentence more than that one.
I halt two feet from the open limo, grab her by the throat, and flatten her back against it. “If you choose to go against our rules, I will not intervene on your behalf after this.”
Her pulse batters beneath my fingertips, drumming her defiance. “I have never required your intervention before.” She gulps down a shaky breath. “I’d rather stay.”
“Why?” Unable to deny the glimmer of hope flickering inside me that she’s as undone by this connection as I am, no matter how inappropriate or cataclysmic it is, I slide my cheek against hers, my lips tickling the shell of her ear. “Are you simply a glutton for punishment, Miss West?”
She chortles, the levity cascading down my neck, igniting cravings I have no right to desire. She’ll be the death of me one way or another.
“Regardless of what else you’re facing, I am not the safe choice.” Everything pouring out of my mouth is a double entendre, even my bona fide warning.What the hell is wrong with me?
“Surely you know I’m not the kind ofvanillagirl who gravitates toward safety—in men or otherwise. There’s something I want at La Lune Noire,” she admits, her wanton eyes locking on mine when I pull back. “And I won’t leave until I get it.”
Our hearts hammer in tandem. Our breaths mingle. Our bodies press into one another with a dare and a united yearning to move. We aren’t alone. We’re in the middle of the city, my security detail huddling around us, the plain-clothes guards and dirty cops still unflinching. But it’s as if none of that exists. It all fades away to Zara and her demise. Or mine.
