I unsheathe a blade and creep soundlessly to her door. I slip inside, my senses on high alert, dagger raised to strike.
That’s when I see her, alone in the bed wearing nothing but a Frasier Academy T-shirt, panties—and her own sheathed dagger at her ankle. I suck in a breath, for a second seeing the young girl I fell in love with. Has she kept the shirt as a memento of us—or is she playing with me, getting me to let my guard down because of a bloody memory? I hesitate, but only for a second as she thrashes right and left, a hectic flush on her cheeks as she sends the covers askew. This is no act.
I put my weapon away as my chest tightens. What horrors has she seen other than this night? If I had to venture a guess based on my own experience, I’d say it was more than any one person should be expected to handle.
I slip my dagger in its hiding spot and crawl cautiously into the bed. Dreaming or no, it is a dangerous thing I do with a woman I don’t fully trust and who has no reason to trust me.
“It’s okay, Lora,” I whisper. “It’s just me.”
Her eyes open wide, and she pulls a handgun from beneath her pillow, aiming it unerringly right between my brows.
“It’s me,” I say again. “Max. I just thought you might need—”
She drops the gun next to the phone on her night table, then burrows into my arms.
“Only for tonight,” she whispers, scooting closer. “Because I don’t want to be alone, even if the alternative is you.”
I huff out a laugh, pulling her to me. “Understood.”
Her lips press to my ear, as gentle as a petal plucked from a rose. “And if you try anything like we did in that club, I’ll castrate you before you can pull a weapon.” Sharp teeth nip my lobe to punctuate her warning.
No matter how soft and supple she is, her body is a deadly weapon. She knows a hundred ways to kill a man with her bare hands. And yet I’m not afraid. Shit. I can’t get close enough.
“Of course,” I say, grinning. “Whatever you need.”
And because I haven’t slept in days, I surrender to it now, Lora nestled in my arms. She hooks an ankle around mine, and we sleep, bodies tangled, chest to chest, and dagger to dagger. The lights of London seep between the curtains. Bad guys are out there. Plotting. Planning. But that’s not my concern right now.
Enemy or liability means nothing, if only for the next few hours.
I breathe in the jasmine scent to her soft hair and for a moment revel in this most unfamiliar of feelings...
Peace.
Z
I SLIDE OUT of bed before dawn. X might be a light sleeper, but I’m an expert at moving through life undetected. I’d have died a thousand times otherwise. In the bathroom I grimace at my reflection, the dark rings under my eyes hinting at a restless night. I’ve always looked younger than my years, but today it’s as if the past has descended. My gaze looks ancient. I look like I’ve lived a thousand lives and I’m on edge from dreams that I can’t fully recall. Only that they’ve left my stomach tied in a series of sickening slipknots.
Usually when I’m unsettled, sex helps calm me, but no way am I going to be mixing business and pleasure on this assignment.
This time your business is pleasure, an invisible devil on my shoulder whispers.
I bend over and splash icy cold water on my face, washing away the traitorous impulse of my body to crawl into bed with X and wake him up by taking his cock in my mouth.
“No,” I mutter, giving my reflection a stern wag of the finger.
I’ll have to resort to plan B. When I can’t indulge in a sexual release, running takes the edge off. It’s in no way a pleasure, but it pummels my mind into order, allows me to sweat out stress.
I creep out of the bathroom, grateful we are in a suite, and change into yoga pants and a pale blue running top in the predawn dark.
I’m slinking to the door when the light turns on. I freeze, like a cat caught in the cream.
X, dressed in black athletic wear that makes love to his muscular frame, regards me coolly. My heart accelerates like I’m doing interval training.
“Going somewhere, pet?” he asks.
“You can see that I am,” I snap, embarrassed to be caught scuttling away. Mortified that I needed the comfort of his arms last night. Frustrated that I’m craving his body heat more than my next breath.
“I’ll join you.” Not a question. God, he’s such a cocky man. And damn if I don’t love it.
“Ha.” I roll my eyes, pretending to care less. “Trust me, you can’t keep up. I run six-minute miles when I let loose in the parks.”
“Impressive.” He drops his chin, a hint of a smile tugging the corner of his wide lips. “That’s fast.”
“I know.” I don’t fuck around when I run. I beat the pavement like a horde of zombies are hot on my heels. It’s the only way to get a much-needed endorphin rush, to clear my head of cobwebs.
“I’ll try to keep up.” He kicks back a foot and reaches to squeeze his ankle, pulling his leg in a deep quadriceps stretch.
His pants do nothing to disguise his rock-hard thighs, or the visible bulge.
“You can try.” I force my appraising gaze away and stalk to the hotel door. “But trust me, you’re going to lose.”
“We’ll see about that,” he growls as I march into the hallway.
Our elevator ride is tense. He’s standing three feet away and yet it’s as if I can feel him against me, his touch branding my skin.
He doesn’t look my direction. He says nothing.
I hate him right now. This was meant to be my time. A chance to outrun my demons. And yet now I’ll be truly chased by an actual devil from my past.
I purse my lips into a grim smile. At least I’m going to kick his ass into next Sunday. There’s something delicious about that fact.
We walk through the deserted but sumptuous lobby. Shangri-La is a five-star hotel and spares no expense, from the eight-tiered fountain to the marble columns to the cut-crystal chandeliers. It could be tacky but is more old-world Hollywood glamour. This is the type of hotel couples would pick out for their honeymoons or romantic getaways. Not to crash after spending nights in BDSM dungeons.
I refuse to make eye contact with staff, wondering if any of them recognize me from my nearly naked fishnet look last night.
We step out into London’s early morning and the road is quiet, traffic not yet buzzing to life. Four classic black taxis idle at the hotel cab station, two bellboys in tailored uniforms shoot the breeze by their desk, and an elderly man is walking his beribboned Pomeranian, but otherwise we are the only ones out and about.
I set my GPS watch and reach to where my iPhone is strapped to a running armband.
“Which way are we going?”
“My plan is to hit the main parks... Kensington Gardens, Hyde Park, Green Park and St. James Park.” It’s a fun loop and one of my favorite runs in London.
X opens his mouth, but I start my Spotify running playlist and whatever he says is drowned out by Tom Petty’s “Runnin’ Down a Dream.”
Without