Page 19

"I thought assassins slept like babies," I finally say, my voice softer than intended. "All that practice shutting off your conscience."
The leather creaks again as he shifts. "Who says I have a conscience?"
"Everyone has a conscience, Noah. Some people just bury it deeper than others."
I sit up, still clutching my violin case. The moonlight catches his profile—sharp jawline, the curve of his lips. Even in shadow he's beautiful in that dangerous way that makes my heart race.
"What about you, princess?" he asks. "What keeps you awake? Guilt about that coded message to your sister?"
"Worried she'll send the cavalry after you?" I raise an eyebrow he probably can't see in the darkness. "Maybe you should be."
He laughs, a low rumble that sends an unexpected shiver down my spine. "The only cavalry coming is Ivan's. And they won't be looking to rescue you."
I tuck my legs under me on the bed. "You know, for someone who claims to be protecting me, you're not very reassuring."
"I didn't sign up to be your therapist."
"No, you signed up to be my kidnapper. Much more straightforward."
He sits up too now, and I can feel his eyes on me even through the darkness. "I saved your life."
"After stalking me for how long exactly?" I challenge. "Months? Were you watching me through my windows too? While I changed? While I slept?"
Noah stands, his tall frame blocking the faint light from the window. He moves toward the bed, close enough that my breath catches.
"I had people watching your building," he says, his voice controlled. "Not you. Not like that."
"And that distinction matters?"
"Yes." He's at the edge of the bed now. "It matters."
The mattress dips as he sits on the far corner, keeping his distance. I clutch my violin case tighter.
"You need to rest," he says, his tone shifting to something almost gentle. "Tomorrow won't be easy."
"Is that concern I hear, Mr. Rivera? Careful, your conscience is showing."
He doesn't rise to the bait. "Sleep, Evelyn. While you can."
I want to keep pushing, to find the cracks in his armor, but exhaustion suddenly hits me like a wave. The adrenaline that's kept me going is finally crashing.
I look away from him, from those dark eyes that seem to see right through me. My fingers trace the worn edges of my violin case. This case has been with me through concert halls in Vienna, Moscow, New York. Through applause and standing ovations. Through my greatest triumphs.
And now it's here, my only companion in this stranger's bedroom.
"I'm not interested in conversation," I say, my voice sharper than before. "You're not my friend. You're not my protector. You're the man who took me against my will."
Noah stays at the edge of the bed, that infuriating calm never leaving his face. Even in the dim light I can see the definition ofhis shoulders through his T-shirt, the strength in his arms that carried me so effortlessly earlier.
A monster in a god's body. That's what he is.
I lie back down, turning away from him. The sheets smell like him. I hate that I notice it. Hate that some traitorous part of my brain finds it comforting.
I hear him settle back onto the sofa, the leather creaking under his weight. The city hums outside, cars passing, sirens in the distance. New York never sleeps and tonight, I didn't think I would either.
But exhaustion pulls at me, dragging me down despite my determination to stay alert. My eyelids grow heavy. The violin case slips slightly in my loosening grip.
I shouldn't sleep. Not here. Not with him watching. Not when I need to plan, to think, to find a way out.