Page 9

CHAPTER 9

ANOTHER TARGET AND... A DATE?

Nadira

“ Y ou’re not wearing the outfit I picked out for you.” Julian appears beside me as if manifested through a magical summons I didn’t initiate.

“It would have drawn too much attention.” I glance down at my off-the-shoulder lilac dress. The subtle color compliments my deep brown skin tone without being too flashy. Its understated elegance guarantees no one will remember me as I blend in the crowd.

“I wholeheartedly disagree. Although what I put together was a showstopper, everything you wear draws my attention to you.” He lowers his voice to a growl, “And you test the limits of my control every time.”

I almost stumble at his revelation so readily given but correct myself without revealing the slight shock his compliment delivers to my system. His merest praise causes my breasts to swell and areas to throb that shouldn’t.

There’s something wrong with me. I’ve started wearing pajamas because my attempts to keep him out have been for naught. On top of my change to accommodate his appearance in my life, a week has gone by and he’s still alive. Still breaking into my apartment despite the upgraded security. Still cooking amazing dishes—he even drops in on me during my legitimate business hours to bring me home-cooked lunches—and styling my outfits. The food is damn good and too tempting to ignore. So far I’ve resisted wearing his recommendations, but it pains me every time.

His knack for style shouldn’t surprise me. Everything he wears is designer-chic on steroids. As we walk up the path to the privately owned castle hosting today’s event, I peek at him from the side of my eye. The tux he selected to crash the wedding I’m attending is foreplay in action. The material makes love to his broad shoulders, thick arms and thighs, and firm stomach.

I curl my fingers into my palm to stop myself from reaching for him. Ever since he said he knew me from before my accident, I’ve held my curiosity at bay. But I want to know everything he knows about me. To distract myself, when Gary called, I jumped at the chance to take this job that meant flying across the Atlantic and to the southern coast of Spain.

Because Julian sniped my last target right under my nose, I have to redeem myself. Speaking of which…

“Are you here to steal another assignment?” I stop to glare at him.

Amusement lights his golden eyes. “I’m your plus one.”

“Funny how I don’t recall asking you to be my date.”

“And you’ll never have to.” He takes my hand, drawing me closer until he wraps an arm around my waist and pulls me into his chest. “I’m here for you. No other reason.”

He leans forward and I focus on his distracting lips, my eyes nearly falling close. In London, he stopped himself from kissing me. Ever since, I’ve wondered what his lips would feel like pressed against mine. Heat radiates from beneath my skin and my heart skips its regular beat. When he’s a breath away from answering my unasked question, he raises my hand and kisses my knuckles.

How can I feel so turned on by a simple brush against my hand and disappointed that it isn’t on my lips? I pull away, hiding my shortness of breath by pretending to fix my shoe. “Death and dating, how romantic.”

He chuckles at my droll comment while he waits for me to stand. “Being near you is all the romance I need.” He places his hand on my lower back and leads me into the Spanish castle. “So, who’s the target and how are they meant to die?”

I glance at him from the side of my eye.

“Consider me your support staff, here to aid you in achieving your goals.”

“Mm-hmm.”

“I swear, as a lifelong Nadira fan club member, president, and organizer.” He crosses his heart, causing me to roll my eyes.

Yet I find myself saying, “The father of the groom. He pissed the wrong cartel off when he stole a shipment of weapons and drugs.”

“And how is he supposed to die?”

“Publicly and painfully.”

“I can’t wait for the show. I imagine I’ll be riveted to my seat as I watch you work. Maybe I’ll pick up a few tips. You were always generous with that.”

“With what?” I jump on his slip.

Ever since our conversation last week, he’s been careful not to mention anything about my past before the accident. And with the dreams I’ve been having about an unfamiliar place, his evasiveness only increases my curiosity.

“I’ll tell you one day.” He kisses my palm in apology. “I promise I’ll reveal everything.”

I snatch my hand away, hating that he knows more about me than I do, and I follow the crowd.

A set of arches depicting images in bas relief open to an Andalusian-style ballroom. The painted tiles lend an air of romance to the day. It’s a pity the bride will leave in tears and the wedding guests will remember this occasion for all the wrong reasons; mainly me.

I find an inconspicuous seat, but with Julian beside me I won’t attain the level of invisibility I usually do. Throughout the ceremony, a fight for possession of my hand ensues. Before it gets out of hand, he whispers in my ear, “If you keep this up, you’ll draw attention to yourself. Just give in and grant me this small pleasure.”

I glare at him, wishing it is because he’s right about my actions attracting unwanted attention and not because of the way my pulse races at his confession or the rightness in the way his hand closes over mine. In response to my quiet but hostile reaction, he kisses the tip of my nose.

“You’re very sexy when you contemplate ways to kill me.”

I give up.

“Good, because I’m prepared to lose a limb for this privilege.” He raises our joined hands to his mouth and kisses my fingers.

I bury my face in my free hand, unable to believe I said that out loud. I do too many uncharacteristic things around Julian without a satisfactory explanation. Refusing to prolong our argument, I turn my attention to my mark sitting in the front row.

He is an attractive older man with salt and pepper sprinkled through his hair and beard. He beams at his son who repeats his vows with a puffed chest to the supermodel beside him. Is he posturing because he convinced a gorgeous woman to be his wife or has he truly fallen for her? In families like these, it’s more than likely the love is superficial. Soon, they’ll face the first test of their devotion.

Once the newly wedded couple exit to take their photos, we head to the second ballroom that opens onto a garden in a similar style to the Alhambra. Columns of shrubs line the door of a courtyard, leading further into the garden and beckoning the guests outside. An explosion of green, pinks, purples, blues, and yellows feeds the eyes. A makeshift dance floor of plexiglass covers the long water feature in the center of the garden, giving guests the choice to dance in the cool building or outside surrounded by a piece of paradise.

Along the sides of the courtyard, elaborate, tiered centerpieces adorn tables sitting under silk canopies to protect guests from the sun. Julian has yet to free my hand. I glance at our interlaced fingers and acknowledge, at least to myself, how good it feels to touch him.

When we get the table with the place cards, I select the one with my alias while Julian selects the name of a person designated to sit beside me. I eye him, wondering how he’ll keep a low profile when the real person shows up to take his seat.

The bride and groom enter grinning and blushing with excitement. Throughout the toasts, Julian keeps an arm around my shoulders to share his take on the various tributes. To the lasting regret of the guests and groom, the best man delivers a toast full of cringe takes.

“I bet the best man will breathe easy once the father of the groom steals the show since he won’t go down as the worst thing that happened.” Julian nuzzles beneath my ear.

It takes everything in me not to outwardly react, but my pulse thunders, and my body warms. The memory of being locked in his arms in London hasn’t faded and with Julian so close to the places he sucked and licked, I struggle to maintain a cool facade.

While I battle myself for calm, the emcee announces the first dance

“Do you know how distractingly delicious you smell?” He destroys my hard work by sucking on my lobe.

My eyes nearly close and a moan almost slips out. I gasp and lurch from my seat. To hide my awkward reaction, I head toward the crowd gathering at the open bar where the wedding guests stop to congratulate the groom’s father.

I enter the crowd, my focus on my target. While they offer cover, congratulating him with many women adding a request for a dance, I discreetly don the lilac gloves matching my dress. I choose to put them on now to administer the deadly toxin because any earlier would put myself and others at risk.

When I arrive in front of the groom’s father, I say, “You must be so proud to welcome your new daughter into the family.” I grasp his bare hands and hold for three seconds, allowing the warmth from his body heat to aid in the toxin’s absorption.

“Yes, she is a perfect match for my son. We’ve already gifted them a home close to ours.”

“That sounds amazing. Especially if they plan to start their family immediately. You’ll always be close to your grandchildren.”

He winks with a knowing smile. “You sound like my wife. She suggested the purchase. I don’t mind saying the previous owners put up a fight, but we eventually persuaded them. The property was too good and we didn’t love the couple. Now, we’ll have neighbors we approve.”

I release his hands and walk away to dispose my gloves before touching anyone else. As I head toward my designated table, a familiar tingling on my neck precedes the arm wrapping around my waist.

“Try this.” Julian pops a petit four into my mouth.

I moan as chocolate melts on my tongue.

He closes the distance to whisper in my ear. “How long before the fireworks start?”

“Thirty minutes. By then he will have forgotten me among the long line of well-wishers not to mention his slew of dance partners.”

As I finish speaking, the father of the groom enters the dance floor and steals a partner from a younger man, leaving him empty-handed and looking longingly at the woman in the older man’s arms.

“That gives me time, then.” Julian leads me to the dance floor and pulls me close for the slow song the emcee selects.

He leaves no distance between us. My breasts tingle as they rub against him, but fighting to separate will draw people’s focus on us.

“Support staff doesn’t dance,” I say with a forced smile.

“No, but people on dates do.” He expertly spins me before catching me in his arms.

“If this is a date, we should get to know each other, but you know everything about me already. That seems pretty uneven.”

“I know a past version of you. I’m interested to know who you’ve become and will soak up knowledge whichever way I get it.” He dips me, keeping me suspended in an infinite of seconds where I can make out the golden flecks in his eyes and the banked passion he has yet to release.

I clear my throat when he lets me up. “Then how about we trade? For every tidbit I share about myself today, you tell me about the version of me you know?”

Regret brackets his mouth and dims the light in eyes that have come to mean more to me than I want to admit.

I don’t even let him open his mouth to voice his disappointment. I look over his shoulder and blink away the sorrow dragging my spirit down.

“How about I make you a promise?” he offers. “If you suspect you’re remembering anything, I’ll provide context to the best of my ability.” He presses our foreheads together. “I don’t want to watch you suffer alone or in silence.”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing now?”

Julian pinches his lips into a thin line and peers above my head. “Hmm. What would you call watching someone writhing in pain as they sleep?” He spears me with a pointed stare. “There’s only one reason for the demons visiting you at night, and it’s not our profession.”

I stiffen at the many implications he’s revealed. He can’t know me so well, which means, “So you didn’t stop at breaking into my place to reorganize everything and feed me. You’ve been spying on me.”

A humorless smile flits across his lips. “Watching over you. Something people do for the important people in their lives.”

I glance away, no longer able to maintain eye contact under his earnestness.

However, Julian places my palm over his heart, returning my attention to him albeit reluctantly. “You are not alone, and I’m not okay with doing something that can do you more harm than good.”

His pledge, like so many declarations he makes, sounds like a foregone conclusion; indestructible and one that binds us to a lifetime. I squash the thought, and the pang of loss as I resolve myself against his intentions. Maybe if I address the sexual tension between us with one night, we can part ways as amicably as possible. Although I won’t rule out killing him in the future.

Fuck and kill, that will totally work in quelling the heat from rising between your thighs whenever he shows up.

I shake my head of the thought. I’m not here to lust after Julian or allow his sweet intentions, which don’t seem totally innocent, to sway me from my task. I’m on the job and can’t afford his kind of distraction. Despite my resolve, I stay in his arms and allow him to lead me on the dance floor.

Although the song transitions to a fast-paced number, he continues to slow-dance with me, swaying us in time to the rhythm in his head. The chatter from the guests fades, as do the couples sharing the floor with us. As often as I’ve fought him, nothing but acceptance shines through his eyes, making my decision to ignore any underlying messages almost impossible.

Julian could be the one man I won’t have to fear discovering my secrets. And that shit scares me more than the possibility of losing my closest friends for the same reason. But there’s no time to let fear take over when he wraps my arms around his neck and encloses me in his massive arms. His scent of citrus and pine washes over me, replacing my fledgling alarm with a sense of peace.

Song after song plays with Julian keeping me close. I should object to the attention he draws toward us because he doesn’t switch up the pace of our dancing to match the upbeat songs, but I have no will left to pull away from his embrace. When others attempt to dance with me, he pointedly glares at them until they make a beeline to someone else. For the boldest ones, he clutches me closer and says, “Find your own treasure, I don’t share.” Then he swings us away to another area of the dance floor to monopolize my attention and body.

Why does it make my heart race to glimpse his possessiveness? Maybe it’s because I haven’t been anyone’s treasure before. No one’s. Not even my friends are territorial over my time and affection, and this novel feeling is doing more to me than all the failed dates and relationships from my past.

No one can penetrate the bubble encapsulating us, except the screams coming from the ballroom.

“The show is starting without us,” Julian says as people stampede around our bodies to discover the reason for the screaming.

“I suppose it would be in poor taste to continue dancing when there’s a tragedy happening a few feet away.”

His mouth wobbles as he tries to hide a grin. “The worst taste.” He offers me his hand.

Surprisingly, I take it with no resistance and allow him to lead me off the floor.

“How long do you need to stay to confirm that your job is done?”

“Just long enough to assure myself no intervention will save him.”

We arrive at the mayhem in the ballroom. Because of my height, I’m able to view the action without needing to get too close.

“Where’s the ambulance?” The groom’s mother screams while pressing fresh napkins against her husband’s mouth. But nothing staunches the blood spewing from him. Blood drenches her ecru-colored dress, and a growing pool surrounds them.

Pain and hopelessness twist my target’s face. By now, he must realize that his death is imminent and no miracle can save him. When his eyes start to dull, I step away, granting my space to another curious onlooker.

Julian is by my side before I take too many steps, holding my hand in his. I’m getting used to having his strong fingers enclose mine. As we make our getaway under the sun setting in the sky, I peer at Julian and wonder what kind of person I must have been to inspire this depth of emotion from him. The kind that creates a need to be in contact with me from an innocent handhold to being on the end of my attacks.

To avoid him reading my new determination to discover the person I was before my accident, I keep my eyes glued to the path ahead of me. Step by step, I plan to uncover what’s missing from my memory.