Page 88 of The Mafia Assassin's Redemption-

“With a paddle?” The sarcasm is stark, and it takes me moments to realize her voice is shaking.

“You could have been shot, Harriet.”

She puts the flowers on the table. I follow suit.

“Where’s Luigi?” she asks quietly. “Why was his name on that notepad? Why?—?”

I stop her with a kiss. I can’t help it, I drag her into my arms and kiss her, needing to taste the life that sparks in her, the sweetness that’s pure Harry, and her fire that’s her core.

She kisses me back. As our tongues dance and the soft waves of desire play over us, pulling me down into the deeper currents, time stops once more, for better, different reasons.

I end the kiss and hold her, letting her melt into me and give me some of her fear so I can try to soothe her.

Until she remembers she’s fighting me.

“Let me go. This is all because of you.”

Her facts might be wrong, but her reasoning is right. I’m a killer. I know it. I’d happily pick up my gun and go back to being an assassin just to keep her safe.

She deserves better.

I know for sure now that when the times comes, I won’t be able to let her go.

She’s impossible and mine. It doesn’t even matter she was forced to be mine; it just matters that she is.

And she has been ever since I rescued her.

But it’s shifted from her life being mine to protect, to allow to prosper from a distance, to an obsession with her now that I’ve met the fully formed spitfire version of her.

“Luigi’s okay. He’ll be back soon,” I say, picking my words carefully. “He told me to wait so we could discuss you.”

“So your friend tried to kill me?”

Anger slashes through me because I know I almost failed her. Again. But I push her into the wall, hand holding her chin. She could get away, I’m not using force, but she doesn’t move. It’s like a part of her needs that touch.

“Not my friend. And I’m going to need that paddle.”

She shudders. “Torin… I…”

I lean in to kiss her again. I want her. Desperately. But the cleaning crew’s going to be here soon. And I honestly don’t know if I want to punish or taunt her or just lose myself in the one person I never should.

So I walk out into the church, away from her, trying to get my head in the game. I make arrangements for a guard to be placed here in the church. And when the crew turns up, along with the guard, I figure it’s time to leave.

But she’s selecting flowers like it’s a religion, making creations that fit the church décor. We’re heading into winter and she’s creating mini oases of spring. I’m mesmerized. When she finishes the first one, I ask where she wants it.

It’s not until an hour later that I realize she’s calm and, as I hand her the last flower for the last vase, that I actually had fun.

Harry might be a brat and a natural submissive, but she’s innocent, too. It imbues her soul and touches others. Even someone like me felt it. Fuck. I liked playing with flowers. With her.

I push a hand through my hair as I stare up at Christ on the cross. Torture, I understand. Anguish, too. But unlikethis figure, I’m not sure I’ve ever been innocent. Most people aren’t, and I’m so far from that, it’s a wonder I’m not singeing the fucking floor.

“Finding religion?” Harry’s voice is soft as she comes up and slips her hand in mine.

I stare down a moment. “Wondering why I haven’t burned to a crisp.”

“Maybe you’re just a man. A bad one, but a man.”

“One being saved by you?” Our gazes meet and the air throbs.