31. Killian
31
KILLIAN
I can still smell sex in the air as I slowly rise from unconsciousness. And my lips curl into a self-satisfied smile. Because last night was one of the best nights of my life—despite my rather rocky and disturbing day of negotiations with Lucian Agosti beforehand.
But once I had Natasha in my arms—and my bed—it was like all my concerns melted away. It was just her and me. And an insane amount of chemistry that could very possibly set my house on fire one of these days.
Warm sunlight pours through the sliding glass door to my balcony, telling me it must be well past sunrise. And the observation sends a thrill through me. Because Natasha’s head is still resting heavily on my chest.
Her bare curves are silky beneath my palms.
Her perfectly modest breasts tucked against my side.
And as I dare to open my eyes, I’m almost stunned to find my Russian beauty sleeping soundly in my arms.
She’s breathtaking in the early-morning light, her ivory skin practically glowing, it’s so soft and smooth and impressively unblemished. Her cheeks have the most dainty flush that accentuates the natural red of her lips—slightly swollen after last night’s excitement. Her thick burgundy hair falls loosely around her face, cascading over my shoulder and tickling my neck.
She’s strikingly beautiful.
And she looks so trusting, almost vulnerable, in her sleep. I could easily mistake her for a delicate young flower—someone breakable even—if I didn’t know better.
But I’ve seen the tigress that thrives within her soul.
And that’s what intoxicates me—it keeps me coming back for more.
We didn’t succumb to sleep until nearly sunrise, so it’s more than reasonable that she would need the rest. Especially after the number of times we had sex—and how vigorously. She must be exhausted.
Still, I’m pleasantly surprised to find her in my bed.
A possessive sense of victory expands in my chest. Because this is the first time Natasha hasn’t tried to slip away before sunrise. She stayed with me well past the time our deal stipulates. And she did it without me even asking—or demanding.
Consumed by the urge to kiss her, I press my lips to the crown of her head, then slowly work my way down to her temple, her cheek, her nose, her lips. I keep kissing her, soaking up her heavenly scent as I savor the feel of her satin skin against my mouth.
My cock, already hard and eager for her, twitches when Natasha releases a soft moan.
And her brows furrow as she stirs in her sleep, her eyes still closed.
Smiling wickedly, I dip to press my lips against the hollow of her throat. And I keep making my way down her luxuriously naked body, savoring the way she squirms beneath my caress.
As I reach her creamy breasts, capturing one nipple between my teeth, she gasps. And her chest rises, her sexy tits pressing against my mouth.
“Wha…?” she breathes sleepily. Then her eyes snap open, and she jolts upright, as if suddenly realizing it’s daylight outside. “Oh my God, what time is it?” she demands, scrambling to pull the sheets up around her exposed body.
I chuckle, watching with appreciation as color creeps up her neck and into her high cheekbones.
“Nearly eight,” I say as she continues her frantic scan of the room.
“Oh my God, oh my God!”
In a panic, she scrambles out of bed, and I can’t help but laugh as I watch her go.
“Where’s the fire?” I ask, settling back against the headboard.
Her sleep-muddled thoughts appear to grow more lucid as she looks around for her clothes and comes up short. “I shouldn’t have stayed out all night. If anyone sees me…”
“What’s the big deal?” I ask. “No one will see you. I can sneak you home later. Just come back to bed.”
“I can’t, Killian.” She sounds exasperated. “If anyone finds out, it could lead to terrible consequences,” she insists, leveling me with a steely gray gaze. “Not the least of which is the fact that my cover could be blown.”
I quirk an eyebrow. “What could be worse than that?”
“Well, for starters, if my father finds out about the deal I made with you, it could—and likely would—trigger a war. He certainly wouldn’t let you live.” Seeming frustrated by her prolonged inability to find her clothing, Natasha stalks from the bedroom to raid my closet.
“Aw, that almost sounds like you care that I stay alive,” I tease.
Natasha snorts. “Hardly,” she says, her voice carrying from beyond the doorway. But her indifference sounds flimsy. She’s struggling to keep her feelings for me on lockdown. And as reluctant as she is to admit it, she doesn’t want to see me die.
Which draws my lips into a smug smile. “Besides, isn’t your father already trying to kill me? I thought that’s why you came in the first place.”
Leaning back out of the closet, Natasha gives me a withering glare. Then she disappears again to snatch one of my dress shirts from its hanger. The sky-blue shirt she steps back out in makes her look like a goddess. The soft fabric has a subtle metallic sheen, and while it was already a favorite shirt of mine, seeing it on Natasha makes me appreciate the button-down in a whole new light.
The sight of her in my clothes fills my mind with indecent thoughts, followed by an unreasonable level of satisfaction. Because, not only does she look insanely sexy in my shirt, it somehow intensifies my claim on her.
The hem is long enough that it could practically be a dress on her, reaching halfway down her thigh. And she deftly buttons it to the space between her breasts before rolling the sleeves to her elbows. Then she pauses when she sees me watching her. “What?”
Shaking my head, I slip out of bed and stalk toward her, taking her hips and pulling her close so I can feel her warm, inviting body once more. “Nothing. I just think you might be the sexiest woman I’ve ever met. You wear that shirt better than I do.”
She rolls her eyes, but her lips press together as if she’s fighting back a smile, and she lifts onto her toes to give my lips a quick peck. Then she steps out of my arms to snatch a leather belt slung over my reading chair. And with deft hands, she loops it around her waist.
It might not be as good of a disguise as her assassin’s outfit, but she’s made an impressive makeshift outfit to get her safely out the door without drawing attention. And once she’s on the streets, no one will think twice about her wardrobe.
“Seriously, though, love,” I insist, stepping closer once again. It feels as though my body is in full revolt over the notion of letting her go. “I’m harder to kill than you’re giving me credit for.”
Natasha barks a laugh and steals a pair of my boxer briefs from my drawer, stepping into them and pulling them up beneath the shirt’s fabric.
“Think about it. You’re reputed to be the best, most lethal assassin in New York, right? And I’ve managed to survive your attempts to kill me more than once.”
“That doesn’t mean my father is incapable of killing you in other ways,” she insists, turning toward the door.
Grasping her wrist, I turn her to face me and hold her close so I can peer into her mesmerizing silver eyes. Then I unleash my most devilishly charming smile. “What if I promise you’re the only one who gets to kill me?” I tease.
Color infuses Natasha’s cheeks as she grows flustered. But she doesn’t reward me with one of her rare, coveted laughs. She can’t seem to find levity in the situation at all, and her brows buckle in a delicate frown. “This is not a joking matter, Killian,” she insists, the worry earnest in her eyes.
“I love it when you worry about me,” I tease, leaning in to steal a kiss.
She tastes like heaven, even first thing in the morning. And her soft, full lips match mine so perfectly, it makes my heart throb. I have half a mind to scoop her up and throw her back in bed. Tie her there and keep her to myself for the rest of the morning.
But I suspect she would be less than thrilled with me for that.
And I don’t actually want to get her in trouble or risk her safety.
Still, now that I’ve initiated the kiss, I find it nearly impossible to break.
And as I run the tip of my tongue along the seam of her lips, Natasha’s palms find my chest. For a moment, I think she might just shove me away. Then air rushes between her lips as she sighs into my embrace. And I savor the way she gives into me so completely. Yielding as if it’s too painful to resist me for long.
And even if she refuses to admit it, I know the truth.
Natasha has feelings for me.
And that makes my heart swell until it’s threatening to burst.
“Stay with me,” I murmur when I finally break the kiss, and I press my forehead to hers.
“I can’t,” she insists, her voice pained. And her frustration spikes as she pushes me determinedly away. “I have to go. Now. I’ve risked too much already.” And without a backward glance, she silently storms from my house.
As I watch her go, taking my shirt with her, I’m half tempted to chase her down.
Every fiber of my being screams for me to go after her, to pull her back into my arms and never let her go.
But then a new sense of comfort sweeps through me, a comfort I haven’t allowed myself to feel until now. Because, try as she might to deny it, I know that what Natasha and I have is real. Everything that happened last night—and this morning—confirms it.
It troubles me to think I might never gain her father’s approval.
But Natasha’s unintentional admission has left me more determined than ever to keep her.
This thing between us is no longer about power and territory—it stopped being about that a long time ago. In truth, I stopped thinking about claiming Boris’s territory the night we made our deal.
Since I met the real Natasha, she’s become my sole focus—the only treasure I truly want.
And I would give up everything else if I could call her mine.