Chapter 23 #2
His eyes darkened, tracking over my body with an appreciation that made me feel powerful despite the vulnerability of standing naked before him.
"Help me fix that?"
I moved close, my fingers working his tie loose. "This color makes your eyes even more striking."
His hands found my waist, pulling me against him. The kiss was slower this time but no less intense. His hands slid down to cup my hips, and I could feel exactly how much he wanted this. Wanted me.
I let my hands explore, tracing the hard planes of his chest through his shirt, then lower, feeling the evidence of his desire.
His breath hitched.
"Let me get these off," he murmured against my lips.
I watched as he unbuttoned his shirt with an eagerness that matched my own. When the fabric fell away, I ran my hands across his chest, mapping the muscles, the scars, the reality of him.
"Keep going."
He smiled—that confident, devastating smile—and reached for his belt.
I helped. Because I was done with patience. Done with hesitation. His pants pooled at his feet. Versace boxer briefs. Black with gold detailing. Of course.
"Nice briefs, but I like what's underneath them better," I said, hooking my thumbs under the waistband.
"I've been wearing new pairs every day since we first kissed," he admitted. "Just in case."
"That's adorable." I kissed his chest. "Though I'd have wanted you regardless."
I slowly pushed the expensive underwear down. He was perfect—like something carved from marble by an artist who understood exactly what desire looked like.
He kicked them off, then pulled me close. "Shower first? Or—"
"After." My voice came out breathier than intended. "We can shower after."
He turned the water off, took my hand, and led me to the bed. The mattress dipped under our weight as we tumbled together.
The kiss started slow, exploratory. His hands mapped every curve while mine traced the hard planes of muscle across his shoulders and back. Each touch built the heat between us until the air felt electric.
When he finally moved over me, settled between my thighs, I gasped at the rightness of it.
He paused, his eyes searching mine. "Last chance to change your mind."
"Don't you dare stop."
He smiled—that real, genuine smile I was beginning to crave—and began to move.
Slow at first, achingly slow, letting me adjust. His lips trailed fire along my neck as he found a rhythm that had me arching into him.
This man who'd walked into my life as a target.
This man I was supposed to kill.
This man who was making me feel more alive than I'd felt in years.
His name fell from my lips as pleasure built, climbing higher and higher until everything shattered into brilliant, blinding sensation.
He followed moments later, my name a rough prayer on his lips.
We lay tangled together afterward, hearts pounding, breath uneven.
His fingers traced lazy patterns on my shoulder. "Let me stay with you tonight."
The words should have been simple. Instead, they cut straight through me.
Because I was supposed to kill this man. That was my job. My mission. My family's vengeance.
But wrapped in Quentin's arms, his heartbeat steady beneath my palm, I couldn't remember why killing him had ever made sense.
"I’d like that," I whispered into the darkness.
And tried not to think about how many days I had left before everything fell apart.
I closed my eyes and relaxed. Began to drift on a cloud, in a state of semi-consciousness.
"Julia."
Ignoring the voice, I snuggled up to the warm body next to me. Quentin. His scent enveloped me—masculine, warm, ours. I breathed him in, unwilling to let reality intrude just yet.
"Please, no talking," I whispered.
"Julia. Our seats at Sakana no Kura will be ready in ten minutes." Quentin kissed me lightly on the cheek. "We can cancel and order takeout if you'd like."
"No." I stirred and opened my eyes. "After what we just experienced, anything less than sashimi would be a letdown."
"Now you're speaking my language."
I swung my legs off the bed and stood, still a bit unsteady. "I'll get the water going."
Quentin jumped up. "I'll use the bathroom across the hall and join you in a couple minutes."
I appreciated a man who knew how to be considerate without making it awkward.
I turned on the shower, waiting for the water to warm. Caught sight of myself in the mirror—hair a mess, lips swollen from kissing, a mark on my neck where Quentin had—
I touched it gently, felt heat rise in my cheeks.
What am I doing?
Sleeping with the man I was sent to kill.
Falling for him.
Letting myself believe, just for a moment, that this could be real.
That we could be real.
The shower was ready. I stepped under the spray, let the hot water wash away the sauce, the fear, the doubt.
At least for tonight.
The bathroom door opened. Quentin stepped in, gloriously naked, that confident smile on his face.
"Room for one more?"
"You bet."
He joined me under the spray, his hands immediately finding my waist, pulling me close.
"Hi," he said softly.
"Hi."
We stood like that for a moment, just holding each other under the water. No urgency. No desperation. Just... connection.
"Thank you," I whispered. "For tonight. For being here. For—"
"Shh." He pressed a kiss to my forehead. "You don't have to thank me. There's nowhere else I'd rather be."
And God help me, I believed him.
We took our time in the shower, washing away the remnants of the day. His hands were gentle as he shampooed my hair, careful to get all the sauce out. I returned the favor, mapping the planes of his back, the scars that told stories I wanted to know.
By the time we finally turned off the water, I felt almost human again.
Almost.
Because reality was waiting just outside this bathroom. Questions I didn't want to answer. Truths I wasn't ready to face.
But for now, wrapped in a towel with Quentin's arms around me, I could pretend.
Pretend I was just Julia Russell, executive assistant, falling for her impossibly attractive boss.
Pretend I wasn’t here to do a job.
Pretend that love could somehow be enough to save us both.