“I don’t know, how do I tell the woman I love I know she’s lying about who she is without admitting I’m doing the same?” I squeeze the back of my neck with my hand, frustrated. “Shit, dumbass, these are the messes you get into when you aren’t honest with the person you’re seeing.”
I grumble into the night, not waiting for a response since I’m talking to myself. Instead, I continue to pace in the alley behind the bar, my shoes wearing a path in the concrete with my incessant back and forth. I’ve been here for twenty minutes, playing out different scenarios in my mind and trying to produce one I’m happy with.
I’ve yet to be successful.
At a time when I should be telling her I love her, suggesting we move in together, I’ll instead be confessing I’ve been following her when she heads out late at night. My problem isn’t that she goes out when she should be sleeping, it’s what she’s doing while she’s out. Which is why I’ll have to tell her who I really am. And cause a clusterfuck of epic proportions.
Even though I haven’t said anything before, that all ends tonight. I want to marry this woman someday, and I can’t do that with this hanging between us.
I enter through the front door of the bar instead of knocking and waiting for someone to let me in at the back. Daria is standing at the edge of the bar talking to one of her employees with her back to me. Giving me a chance to drink her in. She’s wearing a tight dress that ends just below her knees. I can’t see her front yet, but her back is completely bare. Which is sexy as fuck.
I lean against the wall just inside the doorway and wait until she’s free. The girl she’s talking to glances over Daria’s shoulder at me, then chin bobs at Daria to tell her I’m here. Daria turns slowly, her lips turning up when our eyes meet. My heart beats faster, and I can’t stop the smile that takes over my face.
I beckon her forward with my finger, wanting to watch her walk toward me. She shakes her head in response. I raise an eyebrow in question. If she’s still working, I’ll wait. But if she’s being coy, I’ll spank the shit out of that beautiful ass later. Right before I kiss it and make it better.
“Come over here and make me,” she taunts, her Russian accent thickening as she laughs, making my dick stir. I not-so-subtly shift myself in my pants, smirking as her gaze drops to watch, then make my way toward her, my steps long and purposeful. Daria is tall and wearing heels, but I still have a few inches on her. She looks up at me through dark lashes when I stop in front of her, her big brown eyes heating when I cup her cheek in my palm.
I pull her toward me, capturing her lips with mine before she has a moment to say or do anything else. Her arms snake up my chest, resting on my pecs as her body melts into mine. My other hand skirting down her back, stopping when my thumb reaches the indentation at the small of her back, my remaining fingers curling down around her ass.
And just like every other time when I’ve kissed her, my cock strains against my jeans, begging to be set free. Daring me to push her dress up and fuck her here against the bar with everyone watching to prove beyond the shadow of a doubt who she belongs to.
I slow the kiss as some jackass starts to cat call and whistle, leaning my forehead against hers to catch my breath. “Hi.”
“Hi back,” she says.
“You ready to go?”
She nods, grabs her clutch from the bar, then takes my hand when I offer it. I can’t help but feel proud to have her with me. She’s beautiful, successful, intelligent—
A killer.
My own thoughts interrupt my musings as the reminder of what’s bound to go down tonight slaps me upside the head. She’s going to hate me for lying to her. She’s going to hate me for following her. And while I hate to admit it, there’s still a part of me that wonders if I should turn her in.
The restaurant is one of those quaint and inviting little places situated on a street corner, with soft music flowing from overhead speakers and where the bulk of the lighting comes from candles. We’re shown to a private booth in the back and both gravitate toward the middle from either side.
“Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?” I ask.
Daria shakes her head in response, her long brown hair swishing back and forth.
“You look incredible, it’s all I can do to keep my hands to myself.”
“Who said you have to?” She smiles saucily, her eyes sparkling as she looks at me with such affection my chest aches. I must be the luckiest motherfucker alive to have someone so fantastic look at me with such warmth and devotion. You don’t just fuck that up over conflicting career paths, right? Talk about love-life-suicide. . .
Before I realize I blurt out, “God, I love you.”
Oh shit.
My hand flies up to cover my mouth and I close my eyes.
Why did I say that? How fucking stupid.
Deep breath.
It’s out there now. I can’t take it back. I open my eyes slowly, hesitant to fully take in her reaction.
She looks at me, her eyes wide, brows arched, and mouth agape.
Her shock could not be any clearer. Which means it was too soon. I spoke too soon, because I’m an idiot who doesn’t think things through. This is going to ruin everything.
How do I take it back?
I look around the dimly lit room frantically, hoping the answer will jump out at me. Because, also, what the fuck am I thinking telling her I love her on the same night I plan to confront her about being an assassin? How can I—
“I love you too.”
I look at her, hoping that I heard correctly.
“You do?”
She nods, her head bobbing rapidly. “I do.”
“Oh.”
Well, shit. That changes everything, right?
Love conquers all. This will be fine.
I grab her by the back of the neck and pull her face to mine, capturing her lips in the softest kiss I can muster. Trying to convey as much love as I can just in case I’m wrong and what I’m about to say won’t really destroy everything.
When we separate, it’s like we are the only two people in the world, she’s the only one I see. I caress her cheek with my thumb, memorizing her face.
“I’ll just leave these here,” someone says as they set down our drinks. I don’t look. I don’t care. This moment right here is all that matters. We’re together, we love each other, she’s looking at me like I’m the most important thing in the world. And she’s seeing the same emotion reflecting from me.
I lean in to kiss her again, my hand moving up her thigh until I reach the edge of her panties. I run my knuckle across the front, across her clit. Daria’s breath catches and she looks at me batting her eyelashes in an exaggerated motion.
“Why, Mr. Murphy, are you trying to touch me in a public place?” Her voice is breathy and low.
“Not trying, beautiful.” I lean forward, my forehead touching hers, my other hand cupped around her neck. She has one hand squeezing my thigh and the other clutching the edge of the bench seat. Someone drops off our salads, neither of us pay them any attention. I move my finger under the edge of her panties and sink it inside her.
She gasps in response.
“I’m going to get you off before the main course.” My thumb finds her clit and starts to massage it.
“It’s a bet.” Her eyes already at half-mast, the challenge she issues is closer to a joke than anything else.
I slide a second finger inside her, curling them forward as they pump in and out. Her breath heavy against my face, her muscles contracting around my fingers. She’s close whether she wants to admit it or not.
“Oh god, Mack.”
I capture her lips with mine to drown out any further sounds as she finds her release, her core squeezing my fingers, her juices coating my hand, her body convulsing slightly. I wait for her to come down before removing my hand. Then lick my fingers as she catches her breath. I wink when she looks at me.
“You are my favorite flavor.”
She blushes slightly at my words, which always surprises and endears me. I hold off until she is situated and has taken a bite of her salad before making my next move.
“How long have you been assassinating low-life criminals, beautiful?”