Maid for the Hitman: A Steamy Standalone Instalove Romance

by Flora Ferrari

  “Are you sure this is the only way?”

  “Yes,” Rosie says at once, flooding my body with irrepressible heat and belonging. Her certainty bolsters me. “We have to go with Ryland.”

  Jackie turns back to me, frowning for a moment.

  “Do you have a mother, a father?” she asks.

  “I did, once,” I tell her. “But not anymore.”

  She sighs. “What do you care for, Ryland? What couldn’t you live without?”

  Your daughter, I want to roar, but that would only complicate matters.

  My priority right now is getting them to leave with me.

  “My dog, Chopper,” I say. “He means the world to me.”

  I feel Rosie staring at me, her eyes softening.

  She bites her lip again, and even in my peripheral vision, I have to fight hard not to completely lose control.

  She has such a beautiful, kissable mouth.

  “Okay,” Jackie says. “Then swear on Chopper’s life you’re not going to hurt her.”

  “I swear,” I snap. “Now, pack a bag. Get ready. We need to leave soon.”

  I turn and pace from the room.

  They probably think I’m getting impatient with Jackie’s questioning, but that’s only a small piece of it. Most of the drumming pressure in my body comes from my woman, with her big round naïve eyes, with her full flushed cheeks, with every voluptuous inch of her seemingly designed for my pleasure.

  And mine alone.

  I drop onto the couch, resuming my previous position, trying – and failing – to keep my breathing steady as I hold a thousand steamy vignettes of Rosie in my mind.

  After a pause and some whispered words, I hear them getting ready back there, drawers opening and closing.

  I close my eyes and let out a short sigh, telling myself that this is all going to be okay. The women will disappear just like Vito wanted, and there’s no way he can access my estate to learn about my lie…

  But what then?

  My goal isn’t to hide with my woman for the rest of our lives, to raise a family in secret. I want us to stand in the light together, to roar from the highest rooftop that we’re here, that we belong together.

  I want to be with her, openly, so that everybody can see how lucky I am, how beautiful she looks on my arm.

  I sigh and run a hand through my hair.

  These are concerns for another day, once my woman and her mother are safe.

  I smirk when I think about the way Rosie was biting her lip back there, her eyes getting wide and needy.

  My mind returns to the thought of her in a maid’s uniform, but this time, she’s not wearing tights.

  She leans forward and sticks her ass out, showing the supple roundness of it, and her pink wet slit glistening, as though her hole is beckoning me to it.

  I force my eyes open and let out a snarl, fighting back the image.

  I can’t allow myself to fall into these thoughts so easily.

  Otherwise, I’ll fall upon her like the savage beast I am the moment we’re alone.

  Before she even understands that she belongs to me, that she’s mine – body, soul, everything – I’ll force my engorged manhood between her thighs and I’ll…

  Goddamn it, I’m doing it again.

  I laugh darkly, shaking my head.

  Resisting her is going to be the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Rosie

  I sit in the back of his black sedan, my hand in mom’s, as he guides us through the city.

  Mom squeezes my palm tightly, sighing and glancing at me every few moments, her bright eyes brimming with questions as though she’s finding this as difficult to believe as I am.

  I try not to stare at Ryland as we leave our rundown neighborhood and head for the bridge, but my gaze is pulled to him over and over as though magnetized. I can’t stop myself from drinking in the sight of him, my mouth going dry even as my other set of lips is anything but.

  He handles the steering wheel deftly in his giant’s hands, but his knuckles are bone-white. He’s gripping it hard for some reason, as though he’s angry that he has to do this, shield us based on his principles.

  I remember the way his body felt crushed against mine in the apartment, the hard ridges of his muscles pressing through the fabric of his suit.

  If I wasn’t holding my mom’s hand, I know I’d let my mind fly to silly, impossible places.

  Instead, I sigh and let my forehead rest against the glass.

  We join the traffic on the bridge, the water glittering below us, the setting sun making the city shimmer orange-red.

  After an hour of driving, we’re in the countryside.

  Ryland turns onto a stone pathway that leads us down a long road, bordered on all sides by flowering nature. The sun has almost completely set now, giving everything a storybook appearance.

  “Oh my,” Mom murmurs when Ryland’s estate comes into view.

  Oh my is right.

  It sits atop a small hill like a fairytale castle, a building made of stone the same shade as Ryland’s hair. A black iron gate sits between two grinning gargoyles, and through the gate, I see a long field that ends in a fountain, water flying toward the sky.

  Ryland lowers his window and leans out, brushing his thumb against a metal access pad built into the brickwork.

  The gates whine and open slowly, and Ryland drives us down the pathway.

  I gaze at the massive estate, more silly thoughts firing brightly in my mind.

  As we drive toward the looming house – seeming crazily big the closer we get – I imagine a group of happy-faced children running across the lawn, screaming, Mommy, Mommy.

  I imagine Ryland jogging across the lawn, grinning in his silver armor of a suit, leaning down to scoop them into his arms and cradle our children close.

  My womb throbs as dream Ryland looks up at me, smiling over the tops of our children’s heads.

  I clasp my hands to my belly, squeezing as though I can communicate some sense to my womb by touch alone.

  What the heck is wrong with me?

  These thoughts are downright insane.

  Ryland brings the car to a stop at the steps that lead up to his imposing home.

  I see him smirk in the rearview when the barking begins.

  “I guess that’s Chopper?” I murmur, flinching at the sound.

  He sounds like a helicopter, growling between the barks, so loud I can hear him from the door, down the steps, all the way in here. He sounds like he’s going to blow the door down and sprint down here to maul us.

  “Is it safe?” Mom whispers. “He sounds feral.”

  “Oh, he’s feral, alright,” Ryland smirks, chuckling.

  “I hope he isn’t aggressive,” Mom says tartly.

  For a moment, it’s like I can forget about the cancer and the pain of these past few months. She sounds exactly how she used to, ready to take on the world with her words and her outrage and not much else.

  “I don’t know about that,” Ryland smirks, clearly enjoying making us squirm. “I guess we’ll have to see if he likes you or not.”

  He climbs from the car and I look across at my mom.

  Despite everything, I find myself giggling when I see how her lips are twisted in outrage, her eyebrows raised in uncertainty.

  “What use is any of this if we get mauled by a ferocious beast?” she says.

  “I’m sure he’s just teasing us,” I say, turning to the window as he ascends the steps.

  He moves confidently, gracefully for a man of his size. It’s like every movement is planned down to the tiniest shift in his muscles, as though he’s rehearsed walking up these steps dozens of times before.

  “Are you?” Mom says. “Because I’m not. And I’m definitely not getting out of this car until that ferocious animal proves it’s not out to eat me.”

  I giggle, shaking my head.

  And yet I can’t deny that I’m not exactly sure when I hear how lo
udly Chopper snarls.

  At the top of the stairs, Ryland opens the door and the growling gets louder. For a moment, it’s like the dog’s going to charge down at us and tip the car over.

  I wonder what breed he is.

  He must be a big dog, huge and scary, with sharp terrifying teeth.

  “Oh my God,” I giggle when Ryland starts walking down the steps with the dog cradled to his chest with one hand, smirking at us.

  “Mom, it’s a little Chihuahua.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “Look.”

  She turns and stares with me, studying the little black dog in Ryland’s hand. His teeth are pulled back in a growl, but he’s not making any noise now, just staring at the car in suspicion, his nose wrinkling with crazy speed as if he’s trying to sort through a thousand different scents.

  I open the car door and step out, mock-glaring at Ryland even as a smile spreads across my face.

  “How the heck is that possible?” I say. “He sounded like a helicopter.”

  “I know,” Ryland chuckles. “I can’t explain it. He’s the tiniest, loudest dog I’ve ever seen in my life.”

  I move over to him, my heart sizzling at the tender way Ryland handles the small animal. My body burns with budding heat when I envision him cradling a baby in the same way, our baby.

  Even if I know it’s impossible – and even if I know broodiness is the last thing I should be feeling – the image burns its mark into my mind.

  “Can I pet him?” I ask.

  Ryland shakes his head slowly. “He’s not great with strangers,” he says. “I found him in a dumpster. He was just left there, the poor guy. He was growling like a Pit bull—like you heard. I got ready for a hell of a fight when I opened it up. But then he looks up at me, this little terrified thing.”

  “And you took him in and gave him a home,” I whisper, my heart melting like wax under the flame of his selflessness.

  “Yeah,” Ryland says matter of fact. “The only thing I regret is not knowing what piece of shit abandoned him there. I’d like to exchange a few words with them.”

  Something tells me he’d give him more than words.

  I turn at the sound of mom climbing from the car, moving instinctively toward her.

  She waves a hand at me, aiming a glare.

  “I can walk, Rosie,” she snaps. “I’m not a complete invalid.”

  I sigh and turn back, rolling my eyes at Ryland with a little smile. It’s weird how I feel like I can communicate silently with him when we’ve only just met when he’s a complete stranger.

  Heck, he may even try and kill me still.

  This could all be some twisted plan.

  And yet I can’t bring myself to believe that.

  “I’ll just take Chopper back up,” Ryland says, “and then I can help with your bags.”

  “There’s no need,” I say, stepping forward. “I’m sure I can handle him.”

  Ryland smirks, his sky-blues searing into me, making me scorch hotly.

  “I wouldn’t be so confident,” he says. “Chopper may be small, but he’s ferocious.”

  “Is that right?” I murmur, leaning down at the adorable dog.

  His upper lip quivers as he stares at me with his big brown eyes. But he isn’t growling. I raise my hand slowly, carefully, and then begin to move toward him.

  “You’re a good boy, Chopper,” I whisper. “Yes, you are. You’re a strong, loud boy, aren’t you? Aren’t you? Yes, you are.”

  He tilts his head back as I lower my hand to him and scratch him behind the ear.

  His mouth opens into a big gummy smile as I begin to rub, and he lets out a contended whining noise, his tongue lolling.

  “Well, fuck,” Ryland says. “Maybe he’s not as ferocious as I thought.”

  “Can I hold him?” I ask.

  “If he’ll let you.”

  “What do you think, tough guy?” I murmur. “Can I hold you, hmm? Can I, you good boy?”

  I scoop my hand under his little body, my skin brushing against Ryland’s as I pull him toward me.

  Chopper lolls against my chest, grinning up at me with so much bright happiness I feel my heart quiver.

  “I think he likes you,” Ryland says. “Go on up, Rosie. I’ll help your mother.”

  “Thank you,” I murmur, walking to the bottom of the imposing staircase.

  I stare up at the towering structure, feeling small, lost…

  But, oddly, I feel like I’m home like I’ve been waiting all my life to lead me here.

  “Crazy, huh, boy?” I whisper, just loud enough for Chopper to hear, as I take the first step.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Ryland

  I sit in my vast library, a weighty hardback book open on the table in front of me.

  The library is one of the largest rooms in the house, with walls that stretch three floors up and end in a golden half-sphere ceiling, filtering in the moonlight and turning it the color of the sun.

  Every long, tall wall is lined with books, some of them well-read and some of them untouched.

  Sliding ladders crisscross the shelves, and interconnected wood walkways and staircases zigzag up all three floors.

  I run a hand through my hair, letting out a carnal groaning noise when I think about this crazy, crazy goddamn day.

  First, there was the order to kill Rosie, and then there was the moving-in. Afterward, I called Vito and told him I’d taken care of them.

  “Them?” he said.

  “The mother and the girl,” I told him. “They’ve taken a long holiday.”

  “Fuck, Ryland,” he said. “That’s cold. Good work.”

  I hung up, disgusted, squeezing the phone so hard I felt like it was going to shatter.

  Good work for, as far as he knows, killing a mother and her child.

  Killing my goddamn woman.

  The man’s deranged.

  After the call, I arranged for my staff to receive large lump payments to tide them over while I deal with this mess. Then, once that was all sorted, I brought in a discreet nurse to take care of Jackie.

  Now, I read, because reading about battles and blood and war is one of the reasons I’ve been able to survive this life for so long.

  But I can’t stop thinking about Rosie, lying in her silk sheets, maybe wearing nothing but her underwear.

  I can’t stop thinking about her thick, luscious thighs and the way she’d shiver as I run my hands up toward her sex.

  I leap up when I hear someone in the hallway, heading for the library door. Even across the vastness of the room, I can sense somebody approaching. Awareness has been trained into me through decades of wet work.

  Rosie appears at the doorway, wearing a baggy T-shirt that nonetheless outlines the captivating shape of her. She’s tied her auburn hair back in a messy ponytail, strands spiraling around her flushed face.

  Her wide childrearing hips are squashed into pajama bottoms, round and captivating.

  “Sorry,” she murmurs, her voice echoing over the cavernous room. “I just wanted to explore a little bit.”

  My mouth is suddenly dry. My chest tight.

  My soul aches, even if I didn’t realize I had one until earlier today.

  “This place is amazing, Ryland,” she murmurs, taking a few tentative steps as she gazes up at the half-sphere ceiling. “I’ve never seen anything like it. I didn’t expect… sorry.”

  “What?” I smirk, swaggering across the marble floor to her.

  She shakes her head, averting her gaze, as a delicious blush captivates her cheeks.

  “I was about to be rude, but I stopped myself.”

  “You didn’t expect a big lumbering oaf like me to have a library,” I say, smirking as I walk right up to her, close enough to scent her shampoo and her just-Rosie smell.

  “I wasn’t going to put it like that,” she says.

  I wave a hand. “Have a look around. But first…”

  I should stop myself. Things are complic
ated enough as it is, with worrying about what I’m going to do with her in the long term. I’ve been pondering the problem a lot today, and the only reasonable solution is to move her and her mother overseas with new identities.

  I shouldn’t let myself get attached.

  I should stop.

  But I can’t.

  It’s already too late. I’m already attached.

  “First what?” she murmurs, staring wide-eyed up at me.

  “We have to get you into your uniform,” I growl. “Or have you forgotten? You’re not staying here for free, Rosie. You’re my maid.”

  She swallows, making a whimpering noise.

  “Are you making fun of me?” she asks plainly.

  “No,” I growl. “I’d never make fun of you. Now shut that pretty mouth and go and get changed. I’ve left it at the bottom of your wardrobe.”

  She flinches, her eyes getting somehow wider, staring at me as though she can’t believe what I’ve just said.

  Is it my bluntness that shocks her, or the fact I called her pretty?

  “Are you serious?” she whispers.

  I take another step forward, feeling my rock solid manhood press against her, staring down at her with a song of lust pulsing in my head.

  “Yes, I’m fucking serious,” I snarl. “You’re my maid. Now do what you’re told.”

  She bites her lip, her eyes glimmering.

  “I’m a little confused.”

  “So am I,” I tell her. “Why are you still here?”

  I grab her by the shoulders and turn her around, intending to give her a soft shove toward the door.

  But then my gaze flits down to her ass, bulging in the light fabric of the pajama bottoms. Her ass is round and made to be spanked and palmed and pleased.

  “Fucking hell,” I groan, stepping forward and leaning down so I can grind my trapped manhood against her.

  She lets out a shivering moan, looking at me over her shoulder, pursing her lips like the horny minx she is.

  “You want me,” she murmurs. “Like that? You really want me?”

  “How couldn’t I want you?” I snap in disbelief. “Shift that ass for me, Rosie. Grind it. It feels so good against my big hard cock.”

  She moves up and down slowly, shyly, as if she’s never done anything like this before.