Assassin by Day

by Tessa Robertson

  Alexei used such knowledge to his advantage and exploited it, and Eddie never got to experience the depth of my wanderlust when it came to the bedroom.

  On the other hand, Nickolas adores my seductive ways. It’s why I like him so much. We’re a matching nympho pair. I review the muscles bulging under his dark jeans. And he’s quite good at what he does. It’s a pity he can’t hide out with me.

  “So, now what?” I ask, though the answer is as plain as the tint of his eyes.

  Nickolas tosses his coat to the counter and takes the seat next to me. “I wish I didn’t have to leave you,” his eyes trace my lips, “so vulnerable.”

  “I can take care of myself.” It’s not like he needs the reminder. He’s seen it for himself. Still, it’s admirable he cares. What a fool.

  “Oh, I know no one will get the better of you.” He tugs at my coat. “What I mean is susceptible in other ways.”

  Sex. Just fucking say it! Men! They like to dance around words instead of spitting them out. I shed the coat from my shoulders and pull Nickolas closer. “I think I’ll survive.”

  “But I don’t want you to survive,” he whispers, his nose touching mine. “I don’t want to be one of the guys you call when you’re lonely.” Hands snake up my side. “I want to be the only man you call.”

  “You want us to be exclusive? While you’re an entire ocean away?”

  He bobs his head, keeping my gaze. “That’s exactly what I want. Be it five thousand miles or down the block, I don’t want to be your second option.”

  He’s gutsy. I have to give him that. “Nickolas, I wasn’t monogamous with Alexei and he was my fiancé. What makes you think I can do it with you while you hold a man’s life over my head?”

  “Alexei didn’t love you, Mishka. Not in the way I do.”

  Mulling it over, I realize he’s right. Alexei didn’t love me, but Nickolas isn’t the lone man with affections for me. There’s Eddie, and even though I’ve resigned a possible future with him, part of me loves him no matter who I end up with.

  “I can’t promise I can contain my urges while you’re gone.”

  Nickolas leans me back onto the couch and hovers above me. “I’m not asking you to change, little nymph.” His lips match mine. “I’m asking you to limit any exposure while I’m away.” He kisses me again, with more passion this time.

  Fuck me. This is why I’m attracted to him. He doesn’t shut me down completely. Nickolas doesn’t beat me until I realize I’m his alone. He accepts my tendencies and urges me to keep a lid on them. This is new. I like it.

  Wrapping my legs around his waist, I excitedly moan as our kisses become erratic. I liquefy into Nickolas as though it’s the last time I’ll ever see him. Quite possibly, it could be. Neither of us knows what’ll happen to him in Moscow. Our plan depends on the skhodka accepting us as the new handlers. Anything could happen.

  Nickolas rips away my jeans and kisses down my stomach. If he fucks me good enough tonight, I won’t ever have to question my affections for him. We’re good together, Nick and me. His teeth pull down my black thong, and I jerk against his cool tongue. Fuck yes, we’re incredible together.

  Chapter Eight

  Month One

  Nickolas gave me this stupidass notebook the morning he left. If he hadn’t screwed my brains out, I would’ve hated him. As it is, the journal, as he called it, sat on the kitchen counter for three weeks before I picked it up. I didn’t need to write my thoughts. I was wrong. I’m bored off my ass here. My only entertainment is the guy who picked us up when the car broke down. He’s responsive in a rural guy kind of way. His ass is bite-worthy, but I refrain. I promised Nickolas. It’s been a month and I already feel my internal organs scream at me for misuse. I’ve no vodka or sex. This place sucks more than the time I saw Eddie whack off to porn. There’s a fun note to end on. Killer out.

  Month Two

  The agency loves me still. Aw, I’m so special because someone wants to use me for my skills then disregard me. Oh wait, that’s my life. This journaling is lame yet, I write in it every now and then. I hope to Venus no one ever finds it. I probably should’ve been writing in symbols or code. Oh, well. Dylan drives me mad. Mad with desire. He comes by every damn day to talk. I’m not sure if friends do that or not, but I’d much rather him be my fuck buddy, hold the friend. Nickolas’s sex coma is wearing off little by little. My body craves the angelic touch only a man gives. Wow, I sound like a crazy chick and maybe I am. If Nickolas doesn’t haul his ass to Colorado soon, I’m liable to break down and lure Dylan in with a siren song. Fuck! I really need to stop reading. I’m done writing in this shitty thing. Assassination expert over and out.

  Month Three

  Snowflakes speckle the ground outside the library window. The peaceful town of Buena Verde accepts the new snowfall without complaint. I see the town’s snow plow revving. He’ll be at it all night. Good thing I live upstairs.

  I hear whispers and glance over to see the Whitehurst twins giggling over the latest issue of Juggs. I roll my eyes. How they snuck it from their father is beyond me, but it doesn’t matter. They’re not my kids.

  I move away from their incessant noise and focus on the gathering snow. This itty-bitty town feels more like home than I thought possible. I was 99% sure I’d leave after a day, but there’s something magical about Verde. Or the fact that Nick will kill Eddie if I leave. Either way, the people here are nice. Too nice. They ate up my nomad story and gypsy name as if possessed.

  Each day, I stop by the diner for my meals. The owner is a decent enough lady, but her cooking is out of this world. If I could cook a fraction as well as her, I wouldn’t be able to wobble out of my kitchen.

  “Rory, are you closing early today?” Evan, the younger twin, asks.

  I turn and see his freckled face smiling at me. He’s the cuter of the two fraternal boys. It’s almost sad how much I’ve got to know the residents. I didn’t want to for obvious reasons, but they creep into me.

  “Yeah, I think I’ll close in an hour.” I say, grabbing a stack of books needing catalogued.

  I don’t think being a librarian is my calling in life, but it was the job available. Reviewing the titles, I sigh. Nickolas sends me all I need to survive. My work here is domesticated compared to my preferred profession.

  Glancing around the room, I commend myself for a job well done. The place looks brand new, except for the antique books. I cleaned the building floor to roof. What else was I supposed to do with all my time? All I have is time, since Eddie won’t cease his searching. Secretly, I love him for it. His steadfast affection keeps me going.

  Nestled between mountains on all sides, and busy when the ski lift isn’t on the fritz, makes Verde the perfect hideaway.

  I hear the boys call farewell and wave without looking. A gush of chilly air ruffles the open book on the table, forcing my grumble. The door didn’t latch. Stupid kids. I never want them. Dylan keeps fixing the stubborn door by temporary means.

  “I should fix it myself.”

  It appears Dylan partially fixes things in the building. And I know the reason why, he has a little crush on me, not that I mind. Our flirting is chastely platonic. He’s a chum. One I’d readily mount like a stallion.

  I gather the books the twins failed to return to the shelves. It’s a common occurrence for those two, but it makes me think about my life. Verde’s residents have brought a lot of self-reflection. Long ago, I wanted kids, one of each, but chucked my desire when I met Alexei. I could never bring a baby into a world where men treat women as punching bags. Not all men are the spawn of Satan, but the need for a child isn’t high on my list.

  I need to survive. Right now, it means living like a virgin. The town is scarce with eligible men and the tourists give me the creeps.

  The books surrounding me don’t offer any advice, so I slouch in the chair. Being a book wrangler sucks. No, I take it back. Being a librarian who doesn’t have sex sucks. I glance to the shelves filling the room. M
ore than one spot would be ideal for a sensual rendezvous. Oh, to shake the books loose. Yummy.

  Finding a man to rattle them with is the problem. Dylan is my first and singular choice. He’s quiet, but always pleasant. We never talk about anything but the obvious. No getting to know our histories or telling secrets. I’d have to kill him if I did. I like staring at him, so I don’t want to cross the lines.

  I drum my fingers on the solid oak desk. My reputation for choosing the bad egg when it comes to men is legendary. Either he’s abusive, egotistical or psychotic. Sometimes, all of the above. All save one.

  Shrill laughter drifts through the walls and I glance to the window to see a group of youngsters amid a snowball fight.

  I could be wrong about Eddie. I never gave him time to show his true heart. Eddie. Thinking of him makes my stomach flutter with desire, probably because I’m as horny as a teenage boy in a room of whores.

  Sighing, I imagine the police officer. He wasn’t the best I’ve had, but my list is longer than I even recall. He is built like a soldier, and God, I love armed men. Too bad I’m not as specific when it comes to the country of origin.

  Alexei was a different kind of soldier, so he was my type. My panties dampen thinking about men. It’s wrong, but fuck I haven’t had sex for what feels like a year! I’m used to it every day at least once. Whether I enjoyed it or not, it was sex. My body requires it to survive.

  Someone scolds the children outside when their snowballs stray to pedestrians. I wouldn’t mind joining the onslaught. It may alleviate my pent-up energy. Instead, my mind whirs around the men I call mine. Eddie made me feel small. Not the bad kind of small Alexei forced on me, but a small that gave me a moment of peace when I was in his arms. When we were together, the world paused and nothing bad ever happened.

  At six foot or so with shoes, feeling petite is a big thing to me. Stupid Eddie spun my world upside, made me crazy in love with him, then left.

  I hear the snowplows outside and shrug. I thought I was done with the goody-two-shoes when he joined the Air Force.

  Locking the front door, I let out an audible huff. No meddling townspeople today or Mrs. Jones telling me how perfect her nephew is for me. I roll my eyes and climb the stairs to the one-bedroom apartment serving as my temporary home. I don’t want Tony when I can have an Eddie. My Eddie.

  It’s a ridiculous notion. I don’t know why I entertain it. Oh, right, because I’ve nothing else to do. My mind circulates men. Nickolas and Eddie for the most part, but now and then I venture to a new guy. It’s so very wrong, but I’m bored. I hardly hear from Nickolas. I even worry if he’s alive. Damn, when did I start caring about the guys I screw?

  Slipping off my shoes, I close my eyes and listen to the sounds of the mountain town. Snow blowers, shovels, children, and the snow plow rolling down the cobblestone streets meets my ears. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was meant to live here. Chill spreads through my thin layers, and I amble to the bedroom.

  After changing my clothes, I rustle through the dirty dishes in the sink. The townspeople probably think I’m an abused shut-in. I scoff at the irony. Finding the tea kettle, I fill it with water and start the burner. I feel a little bad at their blind faith in me. They’ve no clue about the real me or even what I am capable of.

  Dylan is the one brave soul who ventures to me, but I remain wary of him. I can’t afford exposure, and I’m certain he’s part of the Russian cell.

  My communications with the agency are less frequent than those with Nickolas. It makes me wonder if they’re losing faith in me. Obviously, I can’t kill terrorists while I’m keeping a low profile.

  I cross the room and lean my head against the frost-covered window. The ice sends goosebumps sprawling over my skin, and I relish the moments that make me feel alive. They aren’t often these days. I spy Dylan below with a shovel in his hands. His raven black hair is peppered with snowflakes, and I frown when he replaces his furry hat.

  Out of all the town’s population, I’m glad he found me marooned. I hate to admit it, but he’s the closest thing to a friend.

  With leisure, I watch Dylan shovel outside the library. He lifts the heavy snow without effort and tosses it to the side with the red-handled shovel. I don’t know why he doesn’t just use the snow blower.

  I smirk when he pauses and looks up. He offers me a smile that could melt an ice sculpture before he waves. The damn man likes showing off, but I admire it. I’d never tell him, but he must know. Why else would he insert himself into my day-to-day life? Sure, I guess we’re friends. Do friends do that? I’m so used to an alternative reason behind a man’s friendliness.

  I shrug. I shouldn’t pick hairs when it comes to Dylan. With his slightly wavy, black hair, silver-blue eyes and crooked nose he isn’t bad to look at. I adore the crookedness. It must’ve broke and never healed properly. Just like me.

  I wave back and he offers me another grin as the tea kettle whistles. If he follows tradition, he’ll visit when he finishes shoveling. Why else would I make tea? I don’t even like it. I nod at him then retreat to the kitchen. I give it five minutes before his snowy form stomps up my staircase.

  It’s the same whenever it snows, which is almost daily. Dylan shovels my walkway and when he’s done, he comes inside to warm up. It started innocent enough. We talk. He tries to put the pieces of my checkered life together, and I expertly distract him from the task. As much as I want to extend our time beyond nonphysical, I don’t. It’d be insane.

  I snort. And he sways me to like him then I fall in love with him, and we live happily ever after. Yeah, not happening. I’ll screw him. I’ll fucking screw the last iota of energy from him, but I won’t fall in love. Nope.

  I pause at the mirror in the hall and stare at my reflection. My once chestnut colored hair is now black. I dyed it before I left Virginia. It was Nickolas’s idea and not a bad one at that. I push back my bangs. I need to cut them. They’re getting long.

  I used to wear my hair in a braid, but rectified that. It’s midway down my back and I like it. It’s easier to throw it into a messy bun, which is what I usually do because I’m lazy.

  The one thing I didn’t change was my eye color. I thought about green or brown colored contacts, but I couldn’t go through with it. I keep my bluish green eyes. I don’t know why. I never liked them. They remind me of my dad’s green eyes and my mother’s idyllic Russian beauty with blue eyes.

  I squint. I mean, either they’re blue or they’re green. Mostly, the colors mix, and I’ve no clue what to call them. Sea green? Nah, sounds like seaweed. One sliver of me is all that remains here.

  Smoothing my oversized sweater, I feel the disappointing curves. Verde doesn’t have a gym, so my daily workout routine is nonexistent. I don’t have sex to work off my anger and energy anymore, so that leaves meditating. It works sometimes, but I’d much rather lock a man in a padded room until I’m done with him. I push the faulty notion aside. I shouldn’t be thinking about any man even though it’s exactly what I do every day.

  The night before Nickolas left did more than stifle my need for sex. Amazingly enough, I barely wanted male attention, let alone sex. My urges shifted dramatically when I hit month three. It’s quite impressive. Nickolas fucked me so well I was satisfied for three months. Talk about a new personal record. Kudos, Nick.

  Sucking in my gut, I let out a chuckle. I have no idea what size I wear anymore. It’s not the size six Alexei insisted I keep. It’s liberating to buy clothes without looking at the tag. If it fits, I buy it. End of story.

  Dylan unlocks the door downstairs. As delicious as he is, I won’t let him in my bed for a sleepless night. Of course, then again, beds aren’t necessary for what I want to do with him.

  I manage to make it to the pantry before the apartment door squeals open. I keep it creaky so any noise wakes me. Since I’m in bed with a Russian mob and American intelligence, I can’t afford any mistakes.

  Swiveling my head to the right, I eye Dylan. He’
s covered in snow from his hat to size thirteen boots. His black coat and matching jeans hug him without reprimand. Snow speckles his expertly trimmed beard. It’s a bit bushy for my taste, but he’s a mountain man.

  “Nice day for a walk,” he offers with a shake of his head. Melted snow sprays from his hair. “Too bad you’re staying cozy inside.”

  Shuddering at his teasing tone, I wrap my arms over my chest. I hear his low voice in my dreams that too often involve him thrilling my panties off.

  “Do you want tea? It’s chai.”

  Surely, I sound like a nervous idiot rambling on like this, but I need to keep my mind away from seductive tendencies.

  Staying behind the kitchen island, I reflect on my conversational vomit. For a library apartment, the place has expensive renovations. Granite countertops, oak cabinets and stainless steel appliances. It looks like something Nickolas would arrange. I always wonder who stayed here before me, but never ask. I don’t want to know all of Verde’s secrets, as I don’t want it to know mine.

  “Chai sounds great. I haven’t had it in years,” he replies, shedding his boots. His coat and gloves quickly follow.

  I can’t help but watch as he unclothes, well partially. I would fucking love to watch him discard every article. I look away before he catches me ogling. He’s done it more than once, yet never says anything. Any other man would be all over a woman they caught eye-fondling them. I chalk it up to him not being interested in me in a romantic way. Why else would he ignore the way I undress him with my eyes?

  “Have a seat. I’ll get it.” I grab the kettle and pour a steady stream into the cup he dubbed his. It’s chipped and has a cartoon mountain climber on it. Nothing special, but he uses it every day.

  I focus on the task at hand. This concoction tastes nothing like genuine Russian chai, but it tastes better than the usual mint tea he likes. Mint is his favorite, not that I care. He brought it with him one day. I didn’t buy it. I wouldn’t buy it. I like coffee or authentic chai not the lukewarm bathwater he calls tea.