His only betrayal of emotion.
Heat radiated from him, warming her skin where they nearly touched. Fury combined with lust assaulted her senses. His black eyes roved over her, taking in every nuance. He looked like a man who had been starved and she was the meal denied him.
Her body screamed at her to run, but a small part also responded to the magnetic pull of the man that held her life in his hands. She ached for him to kiss her. She felt like laughing at the bitter irony of the situation. What kind of woman wanted the man that was about to murder her to kiss her senseless?
The kind of women that knew what it felt like to be made love to by this man.
“Two years, Natasha.” Anger strained the low tones of his voice.
She nodded mutely. It had been two years since they had last seen each other. Since the day she had run from him in fear for her life. Since the day she had watched him execute another man as he begged for his life and then walked away as though it meant nothing to him. The day she had discovered that, rather than having an affair, as she had suspected, her husband had been killing people.
A contract killer.
“You look the same, my wife. Perhaps more beautiful than I remembered.”
Tasha shifted on her feet very subtly, suspecting that he would detect any tension in her body. She lifted her chin and looked coldly into his flat, black eyes. “You look older, husband.”
A slight lifting at the corner of David’s mouth was all the acknowledgment her insult produced. He did look older. The lines in his face had deepened, chiseling his sharp features. His brown hair, lighter than hers, now had strands of grey that hadn’t been there before. He had never been a handsome man, but there had always been a magnetic quality that had drawn her interest. Now she suspected it had been his deadly intensity that had attracted her to him.
“You still dance like an angel,” he said matter-of-factly.
He had always loved her ability to dance. Watching her dance was one of the few times his face would smooth out and the intense scrutiny would disappear. He shifted ever so slightly and frowned, as though restless and annoyed that he cared about her dancing still. He hadn’t meant to speak of it.
Never one to waste an opportunity, Tasha smiled up at him angelically and said, “That’s not all I do well husband,” before bringing her leg up in a powerful kick that connected with his knee.
Surprise, then cold fury flashed across his face as the knee crumpled and hit the ground. He had never been taken by surprise before, which was another reason this woman shouldn’t exist any longer. Knowing he had to end it once and for all, he reached out swiftly and took hold of her wrist before she could run from him. He twisted it brutally.
Tasha cried out and dropped to her knees in front of him. He swung his arm around to catch her neck in the crook of his arm. Before he could wrench her neck, Tasha sent her elbow backwards into his solar plexus, driving the air from his lungs. She followed it with another elbow to his head that sent him reeling back, breaking his hold on her. It was clear she intended to cause maximum damage while defending her life.
David had been holding back. Reluctant to damage her, even knowing the outcome was inevitable. He no longer had a choice. Swiftly he backhanded her, snapping her head back and sending her body flying into the floor to ceiling mirror. She landed with a pained moan, but quickly tried to get up.
He pulled a gun from the holster under his arm and pointed it at her.
She screamed and dropped to the floor again on her hands and knees. She stared up at him, tears bright in her eyes. Slowly, she raised her chin. Wordlessly, she told him to get on with it.
David stared at the beautiful, disheveled woman with cold intent. He needed to kill her. He couldn’t have loose ends. He’d always known that one day she would have to die by his hand. Assassins couldn’t have weakness. She was his single obsession. Marrying her had always been an indulgence he knew he couldn’t afford. But he’d intended for her end to be peaceful. Not like this.
Natasha shouldn’t have fought back. He could have spared her this horror.
“Do it, you bastard!” she hissed at him.
His eyes went from ice to fire so quickly she gasped and pressed herself back against the mirror. His hand shook.
Seconds passed.
A minute.
She wondered if it would hurt badly. If she could still be so brave once she was laying on the floor bleeding out in front of him.
He swore savagely in Russian before lifting the gun and emptying it into the mirror above her head. Natasha screamed as shards of glass fell over and around her. She held her breath waiting for the fire of a bullet to rip through her flesh. For darkness to claim her. She huddled on the floor, arms over her head, harsh gasps sounding in her ear.
Natasha stayed that way for a few long moments after David had finished firing. A quick inventory of her body revealed that she had not yet been shot. Slowly, she lowered her arms, slivers of mirror sliding off as she moved. She dared to look up, terrified eyes seeking out her would-be executioner.
David lowered his arm, the silenced pistol now pointed at the floor. He shook his head as though to clear it. The look on his harsh face was a mix of annoyance and resignation. He closed the distance between them, his shoes crushing the shards of glass. Tasha tried to back away, certain he was coming closer to put a bullet in her head, but winced when glass slivers bit into her knee.
“Stop,” he barked.
Tasha froze, a whimper escaping her throat. He holstered his weapon and reached for her. He pulled her straight up by the waist, the muscles under his shirt rippling as he lifted her out of the mess of broken glass. He set her on her feet and began brushing bits of mirror from her shoulders and hair, his touch impersonal. Anger still radiated from him in waves, but he had himself back under control. He was once more the icy assassin.
Tasha shivered. Lifting her chin, she said as bravely as she could, “You didn’t shoot me.”
“No,” he answered. His dark gaze roving over, possessive, starving and furious.
“But you were planning on k-killing me, weren’t you?” Her voice wavered, but she attempted to hold his gaze steadily.
He looked down at her for a moment, his steely grip continuing to hold her immobile. Finally, he answered, “Yes Natasha, I had planned on killing you.”
A distressed noise escaped her throat before she could stop it. She pressed the back of her hand hard against her lips, attempting to stop the panicked sounds from escaping her. She wanted to be strong right now, she really did. She wanted to face her end with dignity. But when faced with the terrifying reality of her own demise, she was left feeling shaken and weak. She didn’t want to die!
“Have you changed your mind?” Her whisper was pleading.
She didn’t realize that the words she spoke were those of her childhood language: Russian.
David sighed heavily, his muscles tensed and pressed hard against her smaller body. He inclined his head slightly. “Yes, Natasha, I have changed my mind. I find I can’t bring myself to end you.”
She let the words wash over her and closed her eyes in momentary relief. He wasn’t going to kill her.
“But you’re still a big fucking problem for me.”
Natasha flinched. David had never been anything but polite and courteous when speaking to her. Her eyes swept up, dark blue, big and innocent, wet with unshed tears. Her eyes had always held such sway over him. In the two years since she had been running from him he had forgotten, perhaps purposely, how lovely and revealing those eyes were. His cock hardened as she continued to look up at him.
“What are you going to do with me?” she asked softly.
Looking down at the wife he had been stalking for two years, erotic images flooded his brain, of all the things she could do for him. Natasha on her knees, her tongue and mouth around his cock. Natasha bent over the nearest table with him balls deep in her cunt from behind. Natasha begging him for mercy as he pounded into
her, showing her none, because he would have his revenge on his wayward wife.
David nearly groaned out loud. He wanted her now. Here in this room where she had sweated and worked alongside the younger Jordan, allowing the man to touch her small body while she learned how to fight her husband. Perhaps David would come back and kill the other man for daring to lay hands on his wife. Had there been others since him? Natasha had always been a passionate woman. It seemed impossible that she had remained celibate for two years.
Yes, she would pay dearly for that too.
His wife had never known his brutal side. The side of him that made him one of the most successful assassins in the world. He had always been so careful that she should be his cherished little doll when they were living together as man and wife. No more. He would have all kinds of fun fucking out his revenge on his beautiful little wife and showing her the kind of monster she had married. He would give free rein to every dark thought he had ever had about her sweet little body. He would never let her get away from him again.
His dark eyes held her anxious ones, merciless. “You will resume your role as my wife, darling Natasha.”
Chapter Nine
He watched her face intently, absorbing the pain, the panic, the distress… the beauty.
Blyad, she was so breathtakingly beautiful. More so than when she last belonged to him, two years ago. Her facial features were slightly sharper, less soft, more mature. Her curves were all woman. He knew they would fit his hands even better than they had when he’d made love to her last. Fuck, he couldn’t wait to have her back under his hands, his mouth and his cock. The years had indeed wrought changes in his young wife. Some good and some that set his teeth on edge, set his blood boiling in his normally icy veins. Changes he intended to ferret out and, god help her if he didn’t like the answers.
“No!” she cried and pushed uselessly against him. “Please David! We can’t be together! I won’t tell anyone about you. I haven’t since… since I left. Why can’t I just go back to my life here? I’ll stay away from you and never breathe a word. I promise I won’t!”
Fuck if he didn’t love the way she begged. Her gorgeous lips pursing, her brows drawing together in worry as she thought how best to please him, how best to get herself out of this deadly situation. Not that it mattered. She could beg all she wanted. In fact, he would encourage this activity in their future encounters. He liked the way she looked when she wanted something from him. When she was desperate.
He shook his head. “Impossible Natasha. You know I can’t leave you. You know too much about me. If I don’t kill you then you must come with me.”
A shudder rippled through her.
Dropping his head against her neck he breathed deeply of her sweet, damp scent. Ah, that beautiful, sweet smell, the feel of her under his hands once more! “You have much to make up for, my love.”
Unable to hold back a moment longer from tasting his wife, David tangled his hand in her hair and forced her head up to his. She tried to brace herself against his chest, pressing her fists against him, but he easily crushed her resistance, pulling her wrists behind her back and arching her into him. He took her lips in a harsh kiss meant to punish. He plundered her mouth with his tongue and teeth until she struggled to breathe. Dizzy, her knees buckled and she was forced to rely on him for support. Dark satisfaction flared like fire through his veins and he tightened his hold on her to an almost unbearable degree.
The kiss went on and on. It wasn’t meant to be sexy, but a primal possession of her mouth, a stamp of ownership over the woman he was reclaiming. Forced to take what he was giving her, she finally capitulated and relaxed her jaw, allowing him better access without a struggle. He pulled back slightly, when she began to grow limp in his arms, and she sucked in a mouthful of air before he once more assaulted her with his mouth. He ignored her faint moan of protest, clenching his fist in her hair and tilting her head back further to deepen the angle of the kiss.
His teeth grazed her, his lips hard against hers, his tongue lunging into her mouth and sweeping every recess within. Over and over he kissed her, giving her only brief moments of reprieve to breathe in much needed oxygen before taking her mouth again. A muffled cry and the taste of metallic blood had her struggling against him. He stiffened.
“Fuck,” he growled against her swollen lips. His tongue swiped against the cut on her lip. He tasted her blood.
He allowed her head to drop against his shoulder. He knew she wouldn’t be able to stand on her own. This was the beginning. If she was going to stay alive, to survive in his world, she would come to rely on him for everything. Starting with the very air she breathed. Her breaths puffed out from between swollen, bloodied lips, fanning intimately against his throat. His cock hardened in response and he was reminded sharply of the many times Natasha had curled against him in her sleep, before she had run from him. Her breath had caressed his skin, reminding him of the delicate life entrusted to his care.
The life she had taken away, hidden and stolen from him. Teasing him, as she fitted and flirted from country to country, from continent to continent. For two long, fucking years. The hand gripping her wrists behind her back clenched until she whimpered in pain. He gritted his teeth, trying to bring the tidal wave of black rage back under control. No one – not one single other person – was capable of eroding David’s control the way Natasha could. The organization that had raised David would call her a liability. The man that taught him to pull the trigger on another life would insist he bury his weakness.
Instead he loosened his grip.
He dropped his forehead against the top of her soft head, feeling the smooth silk of her hair against his skin. It calmed him. Fuck, it shouldn’t, but it was true. There was something about his dancer that still got to him, even after their years apart. She somehow reached into his numb, emotionless body, hooked his cold heart and pulled. She gutted him. Good emotions, bad emotions. She pulled them all out of him. He didn’t get it. But he was long past trying to understand. And since he was apparently incapable of pulling the trigger on her, he was going to have to figure out what the fuck to do with her. Because he now had a disobedient wife on his hands. A woman that had proved herself capable of running and hiding from him, a man capable of hunting prey far more skilled at hiding than a sheltered twenty-year-old ballet dancer.
This thought reminded him that he needed answers. Answers that she wasn’t going to want to give and that he sure as fuck wasn’t going to like hearing. But he needed to know. Needed to find out how she got away from him. How she hid so effectively from him for two years. It should have been impossible. But somehow, she’d managed it.
Rage rippled through him as he remembered the amount of times he’d convinced himself she was dead. Brutally raped and murdered at the hands of his enemies. At those times, he would lose all control, his infinite icy calm would crack and he would destroy whatever hotel room he was in until there was nothing left to rage against. Then… then, he would pick up the thread of her trail once more. It was those moments that his thoughts turned bleakest. That he imagined turning his gun against her. Of ending the wife that obsessed him endlessly. Of finishing the woman that captured his thoughts and emotions and twisted them in a beautiful, but deadly little dance.
What other choice did he have? She was a liability. Her rebellion had to be crushed. Destroyed. Yet, looking down at her now, taking in the soft wisps of hair caressing her pale cheeks. The shuddering breaths pulled into struggling lungs overwhelmed by his kisses, he knew he wouldn’t pull the trigger on her. He couldn’t. She was his dancer. His delicate, passionate beauty that must be harnessed and protected.
He relaxed his grip and allowed her to fall through his fingers, hardening his heart against her frightened whimper. He’d spared her life. He wasn’t going to give an ounce more of his mercy. They would have to find a way to survive the coming storm and he knew of only one way. The assassin’s wife would have to learn her place. So, he let her do something
he’d never allowed before. He let her fall to her knees before him; a symbolic gesture of subservience that would set her place in their marriage going forward.
Her hands came out in front of her body, her fingers splaying wide on the smooth floor of the gym. The tidy knot on top of her head was now a mess with strands of hair escaping all over the place creating a dark halo around her head. She frowned for a moment and started to push herself up.
“Do not move,” David snapped.
She froze and slowly lifted her chin to look at him, fear and defiance flashing in her eyes. Did she understand the significance of her position? Even to suck his cock, he’d never before allowed his wife to go to her knees before him. He’d worked for, become part of, shadowed organizations, within Russia and elsewhere, for too long to allow his wife to ever take this position before him. Bowing down to another power was never something he wanted for this precious creature. Yet, now… she’d forced his hand. If she would not bend, then she would have to break.
She shifted on her legs, allowing her body weight to fall sideways until she was sitting with her legs curled beside her, her feet tucked slightly underneath her butt. His mouth damn near watered with the need to touch, to taste, to fuck her. She watched him warily as he circled her. Stalked around her crouched body within the circle of the spotlight. Glass from the mirror crunched beneath his shoes as he stepped around her. She winced, but held her position.
“Why did you run from me, wife?” he finally asked, his voice low, almost conversational.
She stiffened. He circled around so he could see her face, but she refused to lift her chin and give him her eyes. She trained her gaze on the floor in a subservient pose. He knew better. He could tell from the stiffness of her spine, the compression of those lovely full lips and the confused resentment radiating from every fiber of her being that his wife was in no way submitting to his position of authority over her.
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