by Kaylea Cross
“I’ll bet he was.” She set the kettle aside. “How strong does he like it?”
“Strong.” Kiyomi looked up, something in Megan’s tone and gaze telling her she meant more than tea. Plainly letting her know that Marcus admired strong women, too. “What about you?” Megan countered. “Are you ready for this?”
Kiyomi blinked. “For bringing him tea?”
Megan gave her an insulted look, and Kiyomi realized Megan had seen right through her. “You know what I mean.” Megan’s hazel eyes were serious as they assessed her. “Have you ever had a relationship? A…”
“A consensual one? No. Can you hand me the milk, please?”
Megan frowned but didn’t say anything as she turned to take the milk out of the fridge.
“Thanks,” Kiyomi murmured, adding some to the mug. “Do we have any cookies or something to go with it?”
“These. And they’re biscuits, not cookies,” she said with a teasing tilt of her lips, handing Kiyomi a package of dark chocolate-dipped digestive biscuits.
“Perfect.” She eyed the sleeve of cookies with interest. Before her capture, she wouldn’t have looked twice at them. Wouldn’t have been the least bit tempted by them. Now all sorts of new things tempted her, especially the owner of this incredible house.
Most of her life had been about deprivation. From food, friendship, affection. Sex.
She didn’t consider what she’d done during her career real sex. Every time she’d slept with someone, it had been part of a mission. She’d been merely acting the part, using her body to get what she needed. Sometimes that meant intel. Other times, waiting until her target was at his most vulnerable before killing him.
For the past few months she’d been trying to learn how to put all that behind her. It hadn’t been easy, or linear. She’d spent many years being part flawless actress, part robot. Able to shut all emotion and feeling off, shove it all down into a box deep inside her where she never had to look at it.
That wasn’t possible anymore. The nightmares weren’t as frequent now as they’d been when she’d first arrived here, but they were powerful and terrifying.
The work she’d done with Trinity and her therapist over the past month-and-a-half was painful because it involved prying the lid off that box and exposing every dark, terrible thing she’d ever done or endured. Getting in touch with her body was proving the hardest part.
She’d been trained not to feel. Allowing herself to feel now was hard. The infrequent number of times she’d experimentally given herself pleasure lately, it had taken total concentration and fantasies of Marcus to send her over the edge. That was probably unhealthy in the extreme, but harmless enough.
She aimed a smile at Megan and held up the biscuits. “Want some?”
Megan’s mouth twitched. “No, and you’re good. That shift in conversation to deflect attention away from the topic at hand was almost flawless.”
It better be, because she was an expert at it. In her world it meant the difference between survival and death.
Megan straightened up and grabbed the dishtowel from the counter. “I know you’re really close with Trinity, but I just want you to know, you can talk to me anytime too. About anything.”
The offer warmed Kiyomi’s heart and made her smile. It was true, she was closest to Trin, but only because they had similar backgrounds. They had both been “intimate assassins”, whereas the others had different areas of expertise. “Thank you. And I know that.”
“Good.” She rubbed a hand over Kiyomi’s upper arm, then started from the kitchen. “Give Karas a pat from me.”
“I will.” It seemed stupid, but nerves danced in the pit of her stomach as she carried the tea and biscuits down the hall. Megan’s rapid footsteps went up the stairs to the left as Kiyomi paused at the study door and knocked.
“Come,” came the deep reply.
She eased the door open and stepped inside with the sense she was entering Marcus’s most private, intimate domain as the smell of old leather and wood smoke wrapped around her. Marcus was sitting on the floor in front of the fire next to Karas’s bed. The dog perked her ears at Kiyomi’s entrance but didn’t raise her head, her bandaged right paw dangling over the side of the bed.
“I brought you some tea.”
His half-smile changed him from brooding and hot to heart-stoppingly sexy in his cream, cable knit sweater. If he ever gave her a full smile, she didn’t know if her heart could take it. “Cheers,” he said as he took the mug and plate from her. “You don’t want any?”
“No, I’m still full from that incredible dinner you made. I mostly drink green tea, anyway.”
He made a face. “That stuff’s bitter as hell.”
She laughed softly. “Yeah, but it reminds me of my mom. I don’t have many memories of her, but one clear one is us drinking green tea in little ceramic cups with a traditional Japanese tea set.”
He nodded, watching her. “What happened to her?”
Her smile faded. “She drowned. I didn’t know what to call it at the time, but now I know she suffered from manic depression. I think she went into the ocean that day intending to end her suffering.”
“How old were you?”
“Seven. How old were you when you lost your parents?” All she knew was that they’d been killed in a car crash while he was in high school.
“Fifteen. Were you alone when she died?”
“No, she’d left me with family friends, or maybe with an aunt and uncle, I can’t remember. But whoever it was, I was taken away right after her funeral.” Soon after that, she’d been put into the secret CIA program that had changed the course of her life forever.
Not wanting to talk about any of that, she sank to the floor on the other side of Karas. “How’s our patient doing?” She stroked a hand over the dog’s head and neck. Karas stared up at her with sad eyes, looked decidedly sorry for herself.
“She’s sore. I put ointment on the burn before I dressed it, but I’ll be taking her to the vet first thing tomorrow to get antibiotics.”
Kiyomi nodded, unsurprised. The way Marcus took care of his dog and horses told her so much about the kind of man he was. “How did you first find her? I’ve never heard the story.”
“We were out on patrol one night. A large area of the sector we were in had been completely destroyed by an artillery strike. We were hiding in the rubble doing a recce and one of my troopers heard these tiny little whimpers coming from somewhere close by. She’d crawled into a hole between some cinder blocks in a wall that had collapsed.”
He stroked Karas’s head as he spoke, his long, lean fingers caressing her white-and-brown fur. “She was like a little gray ghost, covered in concrete dust, no bigger than me hand. She was shivering and half-starved, so I put her in my jacket, fed her some of my rations, and took her back to base with us after the mission was over.”
“Your CO must have loved that.”
“Eh, he didn’t mind. The lads all loved her. She was a morale booster on base, but Anatolians generally only bond to one person.”
She smiled. “She certainly is bonded to you.”
The right side of his mouth lifted, stretching the scars around his left eye. “Aye. She slept on my bunk every night. When I was out on a patrol or a mission the lads told me she would curl up on my pillow and wait there, aloof as you please with everyone else. There was never any question that she was my dog, and that she would come home wi’ me one day.”
Karas groaned and rolled to her left side, laying her head in Kiyomi’s lap. Kiyomi couldn’t help but smile. “Look who’s decided to warm up to me.”
“Aye, she likes you,” Marcus said, his deep voice like a caress.
“I’m glad. When did you bring her back here to the UK?”
His smile faded. “The lads brought her into the hospital after I’d… After Megan got me out of the prison I was held at. The staff set up a little bed for her on the floor and took turns taking care of her while I was laid up. They
flew us back to the UK together, and the rest is history.”
Kiyomi had so many questions about what had happened to him. About how Megan had managed to rescue him. But she couldn’t ask him about something so private. “And now she lives like a princess in this beautiful manor,” she murmured, stroking one of Karas’s velvety brown ears.
“Aye, she does that.” He took a sip of the tea, the low sound of appreciation he made setting off a curl of heat in her lower belly.
“How is it?”
Those dark-chocolate eyes warmed as he looked at her. “Perfect. Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” And speaking of pleasure, she was pretty sure she wanted the chance to experience some with him.
She stood, giving her the chance to conceal her attraction to him. “Mind if I borrow a book?”
“Help yourself. I’ve got some accounting to do anyway.” He planted his palms on the floor and pushed up onto his left knee, a slight grimace of pain pulling at his features as he stood. She had to stem the urge to help him, not wanting to bruise his pride or make him think she saw him as weak.
She went to the bookcase nearest his desk to consider her options, and her gaze immediately fell on the leather-bound copy of The Secret Garden.
A little over a week ago he’d shown her how it could open the bookcase to reveal the secret passage beyond it, and the old priest hole dating back centuries that he and Megan had turned into an impressively equipped loadout room. Precautions were smart, but Kiyomi hoped they wouldn’t need it before the time came for all of them to leave this place.
Breaking from her thoughts, she turned slightly to let him pass her on the way to his desk. Their eyes met. Held.
Breathless seconds stretched out while her heart began to race with excitement and tingles spread through her lower belly. Her gaze dipped to his mouth, tracing the shape of his lips, already imagining the moment when they touched hers.
Don’t. You’ll taint him.
The whisper in the back of her mind took her off guard, stabbed the most vulnerable spot in her battered heart. All the self-loathing, all the shame rose up, coalescing into a single face.
Fayez Rahman.
The memory stopped her cold, instantly killing all anticipation and building arousal.
All the therapy she’d done thus far hadn’t yet reached the ugliness inside her, but everything she’d buried had risen to the surface. She felt unworthy, contaminated because of what she’d done and what had been done to her by other men.
Rahman had changed everything. He’d broken the seal on that box inside her, and there was no fixing it now. Not when he had a bounty on her sizeable enough to attract all sorts of hitters. Not when he’d been planning to sell her to earn it back.
Breaking eye contact, she grabbed a random book from the shelf. “Thanks. I’ll see you in the morning.” She spun around and headed for the door, imagining the feel of Marcus’s arms around her and his mouth on hers, even as her skin crawled with shame.
It only hardened her resolve to end this, and Rahman with it.
Her fellow Valkyries had flat-out refused to entertain the idea of her posing as bait to draw Rahman out. But no matter what, they would get him. And when they did, Kiyomi would end him personally.
He had to die by her hand. It was the only way she could move forward.
Chapter Three
Fayez tugged at the hem of his tailored sport jacket as he stepped out of the armored vehicle in front of the three-story, cream stucco mansion in Latakia, on the Syrian coast.
Two of his bodyguards accompanied him up the walkway to the front door while the salty breeze blew around them. His head of security remained in the vehicle, having already cleared him to enter the house.
A servant opened the front door and bowed slightly. “Good evening, sir. She’s outside on the balcony.”
He nodded and continued into the house. The smell of something delicious hung in the air, spiced with the faint fragrance of cinnamon and cardamom as he walked through the entry and past the kitchen, where a chef and his assistant were busy preparing the evening meal.
Everything was immaculate, each room furnished to exacting standards. He hated the place. It reminded him too much of his childhood house, which had been more a prison than a home.
He opened the French-style doors and stepped out onto the wide balcony, the soft breeze washing over him and the sea rolling against the beach a few hundred yards away.
“You’re here,” an impatient voice said from the corner. “Good.”
He faced her and put on a smile. “Hello, Mother.”
She struggled up from her seat and maneuvered into her walker. “Come. We’ll eat.”
“You’re looking well,” he said when she got close.
She scoffed. “My body’s falling apart. I wish I was dead.”
He wished that too. Though he would never say it to her face.
She shuffled past him without another glance. And as much as he should be used to the rebuffs by now, dammit, it still hurt. Just once he wanted her to see him. See him and care.
Feeling like a prisoner serving out a sentence, he followed her back inside and to the dining room. If the house bothered him, this room was ten times worse.
On the antique sideboard at the end of the long table was a collection of framed photos. Of the two-dozen or so on display, only one included him—a family shot taken six years ago. The rest were of his dead father and brother.
His mother kept them on display because she was still grieving their losses…but also to remind him that the best parts of her life were gone forever. That no matter what he did or how successful he was, he would never be enough for her.
“How long are you staying for?” she asked as Fayez pushed her chair in for her.
“I’m leaving in a few hours.”
Her shrewd brown eyes cut to him. “Ah. Urgent business in Damascus, I suppose.”
“Yes.” She didn’t know what he did exactly. Because she didn’t care.
She didn’t give a shit about anything he did because he would never measure up to his sainted father and brother who’d been killed in the war. Didn’t give a shit about him at all apart from him supporting her in the lifestyle she’d become accustomed to.
When his father and brother had been alive, things had been different. He’d mattered. Now…all that was gone. And he resented her for every breath she took.
“I saw a picture of you with a woman awhile ago,” she said as she spooned up a mouthful of the soup served for the starter course.
He grunted. “Where did you see that?”
She waved a hand. “Someone sent it to me. You were at a charity gala or something, all dressed up.”
He stiffened in his seat. The last charity event he’d attended had been… “What did she look like?”
“Young. Asian. Attractive girl wearing a gold dress. Are you still seeing her?”
His stomach clenched into a hard ball. He wasn’t even sure why his mother was asking, since she never cared about anything he did. “No.”
His leaden tone gave him away because she paused to look down the table at him. “Was it serious?”
He’d thought it was. At first. “No,” he bit out.
“That’s not what I heard.” There was a distinctly smug edge to her voice as she spooned up another mouthful of soup.
“Well, you heard wrong.” They ate in silence for a minute, while acid churned in his gut. “Who sent it to you?” he finally asked, because he couldn’t let it go.
“An acquaintance at the gala. Why?”
Because I’ll do anything to get her back. As the substantial bounty he’d offered proved.
His mother set her spoon down to study him. “What happened?”
“Nothing.”
“Then where is she?”
I don’t know. And it ate him alive every single day. “She left the country,” he said in a flat voice that warned her to drop the subject.
“So you let
her go.” She shook her head, sighed in disappointment and picked up her spoon.
His fingers clenched around his spoon, the spike in his temper getting harder and harder to control. Just get through the meal, then you can leave.
There was no point in continuing this conversation. He would just sound defensive and confirm what she already thought of him—that he was weak. He wouldn’t see her at all anymore except that she was his mother, and his last surviving relative. And there was a tiny part of him that kept hoping one day he would gain her approval.
“Why did you let her go?” his mother pressed, the pitch of her voice raking down his spine like the edge of chalk down a blackboard.
I would never have let her go, his mind hissed.
Kiyomi had changed his entire world. From the moment she walked into the hotel lobby that day wearing a red satin dress that hugged her sleek curves, she’d captivated him.
His mother laughed. A nasty laugh that made him want to slap her across the face. “She left you because you couldn’t keep her.” She laughed again, shaking her head. “All that money and power you love, and you couldn’t keep her.”
Fayez shoved to his feet. Nailing his mother with a long, fulminating glare, he threw his linen napkin on the table and stalked from the room. He didn’t stop in the next one.
He kept going to the foyer, where his bodyguards were waiting. “We’re leaving,” he said curtly.
They escorted him outside and to his car. He hoped his mother fucking choked on the dinner he’d paid for.
Alone in the back of the vehicle, his bitter thoughts turned back to Kiyomi. He’d never met a woman like her. Confident. Incredibly intelligent. Quiet. Calm. The sexiest thing he’d ever laid eyes on.
And when she’d looked at him, she’d seen him. The real him, hidden beneath the money and the power and empire he’d built.
He’d fallen fast and hard. So hard, he was willing to give her anything. Including his heart.
But then he’d found out everything between them was a lie. That she was a lie, just like every other woman who’d ever been in his life. Worse, she’d used him, was actually some American government assassin.
