Page 124 of Crossfire

“I’m disobeying orders for you.”

“Oh, you poor little hit man. Your life must be so hard.”

I turned on the radio to drown out his incessant voice.

“Baby One More Time” by Britney Spears blasted on the radio.

I arched an eyebrow at him. Fitting, eh?

Grayson shoved the button off. “How long is it going to take you to get past this?”

“Quarter past never.”

“You’re being unreasonable.”

I scoffed. “Go to hell.”

My body flew to the left through the squeal of tires, and the seat belt slammed against my chest as the car jerked me forward, resting with a sudden stop.

“I said I was sorry.” Grayson turned his entire body in my direction.

“Well, I don’t forgive you.”

In hindsight, a very stupid thing to say on the side of a remote road, surrounded by forests, but my bitch meter was off the charts.It turns out, fearing your love interest might snap your neck puts you in one seriously bad mood.

Grayson unbuckled his seat belt and launched himself over the center console, his lower body partially in the driver’s seat as his face rested inches above my own. I gasped, assuming for a second that he’d snapped and was about to break my neck.

“You don’t need to be afraid of me,” he insisted.

“I disagree.”

“But I’m getting tired of you yelling at me,” he grumbled.

“Well, I’m getting tired of you trying to kill me.”

Grayson paused for several seconds, as if debating his next move. His frustrated glare darted between my eyes and my mouth, and then he brought his warm hand up and cupped my cheek.

I tried to pull away, but in this confined space, there wasn’t enough room to do it.

But what I hated even more than him having the audacity to think he could touch me like this was that my body still reacted to it. To him. To his scent, to the hungry look in his eyes as it roamed over my face. It brought me right back to when we were nude, cradled in each other’s arms.

“I hate you.”

Grayson’s mouth curled up slightly. “No, you don’t.”

No, I don’t.

But I want to.

I need to.

It’s the only rational feeling to have for the assassin sent to end my life. Even if he is helping me right now.

He trailed his hand down my throat, pausing with his fingers over my jugular—which was beating much faster than I wanted it to, dammit.

Arousal makes it impossible to keep secrets.

“I’m glad your heart is still beating,” he cooed.

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