Page 55 of Assassin's Obsession

I make a point of looking at the amount of duct tape wrapped around them and then back at her.

"Don't give me that look," she mutters. "You could peel the tape away." She huffs out a sigh. "At least you could try."

I start slicing up the pantleg, the denim and duct tape giving way to my knife's sharp blade with ease. "Waste of time."

"And you would know that how?"

"In my line of work, there are many situations that duct tape is preferable to zip ties."

The longer the tape stays against fabric, the more residue it leaves behind. Warm conditions only make it worse. Since Candi is not shivering, I assume her ride in the SUV wasn't a cold one.

"Your work as an assassin?" Curiosity eclipses her anger for a second.

She's wants to get to know me.

That deserves a reward, so I answer the question with a nod. Some made men hide their mafia lives from their wives. I will never be one of them.

Reaching the top of her thigh, I hold my knife between my teeth so I have both hands to maneuver Candi onto her back.

She squeaks—again adorable—but doesn't fight me.

"You're doing a good job of not moving," I praise her as I finish cutting the denim over her pelvis.

"What are you doing now?" Her voice is sharp, but she doesn't move.

I hum with approval at her self-control. "Finishing what you asked me to do."

My knife cuts through the waistband of her jeans and the denim falls to one side.

"Well, one leg is free anyway." She lifts said leg, bending and stretching it.

Mesmerized by what I can see of her beautiful flesh, as I always am, I forget momentarily about the other leg. But when she tries to sit up, I remember.

"Stay there. I still have the other one to do before your legs are free."

"You could have started with my hoodie, and I could have removed my jeans myself," she grouses. "Didn't they teach you anything about efficiency in Made Man school?"

I smile at her little joke, that's truer than she knows. Half the men in our ranks trained as soldiers in one branch of the military or other. Only a few went into Special Forces like me, but the mafia has a long tradition of getting Uncle Sam to pay for our soldier's weapons and hand-to-hand combat training.

And smart leaders like Severu and his father before him, add to that training. It's not called made man school, but it amounts to the same thing.

"Well, get on with it," she grouses.

"Shh. Don't rush me." Running my hand down her still denim clad leg, I say, "I'm enjoying unwrapping my gift."

"Your goons might have taped me up like a package, but I'mnotyour present," she huffs. "Anyway, it's almost Halloween, not Christmas."

I cock my head to one side in thought and nod in agreement. "You in our home for the first time is the best Halloween treat ever."

"Spare me the Candi for Halloween jokes. Besides, it's not Halloween yet."

Technically, she may be right. It's the early hours of the morning of the 27th, but that doesn't make her presence any less of a treat.

"You're cute when you're grumpy." I finish cutting through her left pantleg and waistband.

"I'm not grumpy, I'm furious." Her scowl has a definite pout cast to it though. "And it's not cute."

Tapping her nose, because I can't help myself, I say what I've been thinking since she started her Grumpy Cat routine, "Adorable then."

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