Page 58 of Assassin's Obsession

If part of my brain actually believes the words I just uttered and maybe even a little bit of my heart, I'm not about to admit it. That my inner romantic preens under the attention of this dangerous man says more about my psychopathy than his.

"You're going to have to let me go back home." Eventually.

After—my thoughts are interrupted by a jaw cracking yawn, tonight's adrenaline starting to wear off.

He leans forward, earnestness in every line of his superbly sculpted made man body. "This is your home."

"I'm pretty sure it's not. My home is an apartment in Queens with my mom and sister."

"That was your home," he dismisses. "Now you live here."

Does he really think it works like that? He can just say it is true and suddenly it is? Probably in his world stuffdoeswork that way. Who is going to argue with Death?

But I'm not part of his world.

I'm just a normal person and I don't live in a mansion with enough security to protect the president. "You can't make that decision for me. Where I live is my choice."

It has been since I turned eighteen and the state foster care system lost authority to tell me where I could live. No one, not even Death, can take me away from my family.

"We belong together. If you can't see that right now, I'll help you." Angelo's tone is so freaking complacent.

"That." I shake my finger at him. "That right there, Angelo. Saying that isnot okay. You can't convince me that I belong with you as if it's a done deal."

"You are the soul that was ripped from me at birth."

"Don't say stuff like that." Because it touches my heart in places I was sure atrophied a long time ago.

He grabs my hand and pulls it to his lips, kissing my palm. "There's no light inside of me, but when I am with you, your luminancesurroundsme."

"I might wear an angel costume to dance, but I'm not one." Not even close. My mafia assassin needs a reality check. "Angels don't shake their tits and ass for tips."

Angelo grins savagely. "When you are born to be a denizen of hell, you recognize someone who isn't. Call yourself what you want,amate, but your brilliance isn't tarnished by dancing on a stage."

"So, let's say I did agree to date you, you'd have no problem with my dancing?" I pull my knees to my chest, crossing my arms over my shins and wait for the inevitable hurtful answer.

"I would prefer you spend your time finishing college because that's important to you."

I knew it. No matter what he says, my jobisa problem for him. Look how he reacted tonight…or last night rather. Whatever.

"You might have forgotten how you reacted to my private dance, but I haven't."

"I thought you didn't know who I was and were offering to let some stranger touch you."

"You thought I was high," I condemn. "And anyway, what business is it of yours if I do start offering extra curriculars?"

"Keeping you safe, even from yourself, is my job." He runs his glove-covered fingertip along the line of where my forearms touch.

Ignoring the pleasure sparking along my nerve endings, I frown. "I'm pretty sure it's not."

"It is and if you want to keep dancing at Pitiful Princess, I won't try to stop you, but I will keep watching over you."

"Stalking me you mean?" Does he mean it?

If I were to agree to his ridiculous idea that we should be dating, would he really be okay with me continuing to dance?

You didn't think dating him was such a ridiculous idea before, my inner voice singsongs. Which was also before he had his guys kidnap me, I remind myself.

Self is not impressed.

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