Page 63 of Assassin's Obsession

"I terrify most people just by breathing in the same vicinity as them," he informs me, like it's some kind of secret.

Newsflash. It's not.

"Tell me something I don't know." I mean, his punishment for breaking the no-touch rule is to cut off hands. "You're a scary guy."

"But not to you." His voice just oozes satisfaction.

Not sure what I'm going to say, because I can't really deny it, can I? I open my mouth to reply, but a yawn cracks my jaw instead.

Angelo hops to his feet with me still in his arms. "You need your rest."

"I wish. This is fun and all," I say with exhaustion blunted sarcasm. "But my mom and sister will be worried sick if I don't go home tonight."

And if we aren't going to do the nasty, I have no legitimate reason to stay. Most people would question my thought process for thinking sex with my kidnapper would be one.

But they don't live in my head. Only I do.

And tired, or not, I really wish we were going to have sex.

"I had Mario text them from your phone." Angelo leans down to turn off the gas fire, barely jostling me.

"No way is my mom going to believe that text is from me." We have our own way of communicating through text. "She's probably already called the cops."

Mom expects certain abbreviations from me. And when I text after work, there's a code word I use to prove it's me and I'm not texting under duress.

Carrying me out of the living room, Angelo says, "Pull your phone out of my pocket and check for yourself."

"That sounds like the beginning of a cheesy pickup line."

His laughter makes me smile. Who knew a deadly assassin could sound sojoyful. Apparently, that's what I give him.

Which, if I let myself believe it, is a heady thought.

Me, Candi Brigliano, exotic dancer still working to get my associates degree, makes the deadliest man in New York happy.

"Which pocket?" I ask.

"The right one."

Reaching for my phone is too physically awkward to be sexy, even when my fingers brush along an erection of impressive proportions.

Angelo sucks in his breath and stops dead in the middle of the hall, which is really more like a hotel lobby. It even has a grand marble staircase wider at the bottom than at the top with decorative rails going up both sides.

I guess rich people call this a foyer. I call it big enough to hold our whole apartment.

"Fuck,amate." He closes his eyes, like he's trying to regain his control.

Pretending his instant reaction to me isn't the absolute catnip it is to my kitty, I fish my phone from his pocket. I might do a little extra touching along the rigid length than necessary.

I can't drum up even a little surprise or self-condemnation when instead of trying to dial 911, I actually do what Angelo says and check the text stream with my mom.

Every text is more unbelievable than the last.

Stunned by how Mario not only uses my abbreviations but the code word too, I look up at Angelo. "How?"

"I watch over you."

"But the code word…we only talk about that in the apartment."

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