Page 18 of Stalking His Assassin

Another win, as far as I'm concerned.

seven

GRACE

I'm not tooproud to say that I'm freaking out right now. I'm in the shower, wasting water because it's an excellent excuse for not leaving my bedroom yet. I sat in bed petting Potato as the memories of last night assaulted my mind in the best way.

I had my first kiss and orgasm within minutes of each other. They were both better than I'd ever imagined. I should have regrets, but I don't. Which is why I'm freaking out. Everything about being with Christos feels so very right. Last night, I was considering the fastest way to get rid of him without giving up my identity and the location of my home, and now I'm thinking about keeping him.

He joked about being locked in my castle, and now I'm weighing the merits of keeping him locked in my apartment. I snort a laugh because I've read my fair share of dark romance books, and it's always the anti-hero who kidnaps the heroine. I'm an assassin with blood-soaked hands, so if anti-heroines were a thing, I am most definitely one.

Christos is an anti-hero, for sure. He's already tried to drug and kidnap me once, and he's been stalking me for years. Technically, we've been stalking each other for years. My mind runs through all the possibilities until finally settlingon the riskiest one: I'm keeping him. Tomas sent him to me for a reason, and I'm guessing it's his fucked-up version of matchmaking.

It's hilarious that the Carver—one of the most brutal assassins to live—is now matchmaking fellow assassins. Retirement must be really dull. I should repay the favor and send him a woman. Harper's smiling face flits through my mind at the thought. She did say she's done with fuckboys and looking for a silver fox. Tomas qualifies. The idea is both crazy and tempting. No one could protect my best friend better than an assassin. I'll have to give it more thought. I need to figure out my situation with Christos first.

I spend way too long looking through my closet for something to wear. Normally I would wear something comfortable. Leggings and an oversized shirt. Something pink and pretty. I'm not ready for Christos to see that side of me yet. For now, I need to keep up the Eris persona. I settle on dark skinny jeans, a black tank top, and motorcycle boots. I eye my pink fuzzy slippers longingly as I slip my favorite knife into my boot. I put on the same bracelet from last night that doubles as a garrot and a swipe of mascara on my lashes.

I study my reflection and feel slightly disgusted with myself for worrying about how I look in my home just because Christos is here. I'm a little resentful that I feel like I can't be myself in the one place where I don't have to be the badass assassin dressed in black.

I take a deep breath and let it out. Just because I've decided to keep him doesn't mean I can show him every side of me yet. There's still a chance that I'll have to let him go in one way or another. The thought makes me nauseous, but I'm nothing if not practical. For now, I will focus on keeping Christos, and hopefully, he wasn't lying when he said he was good with being a prisoner in my castle.

The scent of bacon fills my nose when I open my bedroom door. I follow my nose to the kitchen and find Christos standing at the stove wearing nothing but tight, black boxer briefs and the ridiculous apron Harper gave me a couple Christmases ago. A giggle at how absurd he looks escapes before I can stop it. I mean, he looks hot as hell. The underwear is molded to his ass to perfection. Not to mention, his broad shoulders and thick thighs are on full display.

He turns at my laugh, a rueful smile on his face. Another giggle bubbles up at the sight of the frilly front of the apron struggling to cover his chest. It looks doll-sized on his big form.

"You look ridiculous," I say once I've composed myself.

His eyes roam over me, and he licks his lips. "And you look sexy as fuck."

My cheeks heat at the compliment. I both love and hate how good it feels to be complimented by him. I've had dozens of men tell me how beautiful I am, how sexy, how blah blah blah… Empty, useless words, but Christos complimenting me makes me feel seen. He's not the kind of guy to give throwaway compliments. He says what he means. Like me, he's a no-bullshit kind of person. His words have weight to them.

"I made coffee."

"Thank God. I'm a little murderous without my daily dose of caffeine," I say.

He chuckles. "Noted."

I pour my first mug of coffee and add a dash of vanilla creamer and chocolate hazelnut syrup. Christos watches me make my coffee and I get the feeling that he will be making my morning coffee in the future. I don't hate the idea. It feels domestic. That's something a boyfriend would do for his girlfriend.

I've never had a boyfriend before. I can't see Christos as a boy-anything though. He's all man, and calling him a boyfriendseems wrong. He's my prisoner, even if he seems perfectly willing to be stuck here. The man made me breakfast instead of trying to find a way out of here. Not that he could've escaped if he tried, but he didn't try.

He puts two fluffy pancakes on my plate with three strips of perfectly crisp bacon. My mouth waters at how good the food looks. I'm a decent cook. I don't like strangers delivering my food, and having someone come into my home to cook for me is out of the question, so I had to learn to cook or starve. Having someone cook for me is a pleasant change.

I drown my pancakes in syrup before cutting off a big bite. I moan when the sweet, fluffy perfection practically melts on my tongue. Pancakes have always been my favorite. One of my few memories of my mom is her making pancakes with hot maple syrup. While I was at the training facility, my diet was strict, and every calorie was counted to make sure I remained thin and toned.

I hated it.

I have a sweet tooth and hated that every bite of bland food that passed my lips was under scrutiny. It was completely unnecessary to deny me foods I liked with how much physical exercise they made me do every damn day. I burned more calories than I took in most days. It was just another way to control me. Another way they used to try to break me.

Now I enjoy sweets whenever I want. I train hard and keep myself in peak physical condition so I can afford to splurge on a cupcake or syrup-drenched pancake occasionally.

"Good?" Christos asks with a smirk on his kissable lips.

"Delicious. Thank you for cooking. You didn't have to."

He tucks a stray hair behind my ear. "I wanted to. Taking care of you is a pleasure."

"I'm keeping you," I blurt.

---