Page 48 of Twin Deception

Horrified by the possibility that I could’ve been duped, that I’d been led by my dick to believe her when she said she knew nothing, I stood with staggering, weak steps.

No. He couldn’t have been talking about her. It was clear someone—besides me—was trying to kill her, but I couldn’t wrap my head around the thought that she would be a target, not as a pawn to lure her father out of hiding but because she was her father’s…

Femme fatale?

I left in a rush to get back to her.

Isabel was a mural painter. Nothing more.

But on my return trip to my hotel, I had to admit that I didn’t really know her that well. I saw her file. I read up on her. I fucked her. I knew what she felt like, gripping my dick so perfectly, but past that? I had no clue what was going on.

“Goddammit. Damn it all,” I muttered to myself, rushing back to the hotel as quickly as I could, convinced every step of the way that she could be working with Louis. That she could be a player in this, not a pawn.

I had no business wanting her. I knew better than to fuck a target, to get involved at all.

Regret crashed over me as I rode the elevator up to my floor. Still breathing hard from the running, fighting, and almost being choked to death, I sagged against the wall of the elevator car. Berating myself for thinking with my dick and not my head, I worried that she wouldn’t be waiting in my room.

That she’d played me.

That it was all a twisted game to throw me off from finishing one last job.

Narrowing my eyes at the numbers lighting up on the elevator, I counted down the time to see whether she’d stayed or she’d left. It would be the last time I’d have to wonder about this very thing. Because if shewasin my room, I wouldn’t be letting her out of my sight ever fucking again.

Not until I knew which way was up.

Not until I could relax in knowing I was doing the right thing to defend her and protect her.

Not until I understood why I would have to fall for the last woman in the world I should even consider to bemine.

18

ISABEL

Itossed and turned all night. I’d never suffered through such a terrible attempt at sleep like this.

Nightmares of running through a storm assailed me in my sleep. Dreams of rising waters and guns popping up out of the waves hindered me from resting at all.

Switching from my right to my left side, I twisted to get comfortable, but nothing worked. Nothing helped.

Jolted awake from an intense tingling sensation running down my arm, I grimaced and tried to nestle into the pillows again. I felt like I hadn’t slept in forever, so thrown off with too many disruptions in my life.

Thinking about Miguel nonstop.

The danger of that man in the alley.

The intensity of running from my stalker and having sex on the beach.

Only to be shot at.

Worry about Miguel forced me out of any hope of rest, and I sat up.

Or I tried to.

“What the hell…” I whispered it, waking fully with a spike of adrenaline coasting through me and making my heart race.

I couldn’t move my arm.

I tugged, forcing my muscles to react to my desire to lower my hand that felt so weak and numb. It felt as though my hand had lost all sensations, heavy and dull from my circulation being cut off.

---