Page 44 of Brazen King

My first instinct is to deliver a biting retort, to tell him I’ll leave if he’s such an old man he can’t keep going. But if I intend to stay long enough to kill him in his sleep, I need to do something to put him at ease.

So, instead, I relax into a fuzzy contentment, allowing my eyelids to droop sleepily. “Hmm,” I murmur, as if I’ve already started to nod off.

And I’m dangerously close to doing just that.

Killian chuckles, the sound vibrating through my body like a sex toy, and I ignore the butterflies that threaten to erupt at the deep, enticingly masculine response. “I suppose I’ll allow it,” he says arrogantly, “as long as you come here.”

He extends his arm toward me, inviting me closer, and a quiver of nervous anticipation tightens in my core. I quell the unruly physical response and wiggle closer until my head is resting on his shoulder, my breasts pressed against his ribs.

His arm wraps around me, trapping me to his side as his fingers graze a light path along my skin. He shifts his head, getting comfortable as he lets his eyes drift closed. And he seems content—almost smug—to let me fall asleep in his bed.

It’s unreasonably tempting to give in to the feelings of comfort and belonging that wash through me. To fall into theintense relaxation that comes with having someone hold me. I’ve never fallen asleep with a man before, and until now, I’ve never considered the appeal of doing something so vulnerable.

But as tempting as it might be to fall asleep in Killian’s arms, I have a job to do.

And thankfully, Killian’s hubris will be my best ally in making him believe my feelings for him will stop me from seeing my job through.

It’s a struggle, keeping my body relaxed and malleable in his arms while fighting the bliss-induced drowsiness that threatens to drag me into oblivion. But I’m determined to stay awake. So I focus on the feel of his heartbeat beneath my palm, the sound of his breathing as it slows and deepens, steadily transitioning into the rhythmic rise and fall of sleep.

My heart flutters when his fingers come to rest lightly on my hip, the last of his movement settling as he eases effortlessly into unconsciousness. I’m stunned at how confidently he can fall asleep beside me.

Does he really trust me so completely?

The thought elicits an intense wave of guilt, and I shift my gaze to look up at the angry red line around his throat that I created. I don’t see how he can, when I nearly killed him just earlier tonight. I’ve come at him with all I’ve got, been perfectly vocal about how much I despise him, how I will kill him if I get the chance. And yet, he seems convinced that my feelings for him somehow shield him from that fate.

Is it an overdose of confidence? An inability to take life seriously?

He hasn’t once diminished my abilities, so I don’t think he’s underestimating the fact that I’m capable of killing a man.

So, how can he sleep so soundly in the same bed as his enemy?

My eyes travel up to his ruggedly handsome face. He looks so peaceful, the hard lines of his brow softening until he could pass for someone no older than I am. And I wonder if he might not carry that same weight of responsibility that I know my father bears from holding the lives of so many in his hands.

Killian’s relentless ability to make light of things, his natural inclination to tease and provoke those around him, makes him seem incapable of worrying. But when he sleeps, I can see that silent stress wash away.

My fingers twitch to reach up and touch his handsome face, to fully appreciate the chiseled curve of his jaw, those high, powerful cheekbones, the straight line of his nose. I want to explore him further now that he isn’t awake to see the weakness behind my curiosity.

But I squash the desire.

Touching him might wake him up. I can’t risk it.

Firmly strengthening my resolve, I hold my breath and prepare to slip free of his embrace.

I test the waters, slowly shifting until my cheek is just hovering over his shoulder. He doesn’t even stir. So I ease up onto my forearm, collecting my hair to avoid tickling him with it. His hand falls from my hip, his fingertips brushing across the small of my back and coming to rest at the base of my spine.

My core tightens, even at the innocuous touch.

Why I’m so ridiculously attuned to Killian, I don’t care to understand. But my cheeks warm, knowing that he can turn me on without even trying. Without evenknowinghe’s doing it.

Biting my lip, I return my focus to the task at hand, and I carefully extract myself from the space beside the beautiful Irishman. Crawling lightly across the bed, I take my time to avoid jostling the mattress or making a sound. Then I pad across the bedroom floor to my backpack and the pile of my clothes that ended up next to it.

Silently, I dig into the leather pack, feeling for the knife I stashed there.

The sound of an old-fashioned telephone ringing jolts through my body like a live wire, and I freeze as Killian tenses. In the span of a second, he’s sitting up, his sharp gaze taking in my absence from the bed.

I have just enough time to yank my hand from my bag and place it on my pile of clothes before his eyes find me. And my heart hammers as he shrewdly assesses my crouched form.

His gaze never leaves me as he reaches to the side of his bed to collect his cell phone. And he answers it without looking.

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