Page 65 of Deceitful Oath

Groaning, I pull the duvet over my head, but that doesn’t stop my heart from racing. I recall the events of today, my stomach churning at every memory. I can’t believe I was working for the mafia the entire time.

I can’t believe I fell in love with a man not knowing who he really was.

But did I? Dominic—Rafael, I remind myself—says I know the real him. I think back to our time together, like how easy the first night at the bar was. The conversation flowed so freely, the banter was perfect, and his smile—it had been genuine.

Our ice cream date at Route 42, the rooftop pool adventure, dinners together, everything was perfect. I sigh, rolling over and scrunching my eyes closed. Can I love a man who pretended to be someone he’s not? Does it change enough that my heart changes with it?

A scrape against the window sends me flying out of bed and into the hallway. My heart hammers like a beating drum when I realize the hallway is just as dark and creepy as my guest bedroom.

I try to convince myself it was only the wind but the truth is, I don’t want to be alone tonight.

Quietly, I tiptoe to Rafael’s room and pause in the open doorway. I take a deep breath and peek in to see him stretched across his bed, his arm thrown over his face. His chest rises and falls gently and he looks totally relaxed.

“You don’t have a knife, do you?”

I jump at the sound of his voice. “What?”

“You’re silently standing in my doorway at three a.m. watching me sleep,” he says casually, not looking at me. “I figure you’re here to finish the job, assassin.”

A surprised laugh bubbles out of me even though I try to keep it locked away. I relax against the doorframe, taking in his smooth, firm chest and the way his hips narrow under the blanket.

“So,” he presses, finally moving his arm and cracking one eye open. “What’s your choice of weapon? A knife or your bare hands?”

“Who says it wouldn’t be a gun?” I ask, slinking closer to the bed. It looks so inviting with the blanket pulled back and Rafael’s warm body glowing in the moonlight.

“Too messy for you,” he says immediately. “You’re more of a struggle through it but keep it clean type of woman.”

“I like that you’ve thought about this,” I say, tentatively perching on the bed.

“Get in the damn bed, Lux,” he says gruffly, glancing over at me. “And I’ve considered every potential murder possibility…my own murder, that is. Need to cover every angle.”

“Is that why it was nearly impossible to find a sharp enough knife in your kitchen?” I quip, sliding in beside him but keeping my distance.

“What?”

“I’m joking,” I say, and he visibly relaxes. “I brought my own.”

He cracks up laughing and reaches for me. For a second, my body tenses and he freezes. Then, slowly, his arm circles my waist and pulls me to him. Our bodies instantly relax into each other, remembering the familiarity we once had.

“I had a nightmare,” I confess after a few minutes of comfortable silence.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“No, I just don’t want to be alone,” I admit. I feel him nod behind me and tuck me closer against him. Every inch of his rock-hard body surrounds mine, the feeling so safe it’s freeing.I melt into him, allowing myself to feel peace for the first time tonight.

“Do you want to talk about what happened earlier?”

“Kind of,” I say, fighting the sleep that evaded me earlier. “I don’t want to know details about your…mafia stuff. I just want to know why you do it.”

He sighs deeply, burrowing his face into my neck. I get a strong whiff of Dominic—Rafael, that scent that used to drive me crazy when we lay in bed like this. My nipples instantly harden, and I silently warn them about making a scene right now.

“Why I’m in the mafia?” he asks, his voice tired and resigned. “I was born into it, I guess. I had a normal childhood, like I told you, but I was also trained for this role from a very young age. I’m a lethal weapon, a cold hard killer, a sniper, an interrogator, a tracker…what else do you do with these skills?”

He stops talking and gently runs his hand over my back in circles, trying to soothe me.

“Hmm, definitely not floral arrangements,” I say lightly, trying to infuse some humor back into the conversation to reassure him that I’m fine.

As he laughs, his hand slips down to my ass, resting on my ass cheek. A heady thrill runs through me when my body remembers his touch and responds on its own.

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