Page 1 of Stalking His Target

1

TAYLOR

I’m watchingher through the window while I fill magazines for my Sig-Sauer P365X pistol with bullets.

It’s a wonder I can even manage my task while my eyes are locked on such beauty, such purity, such innocence.

It’s been three weeks since I was assigned to watch over Layla, and each day when I first set my gaze upon her, I’m absolutely sure I’m going to have a heart attack. Somehow, through some unknown blessing of the universe, I’m still alive. And thank God, because every day I spend watching over her is a day I’m overwhelmed with joy.

Layla Rodriguez. Eighteen years old with the face of a model and the body of a sex goddess. Her dark hair falls down over her shoulders like a glimmering black waterfall. Her figure is pristine and flawless, and even from across the street where I’m camped out in my truck, I can see her big, brilliant, sea-green eyes, sparkling as they catch the light.

The day I was assigned to her was simultaneously the best and worst day of my life. It was the best because it was the day my life changed for the better and the day I fell head over heels and began believing in love at first sight. It was the worst day ofmy life because I am a CIA operative, and Layla is my target. My mark. And because of this, she’s expendable.

Layla is an asset. Part of a larger mission that is designed to save lives. There’s a good chance she’ll end up in prison in a CIA black site, or even worse, dead. And if it comes to that, it’ll be me that has to pull the trigger.

She and I have no future. I know that.

It’s impossible. My mission is to get close to her and surveil her until she leads me to her uncle, Pablo Hernandez, head of the Hijos de Sol cartel. But despite my training, I’ve still fallen into the trap of deluding myself that she and I could have a happily ever after.

I must be losing my mind.

I’m a soldier. I swore an oath to serve and protect this country, and that’s an oath I can never break. But goddamn if this beautiful girl doesn’t have me rethinking my career choice every day as I watch over her, study her, seeking out a way to complete the mission.

I joined the service at eighteen, and while other guys devoted their spare time to booze and girls, I was focused. Always working, always training. I had my eyes on the prize, and that’s why I am where I am today. The best of the best. The elite. One of the guys they always try and fail to portray on TV because we’re infinitely more badass than any actor could ever hope to be.

And yet when I look at Layla, it’s like she’s embedded needles into my chest and has stitched herself to me with an invisible cord that could stretch across the entire globe. Every day that goes by, every hour, every minute, I can feel my resolve weakening and a new objective for my mission rising up within me: to be with her.

She’s my treasure. My glimmering light in the bleak, cold, darkness of the life I lead that’s filled with death, deceit, and destruction. And watching her now as she leans over the counterto hand a receipt to a customer, I feel a rush of blood between my legs, causing my cock to stiffen painfully beneath my jeans.

Her tits swing deliciously in the rose-colored halter top she’s wearing, and I start salivating like a hungry dog as I watch her come out from around the counter and bend over to examine the oil paints. Checking inventory or something, I guess. I couldn’t care less what she’s actually doing; my attention is focused on the succulent curves of her hips and the supple flesh of her ass. How the hell can those jeans she’s got on even contain that womanly goodness? Christ, if only I could get my hands on that plump peach. I can hardly restrain myself now from getting out of the truck and rushing into the art supply store where she works so I can strip her out of her clothes and have my way with her.

I slam a fully loaded mag into my Sig, hard enough to feel the pain in my palm. I welcome it, as it takes my mind off Layla for a brief moment and allows me the ability to almost think straight.

This can’t end well, Taylor.Not for you. Not for her.

I grit my teeth, knowing full well what I’m thinking now is the truth. I should fabricate some reason to get myself pulled from the mission and reassigned, but I know I’m simply not capable of doing that. Not now, not ever. Because that would mean I’d never see her again, and I simply cannot accept that.

My blood is boiling and my heart is pounding as I watch her step out of the shop and lock up. My testosterone is coursing through me as I follow her every move as she walks down the street to where she parked.

I’m aroused, but I’m also on edge. Layla’s relationship to a cartel leader means she’s potentially a target for kidnappers, so while I’ve technically been stalking her for almost a month now, I’ve also been protecting her. A secret bodyguard watching over her from the shadows, making sure nothing happens to her.

The pressure in my jeans is too much, so I pop the buttons and pull out my hard-on and begin stroking it. The sensation is so intense I have to back off immediately. No woman has ever had this effect on me. Next year I’ll be thirty, but I feel like an oversexed teen when she’s around.

I manage to drive one-handed as I follow her back to her apartment. I feel literal pain throughout every nerve in my body as I maintain the standard two-car distance from her so as to not be spotted. But God, if I’m not dying. All I want to do is be close to her. I’m white-knuckling the wheel and chewing the inside of my cheek as I drive. I feel like there’s a gaping wound in my chest that can only be healed by being near her–by having her beauty fill my eyes.

Thankfully, we reach her place before I break down. I park in the shadows across the street and twist my palm up and down my shaft as I watch her emerge from her car, purse in hand, and make her way to the front door of her building. Then I am forced to suffer the minute-or-so hell while she rides the elevator to the second floor and is absent from my sight but am swamped with relief when the light to her unit goes on and she steps inside.

“There she is…” I mutter, my hand moving up and down, dragging the head of my swollen erection.

The first thing she does is slip out of her pants, leaving them on the floor as she walks over to the fridge, my eyes glued to her black G-string. My jaw drops as I watch her caramel ass jiggle perfectly with each step she takes. The primal urge to mate with her awakens inside me. The urge to breed. To claim. To make her mine forever. I watch as she bends over, retrieves a bottle of water, then goes to her phone on the counter.

I flip a switch on the surveillance unit beside me. Before I was even assigned to Layla, the agency wired her apartment with audio and video. Standard protocol in a case like this one.Now as she presses speaker-phone on her cell, I can make out everything being said.

“Hey, girl,” she says in an exaggerated Valley girl tone. “What’s going on?”

“I’ve got news for you, bitch.” It’s Tasha, Layla’s twenty-year-old friend who currently tends bar at a dive near the University of Texas. “I found you a guy.”

Every muscle in my body goes tight.

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