Page 11 of When He Hunts

A sniff. “I was a middle school drama teacher.”

“Right. So you taught other people how to act. I think that means you’re pretty good at hiding your real self.” Ronan found that he was quite curious about her real self. “You’re calm while you talk to me, but I completely terrify you, don’t I?”

“I’m handcuffed to your bed. You confessed to being a hitman. Youdruggedme. What sane woman wouldn’t be terrified right now?”

“Excellent point.” He caught her scent again. He was ninety-nine percent sure that scent was roses and champagne. “But I think we need to revisit my earlier statement to you.”

“Which statement would that be?” Her wrist casually twisted inside the handcuff.

Cute. Did she think she’d be able to slide her wrist out? Not happening. Unless she was Houdini, she was not getting out of the cuffs. “The statement where I told you the Feds were paying me more to keep you alive than the jerk in Atlanta was paying for me to kill you.”

Another twist of her wrist against the cuff. “How do I know you aren’t lying to me?”

“Grayson Stone.”

A blink of those long, long lashes.

“You were going to meet him, weren’t you? He’s a Fed and you were desperate to see him. You set up a chat with him here in New Orleans.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s supposed to happen in about five hours, but you won’t be making the appointment. Instead, Grayson will spread the news that you were killed last night. Two witnesses saw your lifeless body get dumped into the back of a BMW. Those Tulane students are definitely coming in handy.”

“Who?” Her wrist pulled against the cuff.

“Oh, right. You were unconscious. You don’t remember them. College guys who tried to save the day. Unfortunately, they were a bit too late.” His hand flew out and curled around the handcuff—and her wrist. “You’re going to get bruised if you keep pulling at the cuff. You can’t get out. Not until I let you out.”

Her breathing came a little faster. “And when do you plan to let me go?”

“As soon as you promise not to run.”

“I promise not to run.” Her immediate reply. “Let me go now?”

Cute, but no. He didn’t believe that fast promise. “Grayson knows that I have you. In fact, he sent me after you.”

She didn’t look convinced.

“Here’s the deal.” Ronan should move things along. Stop staring into her emerald eyes. Stop inhaling her scent. Stop lusting after his charge. “I’m being paid a great deal of money to do the following things. One, fake your death. Which I have done. Incredibly well.” His fingers slid along her wrist, rubbing the area she’d probably already bruised. “Two, hide your sweet ass.”

“Excuse me?”

It is a sweet ass.“Hide you,” he clarified. “Dead people can’t just stroll down Bourbon Street. Gray—Grayson—wants me to keep you out of sight. You need to stay hidden, and you need someone—me—to protect youwhileyou are hiding.”

“Is that number three? Protecting me, I mean?”

Sure. Whatever. “Number four, when the time is right, I’ll deliver you to the Feds. You’ll spill all that you know, and in return, you’ll get a new life. Then I’ll vanish. Be just a bad nightmare for you. And you can start living a real dream somewhere else.”

“You’re doing all of this…for me?”

When the hell had he started easing toward her mouth? Ronan caught himself. “I’m doing all of this for the fat cash I’ll get paid.” He kept his voice hard. “Butyouhave to do things in return. There are no free deals from me.”

A nod of her head.

His fingers slid along her wrist again.

She shivered.

Fear or…

No, stop it. The shiver has to be fear. You might want to fuck her like crazy, but to her, you’re the boogeyman. You drugged her. Put her in a car’s trunk and then cuffed her to a bed. She is not thinking about putting that hot mouth of hers against you again.

Unfortunately.

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