Page 23 of Hero Worship

The problem was, I wasn't sure I knew anymore. Was I Algerone's heir? The Laskins' troubled child? Ash's newest project?

I guess I'd find out in Paris.

Rolling over, I grabbed Mr. Bitey from his place of honor on my pillow. The stuffed shark had seen me through every crisis, every breakdown, every time I'd needed reminding that I was more than my diagnoses or daddy issues.

"What do you think, buddy?" I whispered to his perfectly imperfect smile. "Think I can do this without completely falling apart?"

Mr. Bitey just smiled his crooked embroidered smile, offering the same unconditional support he had since I was five. I hugged him close, breathing in the familiar scent of fabric softener and home.

Maybe Xavier was right. Maybe I needed to stop trying to be what everyone else wanted and figure out who I actually was. But that was tomorrow's problem.

I hugged Mr. Bitey close. Tomorrow I'd have to face Ash's brutal training, face more lies to my family, face whatever the fuck I was becoming. But tonight? Tonight I could just be Xander, the kid with a stuffed shark and too many secrets.

Paris better be worth it. Because the way Xavier had looked at me when I lied to his face? That was going to haunt me long after the bruises from training faded.

The office was toodamn quiet. Mission briefings for the Roche operation lay scattered across my desk, but I couldn't focus on the preserved corpses in designer clothes. Not when surveillance photos of Xander's combat training kept drawing my eye. The way he moved during today's session with Zara had been mesmerizing. Deadly and devastatingly beautiful. Xander was naturally magnetic, and that thought made something dark and possessive twist in my gut.

"Admiring your handiwork?"

I hadn't heard him enter, proof of how well he'd absorbed his training. Or how distracted I'd been. Xander lounged in thedoorway wearing a black pleated skirt that barely reached mid-thigh and a cropped sweater that showed a strip of pale skin. He'd left his makeup on from training with Zara—smokey eyes and lips stained just-bitten red. The sight hit me like a physical blow.

"You're supposed to be reviewing mission parameters," I said, forcing my voice steady. Professional. Like I wasn't imagining how those thighs would feel wrapped around my waist.

"I did." They moved with characteristic precision, their presence filling the room. "Three times. I've already mapped out three alternate extraction scenarios. The client's safety has to be our priority." He perched on the edge of my desk, close enough that I could smell his perfume, something sweet and dangerous. "But I thought we should discuss our cover story. Practice being a convincing couple."

The way he saidcouplemade heat pool in my gut. "You need to take this seriously, Xander."

His smile was sharp as a blade as he reached for my holster where it lay on the desk. "Then why do you keep looking at my legs like you want to spread them?"

I should stop him. Should maintain professional distance. Instead, I watched as he drew my gun with practiced ease, those black-painted nails a stark contrast against the metal. He checked the chamber with fluid grace. It was empty, of course. Kid was reckless, not stupid.

"Put it down," I ordered, but my voice came out rougher than intended.

Instead, he traced the barrel along his own throat, down his chest, letting it catch on the hem of his sweater. "Make me, Daddy."

Christ. This was exactly what his file had warned me about. Xander was using sex as a weapon, pushing boundaries untilsomething broke. The smart thing would be to shut this down now.

I wasn't feeling particularly smart.

I rose from my chair, using my height to loom over him. "You think you're clever, don't you? Playing these games, pushing buttons just to see what happens?"

His pupils dilated, but he didn't back down. If anything, he pressed closer, tilting his chin up defiantly. "Is it working?"

I reached out, trailing my fingers along his jaw, down the elegant line of his throat. Such delicate bone structure, like he'd been crafted from marble and steel. Beautiful and breakable and so goddamn strong all at once. His pulse fluttered beneath my touch like a trapped bird, betraying how my nearness affected him despite his practiced coolness.

"So pretty," I murmured, watching his pupils dilate at the praise. My thumb traced over his bottom lip, feeling how soft it was, how it trembled slightly. "And you know it too, don't you? Know exactly how to use that beauty like a weapon."

His breath hitched as I wrapped my hand around his throat, not squeezing, just holding. Possessing. A promise of what could come if he surrendered to me. The way he melted into the touch, completely trusting despite knowing how dangerous I could be, made something protective and primal surge in my chest.

My fingers tightened slightly around his throat as unfamiliar desires crashed through me. All my careful walls, my rigid definitions of self, had fallen apart. Xander was a study in perfect contradiction, all sharp angles and soft curves, strength and grace intertwined. The confidence in how he moved, how he existed beyond simple categorization, should have let me file this away as mere appreciation. Instead, each breath against my palm, each flutter of pulse beneath my fingers, pulled me deeper into wanting. He'd turned his body into art, into poetry, and I was helpless not to read every line.

"Last chance," I growled, my voice rough with need and fear and something darker. My thumb traced over his racing pulse, feeling how it jumped at my touch. "Walk away now. Because if you stay..." I swallowed hard. "If you stay, I'm going to show you exactly what happens to pretty little brats who can't behave. And baby? There won't be anything gentle about it."

Instead of answering, he traced the gun barrel down his chest, over his stomach, until it pressed against the growing bulge beneath his skirt. His breath hitched as he ground against the metal, eyes locked on mine in blatant challenge.

Something in me snapped.

I knocked the gun from his hand and yanked him off the desk in one fluid motion, spinning him to face the wall. He gasped as I pinned him there with my body, one hand holding him by the hair while the other trapped his wrists above his head.

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