Page 1 of Claimed By the Hitman: Codename Cupid

CHAPTER 1

HERA

Cupid is keeping me waiting.

Am I surprised? Not in the least bit. I was told my new assignment would be unlike any other assassin I’ve managed. Olympia doesn’t like that word—assassin.They preferfield assetoragentorauxiliary tool.

But an assassin he is, as much as the killers of ancient times.

More than that, he’s late.

It’s a sweltering Parisian day, and the breeze is lazy. I’m sitting outside a café on one of the lesser-known streets, away from the tourists, hidden from the watchful gaze of the Eiffel Tower. Here, the city crowds and looms. It hugs itself. The narrow buildings provide some shade, but I’m still sweating in this ridiculous summer dress.

If I had it my way, I’d be in a pantsuit or tactical gear. Blending in, however, is the ultimate function of my attire. I should look like any other French woman enjoying her green tea. I should be nearly invisible.

That man across the street should not be staring at me.

Attention from men is not something I’m accustomed to. Perhaps it’s my resting-bitch face, or the fact that most men I converse with are assassins I am technically in charge of. In fact, only one field asset ever made a move on me, and I put a stop to it almost reflexively. Most members of the opposite sex don’t look at me the way he is right now… like he wants to rip off my dress with his eyes.

The man is standing outside a bicycle shop, leaning against the glass. A loose white button-up shirt dances with the breeze, flashing up slightly to give me a glimpse of his toned stomach. With his hands in his pockets, he tilts his head as if he’s trying to look under my dress. A few dark curls drape over his forehead before he brushes them back and smiles.

Some horny Frenchman hitting on me is the last thing I need right now.

I sigh, sip my tea, and pretend to read the book in my hand.

He starts walking across the street.

Without glancing up from the pages, I wave him off and tell him I’m not interested in perfect French. He laughs like he’s seen the future, like he already knows that I’m his, and it makes my toes curl. Against all my training, bearing, and will, my eyes drift to meet his gaze.

Handsome would be an understatement.

The man’s face is dashingly sharp with dark features. Wild curls form passageways on his head, secret tunnels of black hair as tempting to explore as the catacombs beneath this city. His smile is a knife cutting through my heart like butter; he traces the stubble of his mustache with his fingers.

I’ve always prided myself on professionalism. The job is my life. Olympia recruited me because I was bored at the three-letter agency that had previously employed me; I was looking for something more, something to devote myself to completely. Men have never fit into the equation of my existence.

Something about this man puts the faintest chink in that armor.

It’s a runaway thought, a fantasy that I laugh off as I close my book and hold his gaze. I’ve got a job to do, and I won’t throw everything away for a one-night stand in Paris.

Did you not hear me?I say again, inflecting to let him know I’m annoyed. My French is damn good, enough to pass for a local.Go bother someone else…

The man, unfazed and still smiling, speaks to me in English, “Spare an obolus for the ferryman?”

The breeze is sucked from the world.

Suddenly, I feel so hot that this dress is suffocating.

An obolus.The devilishly handsome man from across the street has spoken the code. This isn’t protocol. We were to sit outside for an hour before attempting the codephrase—I’ve been here for forty-five minutes, but he’s only just arrived.

How does he know I’m the one?

“Taking the journey across the Styx?” I repeat the trained response.

The man, who I now know is Cupid, sits in the empty chair at my table. “Not yet, but Charon is waiting.”

We stare.

We stare for far too long.

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