Page 4 of Claimed By the Hitman: Codename Cupid

Erratic. Unwieldy. Potentially insane…

I take a slow, deep breath, closing my eyes for a moment.

All of my training tells me to break his fucking wrist and report back to Olympia. Some assets… they don’t last. Something in them breaks, and they’re of no use anymore. I don’t know what happens to them when they can no longer be utilized…

If this arrangement doesn’t work, I don’t know what they’ll do to Cupid.

“Stand up,” I whisper, putting on a fake smile. “Or you’ll make a scene.”

Cupid returns the smile, but his feels genuine. He stands, runs his fingers up my arm and takes me by the waist.

We look like two parting lovers.

“I have a suite at the Hotel Plaza Athénée.” I take in his strong scent as I whisper in his ear. Staying in character, I slide my arms over his broad shoulders. I even kick my foot up so my heel points toward the sun—I haveneverkicked my foot up in a man’s arms. “Top floor. Westernmost room. There are staff watching the elevators, and you’d need a keycard to access the floor.”

“I wouldn’t be much of an assassin if a few bellhops and a plastic card could keep me from you.”

His fingertips dig into the silky fabric of my dress, easing down my hips like a man who isn’t quite ready to watch his lover walk away.

I can feel him smiling against my cheek. “How about a kiss before you leave?”

“Don’t push me, Cupid.”

“It’s only for show.”

“How about I knee you in the balls?” I fake a laugh. “We could pretend to be quarreling lovers.”

“I’d take any kind of lover with you…”

I break our embrace, fully aware that my nipples are stiff under my dress.

“Don’t make me regret this.”

“Emergency use only.” Cupid lifts my hand and kisses the backs of my fingers. “And if not, I’ll see you in two days.”

“I count on it.”

“It’s a date.”

I make sure he sees my eyes roll before I finally turn and leave. My heels strike the cobblestone sidewalk, sounding off like gunshots. I can feel his eyes on me, trained like a sniper.

To the end of the block, I know I’m in his sights.

I curse myself for telling him where I’ll be.

It’s completely against protocol. If Olympia found out, I’d get the ass-chewing of a lifetime, maybe worse. And yet, as I get out of the cab and stare up at all the windows of the old hotel, I can’t help but smile.

Something about breaking the rules makes me feel so alive.

Olympia always sets me up lavishly.

Back home, stateside, I have a five-room house in South Carolina. The subdued waves of Charleston Bay rock me to sleep. Out on assignment, I’m given a limitless expense card, the finest clothes to match my disguises, and luxury rooms I never want to leave.

I suppose they have to make up for the fact that at any moment I could be snatched up by their assets, have a bag thrown over my head, and driven to some unknown location to be briefed, interrogated, or worse.

Fortunately, I stay on their good side.

My hotel suite is like stepping back in time. The old architecture is reminiscent of a French era filled with philosophers, socialites, and revolutionaries. High ceilings hide painted figures I can’t fully examine in the low light, and the view from my balcony sets Paris sprawling out for me. The city is lit up, blazing in the night; the Eiffel Tower is a torch in the distance.

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