Page 3 of A Vocation of Violence
The door clicked open again, and there stood Jorah, a study in controlled power. His dark hair, a contrast to the pale fabric of his impeccable shirt, caught the light as he moved with leonine grace. He surveyed me with hazel eyes that missed nothing, a slight smile playing about his lips that suggested secrets and sins interwoven.
“Miss Mahoney,” he greeted me, the trace of a Russian accent coloring his words like a smear of ink on pristine paper. “You honor my humble establishment.”
“Humble? I’d like to see your version of opulence.” My tart reply came out steadier than I felt, but even so, the tremor of anticipation betrayed me.
Then annoyed me.
Clumsy flirtation was all I could muster against his polished charm. Against anything, really. I was too practical to be a flirt, I think. Too graceless to fancy myself a temptress. Too freckled to be porcelain and too well fed to be willowy. I was at once too much and not enough for the likes of men such as him.
And he was one of the only men who hadn’t said that to my face.
Another reason I found myself here tonight, I supposed. The Hammer could buy the most expensive woman in the world to share his bed.
And he wanted me for free.
“Tell me, Jorah,” I began, cheeks warming under his gaze, “do you make all your guests feel as though they’ve stepped into a lion’s den?”
“Only those brave enough to seek the lion,” he replied in a velvet voice as dark as the lining of an expensive coffin.
“Then let’s hope this lion doesn’t bite,” I said, an attempt at levity that escaped as sensual challenge.
“Ah, but Fiona,” he murmured, tracing a long, elegant finger down the side of my face, “what if the lady does not yet know how much she would enjoy being devoured?” His touch sparked an involuntary shiver, one I couldn’t disguise as he brought my skin to life.
I caught my breath as he leaned closer, his lips hovering over mine.
“I would never hurt you, Fiona,” Jorah suggested, his breath a warm caress against the late-winter chill lingering on my cheek. His hands found the small of my back, pulling me flush against his lean, hard body. “Unless you asked me to.”
I couldn’t imagine a world where I’d solicit additional pain.
At nine and twenty, I’d had enough to last lifetimes.
“Your breath smells of whiskey,” he murmured, running a fingertip over the seam of my lips in a way that left a trail of sparks in its wake. “Are you afraid of me, Fiona?”
I didn’t answer.
I was wise to fear him. There were secrets he would kill me for telling. Bodies I could uncover that would bring his tidy empire to its knees.
It was our impasse, I thought, that created this odd pocket of trust.
Once upon a time, when we were both desperate, he’d paid me to hide a body and clean up after. For many reasons, mostly that I’d mouths to feed and vengeance to reap, I had continued to do so upon occasion. The other reason was that anyone who decided to quit working for the Syndicate, the organization of which Jorah was a part, never lived long enough to seek other employment.
I hated him for tricking me into this place, but here we were a couple years later, still surviving.
Some would say…thriving.
“What changed your mind about us?” he crooned, whispering covert kisses into my hairline, temples, and cheekbones. “About me?”
I couldn’t bring myself to say any one of the million words that threw themselves at the vault of my lips, so I did something so uncharacteristic, it shocked both of us.
Lifting to my toes, I pressed my soft mouth to his hard one, hoping he could read physical subtext.
I couldn’t say for certain if he understood me or not, but he was easily misdirected.
He deepened our kiss from a press of lips to a conflagration of need and nerve. For a few intense moments, all I could feel was the heat of his mouth against mine and the pressure of his hands on my back.
I was grateful for the kiss, for its ability to silence my thoughts and bring me to the present moment. As the intensity of our kiss grew, my doubts and reservations began to melt away. Jorah’s expert touch awakened a hunger within me, a craving for something forbidden yet alluring. In that moment, I gave in to the heat that had smoldered between us for longer than a year now.
Even in the midst of our intoxicating embrace, my mind couldn’t help but wander to the reason I had sought him out once again. The secrets I had kept for him, the bodies I had buried—they were a constant reminder of the darkness that surrounded us both. I had become entangled in his world, unable to escape it.
