Page 35 of One Secret

'That's part of it,' I confess. 'This job is too important to risk on your inexperience.'

'Too important to whom?'

'To me.'

'To you and?' she badgers. 'Come on, Cyrus, you said it yourself: you're a contract killer. Emphasis on contract. You don't do this kind of shit without getting paid for it.'

'True. But I'm not about to blab to you the name of my client. Not to mention, this is personal as well as professional.'

The quiet that falls between us is suddenly very heavy. Pregnant with meaning. I glance over at Darcy to find her expression has shifted. It's hard, angry... and highly compassionate.

'"Personal"?' she repeats.

I realize her assumption quickly.

'It's not what you think,' I assure her. I knew Alexei Machelli but we hadn't been close. Nor did I know Gabriel's other victims over the decades. 'I just don't like other hitmen on my territory.'

'Your "territory"?' Again, those eyes of hers flash with a clever curiosity. There's a predictable reaction from behind my fly.

I've always found intelligence sexy.

'Southern Europe,' I explain. 'The Med. It's my area of work.'

'And you're the top dog, you mean?'

I snort softly.

'Something like that.'

'Over that large an area?' Her eyebrows inch upwards.

I let my head fall back against the seat, turn to watch her reaction, and deliberately plaster a whole lot of amused arrogance on my puss.

'I'm kind of a big deal,' I tell her.

For a moment, Darcy seems impressed. Which is as odd as it is arousing. The plane begins to feel damn stuffy and I have to shuffle in my seat to make more room in my jeans.

Bartender boyfriend... Bartender boyfriend...

The warning flashes through my head like a clanger alarm.

But another voice rebels. It was, after all, Darcy who kissed me back in the kitchen stores at The Blue Star. And it's Darcy who hasn't said anything (yet) about calling things to a halt.

How is it my job to give up something that I want for the sake of keeping her love life straight?

Then again, maybe I'm just grasping for any justification that allows me to keep taking her to bed.

Still in two minds, I play it safe and change the subject:

'I'm going to need to know where you're from,' I tell her.

This time, it's Darcy who's on the back foot.

'What?' she asks, startled. I watch a worrisome divet appear between her brows.

'I don't need to know why you can't go back.' Though I'm damn curious. 'I just need to know where.' I raise an eyebrow at her. 'A boyfriend would know.'

She exhales. Long and hard.

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