Stolen from the Hitman: A Bad Boy Mafia Romance(99)

I’m more surprised than thankful at first, but I very slowly open the door and peer out. The light blinds me for a second, but I squint through. Outside is a large brick hallway, and it seems to be empty but for the light spilling out of the room across the hall.

I creep out, my bare feet helping me stay quiet as I look to the elevator at the very end of the hallway. My heart leaps for joy!

But now, curiosity is getting the better of me, and I peer into the room across the hall. There, my captor awaits.

His back is mostly turned, but he’s alone. All alone. The sounds I heard seem to be him working out. The room itself is just a bare-bones chamber, filled with gym equipment. Weights, pull-up bar, and more. But there he is, almost naked but for a pair of black boxer-briefs clinging to his thick thighs and groin.

I’m hypnotized watching him, frankly. He pulls himself up as those glistening muscles bulge, biceps swelling so large as he seamlessly hoists up then eases himself back down, all control. He’s well over six feet tall, and must weigh in excess of 200lbs of sheer muscle, but he moves with a certain grace that comes with that practiced workout.

He’s engrossed in his routine, and now is the time to make my getaway…but here I am, staring at him instead. Gawking like a schoolgirl seeing a hunk working out for the first time. And in some ways, that feels so true. Because no guy I’ve seen before looks anything like this Mikhail.

He’s tall, dark, and ruggedly handsome, sure. Ripped from head to toe, yeah. But those scars, those strange tattoos of his…all so unique. I can’t deny the attraction and the curiosity I feel about him. Especially not since I’m standing here instead of running out into the street and finding my way home, like I should be doing.

I don’t know if it’s just the stress of the past few days, either, but watching him work out is getting me hornier than all hell. Not that cute kind of horny after a drink or two, or when you’re with someone new. This is more primal than either of those things, and I catch the scent of his fresh sweat in the air, and that only helps to ignite the fire burning within me.

Everything he’s told me has been the truth. He’s been protecting me from someone far worse than him. But he’s a killer. The conflicting thoughts swirl within me and then fade away to pure, simple, easy passion.

I can make a run for it.

Or I could walk into his gym, grab him through his boxer briefs, and work out my aggression on his body.

Part of my decision gets made for me, however, because with a grunt, he lets himself drop once more and speaks up.

“Are you going to stand there all day?” he asks in that deep, dark voice of his, so rich and delicious you could drizzle it over pancakes.

He hadn’t needed to so much as turn to see me, and I can only presume my time spent staring gave me away somehow. But when his eyes turn towards me, so deep and smoldering, I feel a little weak in the knees.

Okay, a lot weak in the knees. Not even just the shock of him seeing me, but the way his body gleams with perspiration, and his gaze is locked on mine. Everything about him and his body calls out to me, and even though I should resist, I take a step forward.

And then another.

It’s like I’m under his spell, though even I know it’s only the spell of lust. Of frustration warped into desperate arousal.

Hearing the news report and knowing he was telling the truth, knowing that I’m really in danger, makes me want to feel alive. And this man, this killer, is the only one I know who can do that.

“You left my door unlocked.”

He delays, and when finally says:

“Must have been an accident.”

I know he’s lying to me. It’s easy to tell, because it’s the first lie he’s told. And while he might be the best killer on the planet for all that I’ve seen, he sucks at lying.

“You learn to spot a liar, working in a politician’s office,” I say, and he furrows his brow.

I’m in the presence of a military trained killer in better physical condition than any man I’ve ever met. Standing right in front of his glistening, hard body, and I just called him a liar to his face.

“You really know how to try my patience,” he says, but instead of turning away, he grabs me. Both hands. That strong grip of his taking hold of each hip as he pulls me right up against him. “What is it about you?” he growls in frustration, his voice so dark as his words rumble out, those eyes staring through me. Only the thin fabric separates us, and he’s oh so close.

He feels amazing. Powerful and terrifying, all at once. The type of guy I should be running from, not the one that I should be subtly grinding against, but I can’t help it. My hips work of their own accord, his hands gripping them but not impeding my motions. He could, if he wanted to.