Which was why my house was hardly furnished.
Minimalism wasn’t only for tech bros and Instagram influencers.
The entry hall was dim with only a single closet, a small table for keys and my wallet, and a peg for hanging stuff, which was currently empty. Stairs led up to the bedrooms, and the hall ended straight ahead in the kitchen. Living room was on the left, no more than a large, comfortable leather couch, a simple rug over the light brown hardwood floors, and a television hung on the wall. There weren’t many decorations, but what I had were real—oil paintings from local artists, photographs framed and signed, that sort of shit. I wasn’t an artsy guy or whatever, but there was something about having the real thing, an actual object that was touched by another living human’s hand.
“Okay, I’m impressed.” She hovered behind the couch and ran her fingers down the distressed leather. “Are you sure you’re a mobster hitman?”
“I didn’t realize that all killers had to live like animals.”
She waved a hand. “Come on, I know mafia guys. My entire world is gangsters and I know what they’re like. None of the men in my family live like this.”
I smiled and led her back to the kitchen. Gleaming stainless steel, pristine granite counter tops, everything perfect and clean.
I barely used the stuff.
She was right though. Most of the guys in the Morozov family were practically troll-like thugs and their homes reflected that, at least the few I’d seen. There were decent men in the family as well, but they were few and far between. The vast majority were like frat boys with guys.
I operated on a completely different level from them. Where the typical midlevel soldier spent his days slinging drugs and getting into the occasional street brawl, I prowled the streets like a panther.
I killed for a living. I was a hunter.
Which meant I didn’t have time for distracting nonsense. I was a grown man, not some child trapped in an adult’s body.
“Want a drink?” I opened a cabinet above the refrigerator and grabbed a whiskey bottle. I poured two glasses without waiting for a response and handed one over.
She considered it. “I’m trying to decide if you’re trying to get me drunk so you can take advantage of me.”
I smiled slightly, tilted my head. “I don’t think I need to get you drunk for that.”
“You’d be surprised.” A sly little smile. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think the girl was flirting with me.
“We’re going to be living in close quarters together for a little while, so if you can’t handle that, tell me now.”
“I can handle it. Trust me, I think you’re the one that’ll be knocking on my door in the middle of the night.”
“For what? A friendly chat.”
“Sure, something like that.” She tossed back the drink and her cheeks turned red. “God, I hate whiskey.”
I laughed and took a small sip.
She was right, though—I was already thinking about running into her in the hallway while heading to the shower, wearing nothing but a towel.
I bet she’d like it.
At least, based on the way she kissed, and the soaking wet spot between her legs.
“Come on, let me show you to your room.”
She followed me upstairs. I was in the master bedroom, first door on the right, and she was in the guest room, second door on the right. The bathroom was at the end of the hall.
“Bed’s made up. Fresh towels and shit are in the closet.”
She pursed her lips, looking in at the simple queen bed and nightstands. “Do you get a lot of guests?”
“Not really, no.”
“Then why’s it set up already?”
“I like to be prepared.” I hesitated a second. “And it’s been like that for months, honestly.”
She laughed and walked into the room. It was a decent size, though pretty spare.
“Not too bad.”
I leaned up against the doorframe as she sat on the bed and bounced a little. “Bed’s not too bad. Comfortable enough.”
“It’s totally fine.” She hesitated, looked at her feet. “Thanks for not killing me.”
I was taken aback.
I didn’t think she’d actually stoop so low as to thank me.
“You’re welcome.”
“And for bringing me in here. And for offering to help with Connor. I know you don’t need to do any of that stuff and I’m still not really sure why you’re doing it, but thanks anyway.”
“I’m doing it for you.” I didn’t feel the need to overexplain or pretend I had some ulterior motive when all of this was about her.
Her cheeks turned even redder. “I don’t understand why.”
“That first night. You kissed me, you let me get you off, and all of that was very real. I don’t feel that kind of connection very often, and when I do, I’m not going to throw it away.”
Her eyes were like liquid fire and I wanted to stalk across the room, pin her down against the bed, and ravish her. I wanted to worship her down on my knees with my tongue between her legs until her back arched and sweat rolled down her skin and she screamed my name.