How the Hitman Stole Christmas

I have a feeling she will.

I wait for her to catch on. To trust me. It doesn’t take long.

When I pull her body close, she’s like clay in my hands. I pull her closer until her core is pressed against mine.

She locks her arms around me, pressing her lips against my chest.

Christ.

Missing out on her lips against my skin can’t happen more than once, so I support her weight with one arm and reach back to tug my shirt off with the other. Autumn releases me when she realizes what I’m doing, then secures her arms around me again once she can reach my skin.

“Kiss me again.”

She presses her soft lips against my skin almost before I can finish telling her to. I close my eyes as she keeps at it, kissing her way across my chest.

There’s passion and tenderness I haven’t earned in these kisses. Like the unrepentant bastard I am, I soak it up anyway.

Only for a couple of minutes, though. Only until her kisses start moving lower and lower.

A red flag shoots up, clearing the haze of lust and waving where I can’t ignore it. A vision of my pretty little snowflake tricking me—tempting me with her sweet kisses, knowing how much I want to feel her lips around my cock, but when my guard is down and I close my eyes to enjoy the suction of that pretty little mouth…

Well, my gun is on the bedside table. She wouldn’t need me incapacitated or unfocused for more than a moment to grab it and blow a hole in my head.

She’s probably more than willing to give me a blowjob if it means she can kill me and escape.

“Stop.”

She looks up at me, so soft and sweet and confused, like she just wanted to suck my cock and she doesn’t know why I won’t let her.

Fuck me if that’s true, but I’m not going to risk it.

I caress her face tenderly, easing back on the bed and pulling her against my side. “I’m convinced,” I say lightly, even though it’s not entirely true. My instincts tell me I just tapped into her true nature—I don’t think she was acting—but someone who believes they’re fighting for their life… you’d be surprised what they can do.

I need to let her know she’s not.

I wasn’t deliberately making her think I wanted to kill her, anyway. That wasn’t my plan. The way things unfolded, I know she picked up that impression though, and I haven’t done much to set her straight.

Now that we’ve shared a brief moment of intimacy, Autumn seems to feel more comfortable with me. She curls up against my side and rests a hand on my stomach. She still looks a little confused when she looks up at me.

Makes sense. She probably thinks she must have done something wrong to make me stop her.

She still responds to my touch. I’m only touching her face, but it’s a tender thing she wouldn’t like if I gave her the creeps.

She nuzzles into it. If her survival instincts are driving her to put on a show for me, she’s a damn good actress.

“We need to get one thing clear,” I tell her.

“What’s that?” she asks, looking up at me with those arresting eyes of hers.

“I’m not going to kill you. I’ll hurt you if you make me, but I don’t want to do that, either.”

Understandably confused, her brow furrows. “Really?”

I nod.

“Then why…? You kidnapped me...”

There’s a trace of uncertainty in her voice, so I nod again to let her know I’m not denying what I have done. “I did. But not because I wanted to hurt you.”

She pulls away from me now, still frowning as she sits up and grabs her towel. Pulling it over her body like it’s a security blanket, she demands, “Then why did you take me?”

“It’s gonna sound a little crazy,” I warn her.

“You kidnapped me, Jasper; I know you’re crazy.”

That’s fair.

“We’re gonna laugh about this someday,” I tell her.

Her eyes narrow. She does not appear convinced.

“Right before I came across you stranded on the side of the road, my little sister called and convinced me to come home for the holidays. I’m not comfortable doing it. My mom and I have a thorny relationship and I usually stay away, especially around the holidays. It’s been years since I went home for Christmas; I can’t even really remember the last time I did.”

“All right,” she says cautiously, still confused.

I don’t know how she’ll respond to this next part. I care more than I mean to. Telling her the truth about this makes me feel more exposed than I’m comfortable with. I drop her gaze, preparing for a bad reaction. For her to freak out and tell me I’m fucking crazy—not the way she just did, but really meaning it.