How the Hitman Stole Christmas

Jasper’s mom comes back from the kitchen with a plate full of cookies. She seems very proud of herself for baking. Nora is indulgent and fusses over her, but Jasper doesn’t say a word. He was plenty talkative when it was just Nora and Tarek, but as soon as his mom came back in, his words went away.

I can feel tension in his body, too. With my arm wrapped around him, it’s easy to reach up and almost absently rub his back to try to ease some of that tension out of his muscles.

I don’t think anything of it. He’s stressed, and it feels like a natural thing to do. The whole point of my being here was that Jasper didn’t want to come alone, so I might as well offer support in whatever way I can.

Instead of paying attention to every little word they say, I pay attention to the feeling of Jasper’s muscular back beneath my fingertips.

Touching him again reminds me of last night at the motel. Trapped beneath him on the bed with only the flimsy cover of a cheap towel—which he took away, leaving me with nothing.

He wasn’t content to strip away all my clothes, either. He wanted to strip away even more. I could feel it in the way he held me suspended off the bed, reliant on him in a way that… didn’t entirely make sense, but strangely felt so good. It was like a release, giving myself over to him.

I still don’t understand the way my body responded to him. I was genuinely afraid, and he’s not just a stranger, but a dangerous one. I may not know all the details, but I’ve gleaned enough to know that.

A dangerous stranger holding me captive, stripping me naked and demanding my trust shouldn’t be able to turn me on.

But oh, how it did.

I was putty in his hands. At least before he told me he wasn’t planning to kill me I could fool myself that I was fighting for my life and willing to use any tool in my belt, but now… I don’t have that excuse anymore, and I still find myself titillated by the prospect of being alone with him again tonight.

Nothing can happen between us, though. It would be too twisted, and I know I would end up getting hurt.

Yes, I find Jasper extremely attractive, but I’m no slave to my baser urges.

I’m his fake girlfriend, not his real one, and I know myself well enough to know that if I sleep with him, I’ll get attached.

I can’t get attached. Not to him. Not to the intoxicating criminal I have no future with.

I may have a terrible habit of always falling for the guys who will never give me the life I dream about, I may have questionable choice in men, but that’s a bridge too far—even for me.Chapter ThirteenJasperShe’s fucking amazing.

Out of all the girlfriends I could have stolen, I’m pretty sure I hijacked the very best.

I knew coming home would be stressful. I knew seeing my mom for the first time in God knows how many years might not be the most comfortable thing in the world. But I’m no stranger to stressful situations. I excel at handling them like a pro, so I wasn’t too worried about it.

It’s a different kind of discomfort when it’s family, though.

With work, it isn’t personal. It’s just business, nice and clean, no messy emotional attachments or fucked-up personal history. It’s not the same kind of stress.

Go fucking figure. I can calmly handle a high-stakes standoff where bloodshed is inevitable and some of that blood could even be mine… but going home for family Christmas, now that gets me riled up.

I didn’t account for Autumn wanting to be supportive, though.

I didn’t account for her gentle hand subtly rubbing my muscles to calm me down when my mom walked in and made me tense up.

It’s nice. She’s nice.

I’m already fonder of my captive girlfriend than I’ve been of any of the ones who chose to be with me, so maybe I’m onto something here.

Despite not being easily distracted, I have to admit the soothing attempt Autumn is making to relax me in the midst of my personal hell is working. I’m going through the motions of talking to Nora about work—hers, not mine—but more of my focus is on Autumn than anyone else in the room.

Until a dark-haired little girl in a green poofy dress suddenly comes up the stairs, walks over to us, and calls my sister, “Mama.”

My heart stops beating. Blood freezes in my veins. I’m not normally one to wear my feelings on my face, but I can’t suppress the sudden swell of shock as I turn my gaze on Tarek.

“Did that little girl that looks an awful lot like you just call my sister mom?”