How the Hitman Stole Christmas

I take several slow breaths while I wait for the other person to respond, or even acknowledge that I’ve spoken.

When he stands, I determine the intruder must have been sitting in the chair along the wall, in front of my bedroom window. I hold my breath, my heart rate speeding up. I can hear his deliberately soft footsteps as he crosses the small stretch of floor to stand beside my bed.

My heart feels as if it will beat a hole in my chest any moment. I’ve gambled everything on the intruder listening to reason and not hurting me, but in doing so, I’ve made myself vulnerable. I can feel him standing over me now, and I have nothing to defend myself with. Nothing but my mind, my body, my mouth. Nothing but my words wielded as strategically as possible when I don’t know a single thing about who I’m playing against.

I exhale shakily when I feel a hand moving into the empty space above my face.

I don’t know if they’re going to kill me or hurt me some other way, but I don’t think they’ve been convinced to leave.

My chest feels like it’s caving in as I open my eyes.

I see a black leather glove just before it comes into contact with my skin. I gasp loudly, every nerve in my body coming alive with fear. I grab the arm of my assailant, but as both of my hands lock around his forearm, I realize…

He’s not trying to strangle me or otherwise harm me.

He’s running the cool, soft leather along my jawline, caressing my face.

Relief pours through me a split second before I hear his voice.

“Not bad, snowflake. If someone had sent me to kill you, I’d feel mighty bad for that employer, ’cause I’d be convinced to switch sides.” My mattress sinks as Jasper sits down on the edge of it. I see his handsome face now, bathed in moonlight as he gives me a little smile. “Of course, I’m a little biased.”

“Jasper,” I breathe with relief, dropping my hands and sinking into the mattress, all the fear and tension leaving my body. “You scared the crap out of me,” I scold, shooting him a dirty look.

“Sorry about that. Couldn’t pass up the opportunity to see how you’d handle it when you weren’t sure it was me.”

I smack him on the arm. “You could’ve given me a heart attack.”

“Nah, I’d never do that.”

There’s something so light and peaceful about the way he’s looking at me, I can’t seem to hold onto my annoyance.

Not to mention, I’m just so happy to see him.

“What are you doing here?” I ask. “Is everything okay?”

He nods. “I missed you.”

My heart softens. “I’ve missed you, too.”

“I wanted to see you,” he says simply.

Smiling softly, I reach up to touch his hand, even though it’s encased in that leather glove. “You came all this way just to see me?”

“Well… not just to see you.”

My heart skips a beat as he leans down slowly and presses his lips against mine.

The burst of arousal that breaks open inside of me is immediate. My head knows that I should kick him out of my room, move this conversation somewhere safe, like my living room. I envision doing the smart thing, making him get out of here, putting on a robe so less of my skin is exposed…

My heart has different ideas. After thinking I’d never see him again, I’m so relieved that he’s here, I wrap my arms around him. When he shifts positions and climbs on top of me, I spread my legs and wrap them around him.

Jasper trails his hand along the inside of my thigh, then he cups my pussy in his hand. I gasp, arching off the bed. My panties provide a scant barrier, but if he says the word, I’ll rip them right off.

“Mm, I’ve missed you,” he says, palming my breast with his other hand and burying his face in my neck so he can kiss me. “How much have you missed me?”

“So much,” I say breathlessly, peppering everything I can reach with my kisses.

“Yeah?” he says leadingly. “You wanna show me?”

I do. I do wanna show him.

I nod and he moves over to the empty side of my bed so he can lie down.

Only, as soon as he does, he spots the crumpled up white T-shirt.

A man’s T-shirt.

He picks it up. His tone hardens. “What the fuck is this?”

“A… a shirt,” I say lamely, since that much is obvious.

He scowls, holding it up so he can look at it.

The shirt is wrinkled as all hell, and it is dark in my bedroom with only the moonlight streaming in the window, but he can see the shirt well enough to ascertain I am not its original owner.

I figured he would realize the shirt was his immediately, but he doesn’t seem to have registered that fact.