Hannah’s eyes light up, and she releases his hold around me. “Oh, is this your mystery man from last night?”
I elbow her in the ribcage. “Okay, got it. I’ll leave you two alone. I’ll see you tomorrow,” she says and waves, giving me a thumbs-up as she passes Aaron.
“I have somewhere to be,” I say.
Hannah is already twenty steps ahead of me, and I can’t use her as an excuse to ditch Aaron. I stop walking and come toe-to-toe with him. “Listen, it’s over. It’s been over. There’s nothing between us anymore.”
“I don’t care about us. I mean, I do, Maddy, but we make a great team.”
I swear if he says another word, I’m going to slug him. “You need to leave.” I hurry past him, wanting to slip away.
I’m relieved when I spot Mikhail’s vehicle parked by the entrance. I hurry away from Aaron, and I glance into the dark windows to make sure that I’m not opening the wrong vehicle’s door and going with a stranger.
Although Mikhail technically is a stranger, he’s also my mark. And this is my job, making him trust me.
Besides, I’d rather get into Mikhail’s vehicle than Aaron’s right now. Not that I think Aaron would hurt me physically, but he’s stupid enough to get me killed.
Hopefully, Mikhail didn’t notice Aaron, but at least he wasn’t in his FBI attire—no suave suit to go with his audacious personality.
Mikhail and I make small talk about my shitty car and how I need a new vehicle. Yeah, with what money? Maybe he’ll offer me a position and let me get closer to him. Not that I’m looking to sleep with the man. I’ve made that mistake once before with Moore.
I may not have been undercover with Moore, but both men exude power in a way that I felt highly arousing.
I have to tread carefully.
When Mikhail pulls up at my house, I smile sheepishly. The rental property is barely the size of his bedroom.
“Thanks for the ride,” I say and pull my bottom lip between my teeth. I’m playing it coy, trying the shy approach. If I seem forceful, overbearing, or aggressive, I could easily push him away.
“It was my pleasure, but do you mind if I come inside? I need to use the bathroom,” he says.
It’s an excuse. We’re not ten minutes from his house, and I doubt he has to pee that bad, but I take the bait.
I need the chance to connect further with him without it seeming like it’s my idea. “Sure,” I say.
He turns off the vehicle in my gravel driveway.
We step out, and I pull my keys from my purse, heading up the wooden porch stairs. They’re creaky and old. They could use a new paint job. The porch is blue gray, along with the stairs.
I unlock the front door and hold it open for Mikhail. “Careful with the storm door—” I say, but before I can finish my thought, he lets it go as he enters, and it slams shut.
He glances over his shoulder at the door and mutters something under his breath.
“What’s that?” I ask, stepping farther inside and slipping out of my shoes and coat. I flip the lights on inside the house and close the curtains since it’s dark outside. No sense in letting the neighbors see inside my house.
There are two hidden cameras in case anything happens while Mikhail is in my home, but I don’t suspect he’ll do anything stupid. One camera is in the living room, the other in the bedroom.
So much for privacy.
“You need to have your stairs repaired and door fixed,” he says. He glances around the house, taking all of it in.
“I left a message with the landlord, but I’m still waiting to hear back.” I close the wooden door behind him and secure the lock.
“Typical.”
“The bathroom is this way,” I say, leading him down the hallway. I open the bathroom door and flip on the light.
“Thank you,” he says.
He steps inside and shuts the door. I hear the latch click and saunter off into the kitchen to figure out what to make for dinner.
Should I invite him to stay over—for dinner? He’s gone out of his way to give me a ride, let me stay at his place. It’s strange to think that he’s this big bad guy the FBI has made him out to be.
Could they be wrong?
Doubtful.
He probably is terrifying and a murderer, but he hasn’t let me see that side of him. I open the pantry and shove the flash drive that I stole inside a box of cereal and out of sight. I’m still shocked and pleased that I was able to get it out of his house without him noticing.
I grab a pot and pan from the bottom cabinet. I’ve learned where everything is located so that it doesn’t seem suspicious. The last thing I want is for it to look like I’m unfamiliar with my own house.
I put on a pot of water to boil noodles and grab several ingredients from the fridge to make a sauce for pasta.
The bathroom door clicks, and there are heavy footsteps against the floor. He’s not the least bit silent on his approach.
I add some olive oil to the saucepan, waiting for it to heat up as I add some fresh garlic. “Do you want to stay for dinner?” I ask, glancing at him over my shoulder. I reach for the wooden spoon, mixing up the garlic to not burn on the stove.
His eyes are narrow and tight, fixated on me. I can’t tell if it’s a good or bad thing. “Who doesn’t have any prescriptions in their medicine cabinet?”
I spin around to face him. He’s just inches from me, towering above, demanding answers.
I point the wooden spoon in my hand at him. “Why are you snooping?” I accuse, turning the tables on him. Most people who snoop through a medicine cabinet don’t start asking questions when they step out of the bathroom.
He grabs the spoon from me as if I were using it as a weapon and puts it down on the countertop, out of my immediate reach.
“I like to know who I associate with,” Mikhail says. He’s pinning me with his stare.
I lean up onto my tiptoes and grab him by his tie, pulling him down, crashing my lips against his, silencing him. If we’re kissing, he can’t ask any more questions.
“What are you doing?” he growls, pulling back, ending the kiss.
My lips tingle as I stare up into his darkened gaze. “You want to know who you associate with? Then get to know every inch of me,” I say, challenging him to continue, to momentarily forget his question and focus on me.
I pull back slightly, still within his reach, as I yank my shirt up over my head and let it hit the floor.
I swear I hear another growl, this one much more guttural from the back of his throat. His eyes are black, his irises nearly impossible to distinguish from his pupils.
He stalks closer, his cold hands caress my bare skin, and I shudder in response. I don’t have to fake being attracted to him. There’s passion and power, a pleasure that sizzles through me.
The only room where there isn’t a camera is the kitchen. I turn off both burners on the stove, not wanting to set the house ablaze.
His lips are on mine and fall to my neck, sucking and nibbling, tasting my skin. I push my pants down past my hips, letting them fall to the floor, toeing them off and away.
It’s not like he hasn’t seen me naked before, but this is different. This feels different. The last time I wasn’t in charge, I didn’t have a say in stripping down for him.
He loosens his tie and throws it on the floor with my clothes. His suit coat glides off, and he’s undoing the buttons on his dress shirt when I tug the bottom of his shirt from his pants, my hands moving up his chest, touching his skin.
He’s warm, and his muscles flex beneath my touch.