Unravelling The Hitman: A BWWM Romance Page 7

  “Out there.” I pointed to the hall.

  “On the balcony?” Humphries grimaced.

  “I was thinking the couch, but you can have the balcony if you prefer.” I strode ahead and stopped at the guest room. “Angel, you may sleep in here.”

  “Let me get this straight. You want me to sleep in the couch? Why can’t I sleep in the guest room too?”

  I drilled Humphries with a hard stare.

  He whimpered and hid behind Angel. “I’ve got a bad back.”

  “Fine. If you’d like, Angel can sleep with me.”

  Her expression lit with horror and she whirled on Humphries, pushing him off. “Be a man and sleep on the couch. It’s just for one night.”

  I hid my smirk with a cough.

  “Nothing’s going my way today,” Humphries grumbled.

  Angel tossed her backpack strap over her shoulder. “Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight, Angel.” I gestured to my door. “My room is right across the hall. Feel free to knock.” If not for Humphries, I would have said more, but I left it there.

  “I’m good. This is great. I won’t need anything.” She threw her hands up and cracked her jaw with an exaggerated yawn. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Humphries jostled me aside and eagerly swooped toward her door. “Goodnight, Angel. Sweet”—the door slammed in his face—“dreams.”

  This time, I didn’t bother to hide my laughter.

  Humphries glared at me. “You got shot down too, brother.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Did you think you were slick with that”—he deepened his voice in a poor imitation—“’my room is right next door’ nonsense?”

  A lock clicked as if to punctuate the statement.

  We both turned and looked at Angel’s room.

  “See?” Humphries tilted his chin up proudly. “No one’s getting in tonight.”

  I smiled politely. “Let me show you where we keep the blankets.”

  Humphries strode beside me, humming beneath his breath. I stopped in front of the closet and surveyed the rows of neatly folded towels and sheets.

  “Have you heard of kyusho jitsu, Humphries?” I asked conversationally.

  “What?”

  “That’s Japanese. Means ‘Touch of Death’.” I chose a blanket and draped it over my arm. “It’s the belief that one perfectly placed blow can disrupt a human’s chi and kill him.”

  Humphries swallowed. His eyes, already an impressive size, bugged and took up half of his face. “I-I didn’t know that.”

  “Now you do.” I reached out.

  He flinched.

  I patted him on the shoulder and offered the blanket. “Have a good night.”

  Humphries wiped the sweat on his forehead and gave a trembling nod.

  I returned to my bedroom and cast a look at Reid who slept peacefully in his crib. Making a mental reminder to look for another bed with higher rails, I slipped into my own bed and stared at the ceiling.

  Darkness pressed around me.

  The wind moaned outside.

  Reid’s steady breathing became a rhythm of its own. I closed my eyes and saw the buck of my revolver.

  My eyes flew open.

  I twisted to the side to find a more comfortable position. Trying again, I closed my eyes. This time, I heard the thump of a lifeless body as it hit the ground. Over and over.

  I shot up, the blankets pooling around my lap. My fingers searched for the bottle of anxiety medication I kept on the nightstand. Then I paused, assessed the shaking fingers gripping the pills.

  If I started working my old job, I couldn’t afford to be hooked on these capsules. They’d mess with the accuracy of my aim. Not all hits could be up close and quick like it had been this time. There would be occasions where I used a long distance rifle. One shot. That’s all I’d have.

  Putting the pills back into the drawer, I returned to bed and rolled over on my back. Killing was a part of war, but knowing that never made it easier.

  Having Reid had turned me soft. Not just because he was a liability that my enemies could exploit. My child was the representation of humanity, of life, of hope.

  Because of Reid, I could sympathize with fathers.

  Which was a problem.

  So many of the lives I’d taken had created lives of their own. What would happen to their sons, their daughters?

  I gritted my teeth and sat up.

  Quiet. It was too quiet here.

  I slid out of bed and checked the monitor to make sure it was working properly. Twisting the camera so it had a better angle of Reid in case he woke up, I grabbed the monitor in one hand and headed outside.

  The lights were out in the living room, but I saw the impression of Humphries’ body as he conked out in the chair. His snores rattled the walls like a freight train speeding down a track.

  I shook my head and strode to the fridge for a beer. At the last minute, I swiped two. The voices in my head usually went quiet after one bottle, but I figured I’d need more than that to get them under control tonight.

  I pushed the sliding glass door aside with my foot and stepped on the balcony that offered a sweeping view of the Caribbean Sea. The water crashed against the sand, leaving foams that dissipated in the wind.

  I sank into my beach chair, sighing when the familiar creak echoed in the night.

  That’s better.

  I sat out there, drinking and killing time. Eventually, I heard a whirring sound. Wheels cruising against metal. The door. Someone had pushed it aside.

  The floor moaned as they stepped out into the night. A sweet scent wafted to my nose.

  My lips formed a crooked grin.

  My Angel had come.

  13

  Angel

  I tiptoed past Humphries, moving only when his loud snoring disguised my footsteps. The last thing I wanted to do was run into him or Deacon tonight.

  Carefully, I pulled the door to the balcony. The door was louder than I’d thought so, instead of yanking it all the way, I wiggled through the sliver of space I’d earned.

  The balcony was dark, but the stars twinkling in the sky revealed the rushing waves of the Caribbean Sea. The wind caressed my face and beckoned me forward.

  I took a step in obedience.

  “Ehem.”

  I froze and jumped around to find someone observing me. My heart dropped straight to my toes when I spotted those rugged shoulders and muscular arms.

  Deacon.

  He sat up. Despite the shadows, I felt his eyes on me. The invisible touch burned my skin. Goosebumps popped up wherever his appraisal landed.

  My initial impulse was to turn and run, but I held my ground. “I didn’t see you.”

  “If you had, would you have come?”

  Geez. This man was too direct for his own good. I sidestepped the question like it was diseased. “I hope you don’t mind. It’s hard for me to fall asleep in an unfamiliar bed. I figured I’d get some air. If I’m imposing—”

  “You’re not.”

  I bobbed my head, twisting my fingers. Butterflies were having a full-on brawl in my stomach. I was pretty sure Deacon could hear their fluttering wings over the sound of insects chirping.

  Or was that my heart that was beating so loudly?

  “Sit here,” Deacon said, starting to rise from his beach chair.

  “It’s okay.” I backed away from him and grabbed the hammock. “I’ll just use this.”

  “Suit yourself.” He eased back into the chair and studied me.

  I felt like a teenager again as I tried and failed to gracefully tame the hammock. It was wobbly and kept shaking as if it would toss me straight over the balcony.

  My cheeks flushed. I wanted to look elegant in front of Deacon. Why? That… didn’t matter. What mattered was the fact that I was failing.

  Big time.

  “Do you need my hel—?”

  “I’ve got it!” I squealed, holding a hand out to keep him in pla
ce.

  “Yes, ma’am.” He tipped a bottle of beer to his lips. I saw a smirk forming on his face and my arms grew even shakier. If I wasn’t so sure this thing was a hammock, I could be convinced it was a live bull.

  Like a bull, I had to straddle it just to remain seated.

  Great.

  So much for looking classy.

  “Want to celebrate?” Deacon asked when I’d finally tamed my hammock.

  “No thanks.” I let out a solid breath and threw a tendril of hair out of my face. “I don’t drink.”

  He accepted my answer with a shrug. “Okay then.”

  “That’s it?”

  “What?” He set the bottle down.

  “Most people usually gasp and act like I’m an alien when I say that.”

  “Why?”

  “Apparently everyone in their twenties should drink and sleep around or they’re not ‘normal’.”

  “No such thing as normal,” Deacon rumbled. “Some are just better at hiding their flaws, is all.”

  “Did you get that off a fortune cookie?”

  He chuckled and the rumble of it was like biting into a chocolate bar littered with tiny wafers. Crunchy, smooth, delicious.

  My toes curled. “What are your flaws, Deacon?”

  “If I remember correctly, it’s your turn to tell a secret.”

  “I live a very boring life. There’s nothing to tell.”

  “Then let me ask you a question.” He leaned forward and rested his forearms on his legs. “You and Humphries.”

  “There is no me and Humphries. We’re teachers at the same primary school. It’s purely professional.” I eyed him, wondering if the jealousy in his tone was real or imagined.

  Had Humphries said something stupid?

  And why did it matter to Deacon?

  Before I could voice my inquiries, he blinked. “You’re a teacher?”

  “You didn’t know?” I tilted my head. “I guess I haven’t mentioned yet. The reason we came to San Pedro was for an end-of-school-year teacher’s retreat.”

  “Let me guess. Preschool?”

  “Close. Infant Two. That’s a class for kids around six to seven years old.”

  “It’s like first grade.”

  “In the American system, that’s what they’d call it.” I bobbed my head. “Younger kids are, I mean, they’re a handful, but they’re a joy to be around. They see the world with so much hope, passion and creativity. Most people dread going to work, but I go just to be recharged.”

  “Sounds like you love what you do.”

  “It’s silly, but when I was little, I used to line up my teddy bears, put my mother’s glasses on my nose and teach my ‘classroom’. I’ve always wanted to teach.” Realizing I was talking too much about myself, I turned the tables on him. “What about you? Was it your dream to open a cigar shop?”

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “Not really. My dad used to smoke cigars to celebrate. Graduations, recitals, talent shows, weddings, it didn’t matter. The idea came because of him.”

  “He must have been a good man.”

  Deacon’s jaw turned hard and his eyes flashed. “He was a bum. Spent all Mom’s hard-earned money on cigars and women.” Deacon rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. “But he was my dad. Mom would rather thrash us to kingdom come than let us disrespect him.”

  “My mom’s like that too. Except my dad was the opposite of yours. I used to sit by the door everyday, waiting for him to come home from work. As soon as I heard his car in the driveway, I’d run outside and give him a big hug.” My voice cracked as the warm memories washed over me. “We used to play that old Nintendo game and he’d let me beat him just to make me smile. We went on Sunday drives after church. He taught me how to fly a kite, change a tire. He taught me how a man should treat me. That’s the kind of man he was.”

  Deacon frowned. “Is he… alive?”

  “He’s in the hospital. Cancer.”

  “Angel, I’m so sorry.” Deacon’s voice wavered. Three little knots formed between his brow. “I know what that’s like and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”

  “We’re working on paying for his chemo treatment, but it’s really expensive.” I sniffed. “That’s actually one of the reasons I couldn’t sleep tonight.” Swiping at a tear, I laughed self-consciously. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to talk about that.”

  “Don’t apologize for being honest, Angel. I’m not afraid of your tears.”

  His words unleashed the waterworks I’d been holding back. My tears burst forth like a gushing waterfall. “I love my dad so much,” I sobbed. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost him.”

  In a second, Deacon was out of his chair and at my feet. He knelt in front of me. A hand darted out, unsure.

  He wanted to touch me but didn’t want to infringe.

  “It’s okay.” He soothed, choosing to keep his distance.

  At that moment, the hammock decided to act up again. It bounced me forward, threatening to upend me into Deacon’s lap. I planted my feet on the ground and flailed around, desperately trying to hook my finger in the net.

  Deacon moved too, rising up and grabbing the top of the hammock so it went still. We paused, each catching our breath.

  My gaze slid up his body and I realized that I had no breath to catch.

  Awareness prickled up my spine.

  We were too close.

  His shoulders hovered near my cheek.

  If I lowered my head, I could bury my face in his chest.

  If I didn’t… if I stayed still and he turned…

  Deacon shifted and the movement brought his lips an inch away from my mouth. With his hands still on the hammock, he was bringing me forward, surrounding me, every inch of his body hovering, teasing, but not touching.

  My tears dried.

  I hiccupped.

  His lips twitched. “Are you okay?”

  “I… honestly don’t know how to answer that question.” My eyes dipped to his neck again. My lips tingled and the desire to press them against his skin almost overwhelmed me.

  I squeezed my eyes closed to erase the thought. My body was lit up like a Christmas tree and all he did was stand over me. I couldn’t imagine the chaos Deacon would unleash if I allowed myself to kiss any part of him.

  The night went still as we watched each other. I knew he could read the desire in my eyes just as I could read the desire in his.

  His heated gaze caressed my forehead, my nose, my lips as if he’d never seen them before. I imagined that this was what famous sculptures suffered, always admired but never touched.

  Emotions stirred in my chest like a witch’s brew. I was no sculpture. My flesh was real. My heart was thumping and I wanted to be touched.

  I wanted to be held.

  I wanted to be kissed.

  By Deacon.

  14

  Deacon

  Angel’s rising impatience did not go unnoticed. I saw her shuffling. Saw her delicate throat bobbing and her eyes darting from left to right. But I ignored the signs and took my time studying her.

  She was so incredibly beautiful.

  Sitting here before her, breathing her air, was a privilege that I didn’t take lightly.

  Her body warmed, shivered. That craving of hers, the proud toss of her head and the conflict in her brown eyes made my observation even sweeter. She hid nothing from me and yet she posed a mystery.

  What made her tick?

  What made her smile, laugh, and love?

  My fingers slipped against her brown skin. Her eyes melted closed and she leaned into my touch.

  Inside my chest, my heart flipped.

  The more I learned of her, the more convinced I became that I would ruin her life and she mine. Though there was no such thing as ‘normal’, Angel stood closer to the goal than I could ever hope to.

  We were too different.

  But I wanted her.

  And that yearning was stronger than my common sense.

 
15

  Angel

  Just when I thought that I’d have to return to my room, embarrassed and frustrated, Deacon moved.

  As the grasshoppers and toads sang their love songs, he brushed warm fingers down my arm, past my elbow, the underside of my wrist. Everywhere he touched left a path of fire hot enough to set the balmy, tropical night ablaze.

  The hammock swayed, but I didn’t care. I was already falling, helplessly, spiraling to an end more dangerous than the ground. My heart hammered, electrified by the torture.

  “Kiss me,” I growled.

  Begged.

  I begged him.

  My chest heaved. Those words had never been meant to live outside my head, outside the feelings rushing through my body. Now they were tangled in the stiff breeze. Control had shifted in Deacon’s favor.

  His eyes bore into my face. In the dimness, I saw his white teeth flash.

  Lord, I hated this man.

  “Like this?” He brought my wrist to his mouth and pressed a soft, sensual kiss to my skin. His nose grazed the heel of my palm. His eyes didn’t leave mine for a second.

  My ears rung.

  Alarm bells.

  I twisted around so I was no longer straddling the hammock, but sitting forward with my body leaning toward him.

  Not enough. I needed more.

  Deacon started to slip his hands away, but I snatched it before we disconnected. His gaze flickered to where my brown fingers curved over his wrist. He watched intently while I raised his hand to my mouth.

  Moving my lips over the pale skin, I pecked his wrist and then allowed the tip of my tongue to graze the surface. He sucked in a breath.

  My lips curved in victory. He wasn’t the only one allowed to tease. If we were drawing this out, I’d make him suffer just like I was.

  Deacon drew himself up, balancing on one knee like a knight about to be honored by his queen. His eyes dipped to my lips. He leaned close, drawing near with a look that shouted his intentions.

  Our breaths mingled. Despite the fact that he’d been drinking, I didn’t smell the beer on him. It struck me as strange and I leaned back to assess whether lust had made me nose-blind.