Page 80 of Reaper's Desire

"It's too late, Julian."

He groans, still clutching me as he spurts onto the bed between my thighs, some of the heat of his cum splashing onto my skin as his cock jerks and twitches. "Isabelle?—"

The way he moans my name, it's like he's never moaned anyone else's. Like he never will again. Like he's mine, completely.

And maybe all that is true. He was supposed to take my life, but I'm going to take his. Not with my own hands… but because of me, he's going to die.

That might be some kind of karma. Some sort of justice. But truthfully, I don't know how I feel about any of it any longer.

All I know is that I can't give him any more of myself. And as the pleasure recedes, as he pulls back from me, gasping, I remember that I shouldn't even have done this.

When he turns away, I grab at my clothes, quickly covering myself. He tucks his softening dick away, and I wonder if he feels ashamed, if he regrets any of it.

I don't know if I regret it, but I do know we shouldn't keep doing this. If we even live long enough for the question to come up again.

I see his jaw work as he does up his jeans. "You let me fuck you again." His voice is low. "You have a terrible sense of self-preservation, Isabelle."

I swallow hard. "It's hot," I admit quietly. "That you're an assassin. That you're dangerous. That you could kill me, but you won't."

He looks over at me sharply as I stand up, turning to face me. "That's fucked up."

"I know." I reach up and trace my fingers over his jaw. "But it's true. I hate that you lied to me. I hate that you were hired to kill me. But I can't stop wanting you."

"Isabelle—" He lets out a sharp breath. "We'll talk about this later. We need to get out of here before Stanislav finds us."

I stare at him. "Who?"

"The assassin who…" He shakes his head. "It doesn't matter. But we need to go. But first…"

He pauses. "Isabelle… I've been trying to track down the source of this contract since we left Greece. I couldn't ask you too many questions without giving away who I was and what I was doing. But now…" His jaw tenses. "Do you have any idea who would want you dead?"

The question makes me pull back slightly. "What?"

"You heard me. Do you have enemies that you know of? Anyone who would pay money to have you killed? Does any of this make sense to you?"

I think about it. Try to imagine who would hate me enough to order my death. "I don't know," I say honestly. "I don't have enemies. Not that I know of anyway."

"Think." His hands move to my shoulders. "Anyone who's threatened you? Anyone who's shown unusual interest in you? Anyone who would benefit from your death?"

I shake my head slowly. "No. I mean, there are people who don't like me. People who think I'm spoiled or shallow or whatever. But no one who would want me murdered."

"What about your family?"

"My father?" I almost laugh. "No. He would never. He loves me."

"Anyone else?"

"I mean…" I pause. "My stepmother doesn't like me. She never has. But not enough to… tokillme. Or… have me killed, or whatever."

Julian just looks at me, his dark gaze steady. "Are you sure?"

21

JULIAN

The words hang in the air between us, and I latch onto the idea immediately, my mind already running through scenarios and possibilities. Isabelle is back to sitting on the edge of the bed, her shirt pulled back down over the bandaged wound on her ribs, her expression exhausted and wary. She mentioned Vivienne almost as an afterthought, a casual dismissal of the only person she knows who actually dislikes her.

But I don't believe in coincidences. Not in my line of work.