Moving Target (Target #3)(23)
“My parents sent me off to boarding school in England. Later, Konstantin hired English tutors to live with us and continue my education. He didn’t want my accent to disappear. It was beneficial to the organization if I could fit in no matter where I am. Apparently, I have a talent for accents and languages. Can’t spell worth a shite, though.”
I grin at him. “Spelling Bee champ, so if you ever need to spell stichomythia.”
“Ah, dramatic dialogue performed as performed in a Greek play.”
“Wow.” I blink at him. “You’re genius level. I don’t even remember what that word means, but I can spell the mythia right out of it.”
“How about you?”
“My mom and stepdad were good parents. I was basically a regular kid. Never really got into trouble and made sure I got good grades. I did like to make them proud, so I would—
Dima’s staring so intently at me that I stop. “I’m boring you.”
“No. I apologize for my lack of manners, but your face lit up when you talked about your family. Took my concentration away.”
“Don’t you mean your breath?”
He tilts his head to one side. “Both, but mainly my concentration. I am always planning my next move, thinking what can happen next… so for you to disrupt that. It is slightly disconcerting.”
“Why?”
Setting his coffee cup down, he moves to stand in front of me and wraps his muscular, tattooed arms around me. “Distractions are dangerous in my line of work.”
“Sometimes we need distractions. Sometimes they’re worth it.”
“Indeed.” His head dips and he touches his lips to mine. “Are you less scared, kitten?”
“I’m unsure of everything but standing here, with you holding me,” I say honestly. “This feels right. Safe.”
“I am not safe.”
“To me you are.”
That next day, we wake up early and start readying for our trip. This involves packing bags of ammunition, knives, ropes, and guns.
“Some girls wouldn’t appreciate these kind of supplies for an island vacation, but I hear that there are snakes. So thanks.”
He cuts his gaze to me. “Spiders.”
“I hate spiders.” Except on his arm. The tattoo of the spider on a spider web is pretty hot.
Cocking a gun, he tips up his chin and smiles. “Then I will teach you how to use this. You will be an expert by the time I’m done with you.”
As he puts the gun away, I move closer to him. “Is that all you want to teach me?”
He runs his thumb across my bottom lip. “Every position. Where to put your hands. Your mouth.”
“Can you teach me now?”
Picking me up, he places me on the table in the kitchen and pulls my panties down, leaving me in nothing but his t-shirt. “Lesson number one.” His fingers trail up my thigh and I sigh, spreading my legs wider. “I think you’ve had this lesson before.”
His knuckles grazes my sex and I tremble. “Only once or twice, but I need a refresher.”
Flipping me over, I land on my stomach as he hoists my hips into the air. I hear the rip of foil and the next thing I know, he’s sliding into me, hot and heavy.
“An assassin is always prepared,” he whispers into my ear and I smile, then moan as he begins to move.
I’m barely awake when Dima burst though the door and yanks me out of bed. “We have company.”
While I run to keep up with him, I glance down at my tank top and barely-there panties. “I’m not dressed to receive visitors.”
Shots ring out and Dima shoves me to the floor. I hit it hard, my knees and elbows smacking against the tile so hard that it echoes. Pain bursts in my body and tears pool in my eye, falling on my cheeks.
Crying out, I try to breath through the pain, but he covers my mouth with his hand.
“I know you hurt, love, but I need you to be quiet. They can track us by the noise we make,” he murmurs into my ear. “Move slowly but quickly and follow me.”
Slowly and quickly? What the hell does that mean? But then I watch him as he gets up, graceful as a cat. I copy him, edging closer and closer to the door while not making a sound.
He turns to me, one finger on his mouth and motions for me to move.
Two men burst inside. Two shots are fired and they both go down. Bile rises at the sight of their lifeless eyes and dead center hole in their foreheads.
“Run.” Dima grabs my hand and we run down the stairs. “There is a grotto at the bottom. Leads out into the harbor. We’ll use the small boat to—”
“To what?” I ask, panting as we arrive in a small room completely carved out of rock.
“It’s not here.” He shakes his head, disbelief apparent in his voice. “It was supposed to be delivered yesterday. Doesn’t matter.”
“It doesn’t? How will we get away, then?”
Above us, I can hear the stomp of boots and occasional shout punctuated by gun fire.
“Who in the world are they shooting at?”
“My house has safety measures. They’ve run into them,” he replies wryly.
“So we have time.” I look for an exit. “Which do we go?”
He nods at the clear blue water. “We will have to swim for my boat.”