Page 49 of Reaper's Desire

"What I want doesn't matter," I say finally, forcing the words out through clenched teeth. "What matters is keeping you alive."

She closes the remaining distance between us, and suddenly she's right there, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from her skin. "Julian, I'm not asking you for promises or commitments or anything beyond this moment. I'm just asking you to stop lying. To yourself and to me. Why are you acting like this?"

I can feel my teeth grinding together. With effort, I take several steps back, putting distance between us once again. It feels like a dance, a push and pull that's tearing something out of me every time, like she's set hooks in me and I can't get them out.

But saving her is probably going to doom me anyway, so what does it matter?

"The answer is no," I say flatly. "Enough, Isabelle. Go to bed."

The hurt that flashes across her face is like a knife to the gut. But she doesn't cry. She just stands there, her eyes locked on mine. "You're a coward," she says quietly.

I laugh at that. That's one thing no one has ever accused me of before. "Sure. Think whatever you want, if that helps you get some sleep. You're going to need it."

Her eyes flash angrily. "You're so afraid of feeling something real that you'd rather torture yourself—torture both of us—than admit you want me."

I let out a sharp breath. "Isabelle, what happened in Ibiza was meant to be one night that turned into two. You don't know me. And if you did, you'd probably hate me. Hell, you might hate me now. That's fine. Just let me do what I need to in order to keep you alive."

She stares at me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she shakes her head slowly. "I don't hate you. But I don't understand you either."

"Good. Keep it that way."

She turns away from me then, moving back to her bed and sliding under the covers. She doesn't look at me again or say goodnight, just lies there with her back to me and her body rigid with tension. I move to my own bed and lie down, staring at the ceiling in the darkness.

The distance between our beds is maybe six feet. It might as well be miles. All I know is that I want her. That I can't have her.

And that the space between is slowly tearing me apart.

13

JULIAN

The message comes through to my encrypted app early in the morning, from Maddox.Calling you on the burner. Answer NOW.

My gut tightens instantly. I've been awake for a while already, working on my laptop next to the window while Isabelle lightly snores across the room. I've been trying to predict where the next threat might come from, and all the scenarios I've run through seem to end badly.

I've also been trying to find where this goddamn contract has come from, and I'm coming up blank on that, too. I can't remember the last time I was this frustrated. No one seems able or willing to track how the contract might have come to the Capetti family, and I can't lock down where the next attack might hit, either.

All I feel fucking good for is killing, right now. And I can't even do that right, anymore.

I answer when the burner phone buzzes, glancing once more at Isabelle before stepping out quietly into the hall. My stomach is churning—I know this can't be good.

"Julian." His voice is flat. "We need to discuss your situation."

My hand tightens on the phone. "What situation?"

"Don't insult my intelligence. You know exactly what situation." Maddox pauses. "The Montague contract. The one you accepted andfailedto complete."

Failed. The word hangs in the air like a guillotine blade.

"I'm working on it," I say, keeping my voice level. "The target is proving more difficult to isolate than anticipated."

"The target is sleeping in the next room." Maddox's voice doesn't change, but my stomach drops like a rock. "You've been traveling with her for over a week. You've had countless opportunities to complete the contract. And yet she's still breathing."

My jaw tightens. "Are you watching me, Maddox?"

"No," he says flatly. "But your current employers are. And they passed the information along to me, so I could let you know that they're fuckingpissed, Julian."

The words settle over me like ice water. The mafia knows I've been protecting their target instead of killing her. Which means my reputation is destroyed. My credibility as an assassin who always completes the job—the thing that's kept me alive and employed for fifteen years—is gone.