Page 96 of Reaper's Desire

He holds me for another long moment, and I let myself cry. I cry for everything that's happened, everything I've survived, forthe weeks of terror and running and barely staying alive. I cry for the betrayal and the lies and the impossible situation Julian and I found ourselves in.

And I cry because my father is here, holding me, showing me the love that's been buried under years of distance.

When we finally pull apart, my father turns to Julian. "Thank you," he says simply. "Thank you for saving my daughter's life. For protecting her when I failed to do so."

Julian nods, his expression carefully neutral. "It was the right thing to do."

"I'd like to offer you compensation. Money, resources, whatever you need?—"

"I don't want your money," Julian says quietly.

"Then what do you want?"

Julian's eyes find mine, and something passes between us. "I just want her to be safe," he says.

My father nods slowly, and I can see the understanding dawning in his expression, that Julian's feelings run deeper than duty or obligation. "I need to go," he says, turning back to me. "I have to deal with the fallout from this. The divorce. The legal proceedings. And… the cleanup." He gestures at the destroyed apartment, the dead assassin still lying near the window. "I'll handle all of it. You don't need to worry about any of it."

"Dad—"

"Go," he says gently. "Get some rest. I'll call you tomorrow."

I stand in the middle of the living room, surrounded by shattered glass, and try to process everything that just happened. It's over. It's really, truly over.

I should feel relieved, like I can finally breathe.

But all I feel is exhausted.

I'm reaching for my coat when Julian speaks. "Isabelle."

Something in his voice makes me pause and turn to look at him. He's standing in the doorway, his hands shoved in hispockets, his expression more vulnerable than I've ever seen it. The assassin is gone. The lethal protector who's kept me alive for weeks is gone. This is just Julian.

"I need to tell you something," he says.

My heart starts pounding. "Okay."

He takes a breath, and I can see him gathering his courage—this man who's faced down assassins and mafia enforcers and death itself, gathering courage to speak to me.

"I have feelings for you," he says. The words come out rough, like they're being dragged from somewhere deep inside him. "Deep feelings. Real feelings. The kind I've never had for anyone else."

I open my mouth, but he holds up a hand.

"Let me finish. Please." He takes another breath. "I understand if you don't want me. I understand if what I did—accepting that contract, lying to you, all of it—is too much to forgive. I understand if you can't trust me, can't see past what I am and what I was hired to do."

"Julian—"

"But I need you to know." His eyes lock on mine. "You're the only woman I've ever felt this way about. The only person who's ever made me want something more than the life I've been living."

He moves closer, and I can see the emotion written across his face. "I'm not telling you this because I want sympathy," he says quietly. "Or because I'm using it as an excuse for the life I've lived. But I didn't start out wanting this life. I went into the military because that was what kids in my neighborhood did when they weren't sure what else to do with their lives. And then I turned out to be a good shot, and tested well, and I ended up in special forces."

"Julian, you don't have to?—"

He holds up a hand. "I started taking contracts because my mother was sick. It paid good money, and the medical bills were astronomical. I didn't want them to take her house, the only thing that had ever been hers, where she raised me, and…" He draws in a breath. "But she died anyway. By then, the one relationship I'd ever had was long gone, teenage love that didn't make it past boot camp. And I was good at killing. My heart felt empty, dead right along with my mom, so I figured, why not? Why not keep being what they decided was what I was good at?

"I've spent my entire adult life as the Grim Reaper," he continues. "As a killer, someone without connections or attachments or anything that could be used against me. I've been alone by choice because that's what kept me alive, and because I didn't want to lose anyone again.

"And then you crashed into my life in Ibiza," he says, his voice dropping. "And everything changed. I was supposed to kill you. That was the job. That was what I was hired to do. But I couldn't. I looked at you and I just... couldn't."

I can feel tears starting to blur my vision.