Page 98 of Reaper's Desire

Ibiza.

We're back.

Six months have passed since Vivienne made the call that ended the contract, and Julian and I walked out of that wreckage and into something new.

It hasn't been easy. There were nights when I woke up screaming, convinced an assassin was breaking through the door. Days when Julian disappeared into himself, haunted by the things he's done, convinced we could never make it work. Moments when we fought so hard, I thought we might break apart completely.

But we didn't. And now we're here, standing on the tarmac in Ibiza with our bags and our impossible love story, ready to return to the place where it all began.

"You okay?" Julian asks, his hand warm in mine.

I open my eyes and look at him. He's wearing sunglasses and a white linen shirt with the sleeves rolled up, looking like somekind of impossibly handsome movie star. The Mediterranean sun loves him, catching in his dark hair and making his skin glow. When he smiles at me, I feel my heart do that stupid fluttering thing it's been doing since the night we met.

"I'm perfect," I tell him.

We collect our bags and make our way through the small airport, past tourists in bright colors and locals who barely glance our way. No one knows who we are here. No one knows what we've survived. We're just another couple on vacation, holding hands and laughing as we step out into the warm afternoon.

The villa Julian rented is on the northern coast, tucked away from the main tourist areas but close enough to the clubs and beaches that we can still feel the pulse of the island. It's beautiful—white stone and blue shutters, with a terrace that overlooks the sea and a pool that glitters like a jewel in the sunlight. "This is incredible," I breathe as we step inside.

Julian sets our bags down and pulls me against him, his arms wrapping around my waist from behind. "I wanted it to be special," he murmurs against my neck. "This place means something to us."

I lean back into him, feeling the solid warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart against my spine. "It's where we met."

"It's where everything started." His lips brush my shoulder. "I thought we should come back. See it differently this time."

"Without you planning to kill me?"

"That's the plan."

I turn in his arms and kiss him, slow and deep, tasting the smile on his lips. When we pull apart, I'm breathless and grinning like an idiot. "So what's the plan for tonight?" I ask.

His eyes darken, and it makes my stomach flip. "I thought we could go dancing." He traces his thumb along my jaw. "I want to take you there. I want everyone to know you're mine."

The possessiveness in his voice sends heat pooling low in my belly. Six months together, and he still makes me feel like this.

"Then let's go dancing," I whisper against his mouth.

—

The club is everything I remember and more.

The music is loud enough to feel in my chest, the bass thrumming through the floor and into my bones. Bodies move together on the dance floor, a mass of beautiful people losing themselves in the rhythm and the heat and the anonymity of the night.

But I'm not anonymous anymore. I'm here with Julian, his hand warm and possessive on my lower back as we move through the crowd. I'm wearing a short black dress I bought specifically for tonight, cut low enough that his eyes went dark when I walked out of the bedroom. My hair is loose and wild, my makeup dramatic, and when I catch our reflection in one of the mirrored walls, I barely recognize myself.

I look happy. I look free.

"Dance with me," Julian says, pulling me toward the floor.

We move into the crowd, and suddenly we're surrounded by bodies and music and heat. Julian's hands find my waist, pulling me close, and I wrap my arms around his neck as we start to move together.

It's different from that first night. Then, we were strangers. Two people colliding in the dark, drawn together by chemistry and alcohol and the reckless desire to lose ourselves in someone we'd never see again.

Now, we're something else entirely. Now, when he looks at me, I see love. Now, when his hands slide lower, gripping my hips and pulling me flush against him, I don't wonder if I'll ever see him again. I know I will. I know he's mine, just as surely as I'm his.

"I love you," I tell him, leaning in to be heard over the music.

His eyes flash, and he pulls me closer. "I love you too."