Page 32 of A Shot at Love
He had to keep her safe, avenge his agents, find Ritandi, and put him away for the rest of his natural life.
That was the objective. He needed to remember it.
When his body finally turned numb from the cold water, his erection now a memory, he shut the shower off, towel dried and dressed. He glanced at himself in the bedroom mirror and resolved to clamp down on the unexpected tightening in his system whenever he was near her. He could do it. Like YiaYia was fond of telling him, he had the blood of his warrior ancestors flowing through him with a matching will of iron.
From the staircase he heard the sound of voices drifting up. Jon said something he couldn’t make out, and then Gemma’s laughter rang through the hallway.
In that instant, Ky knew no matter whose blood flowed through his veins, it couldn’t stop the yearning coursing through them for this one, beautiful, stubborn woman.
Her laughter died the moment he walked into the room, but for a brief, small second, he’d seen her face before the internal shade came down over it. Eyes the color of cobalt crystals were moist with mirth, her cheeks plumped by the rise of her lips. Happy. She’d looked genuinely happy.
Ky wanted to see her that way again, and by something he’d done or said, not his partner.
“Did you leave me any hot water,” Jon asked. He filled a coffee mug and held it out to his partner.
“Plenty.” Ky crossed to the refrigerator. From its depths he removed a carton of eggs, milk, and bread, then reached up into a cabinet and found cinnamon and sugar.
“French toast?” Jon asked.
Ky nodded.
“I hope you’re hungry,” Jon addressed Gemma, “because Papps makes the best French toast this side of, well, France.”
Her lips lifted. When she turned to him, he thought a challenge drifted in her gaze as she fiddled with the buttons on the ever-present camera slung around her neck.
“Mine has been known to bring grown men to their knees,” she told him, her head cocked at a jaunty angle, her hair swishing across her cheeks, “so yours better be good.”
While he whisked the ingredients together he tossed her a quick glance over his shoulder and said, “I’ve never had any complaints.”
“Hey,” Jon said, his attention bouncing between them, “why don’t you two have a cook-off? See whose is better?”
“Why do I get the feeling you’re suggesting that just so you can eat more?” Gemma asked him, then grinned when his hand flew to his chest.
“Woman, you wound me. Again.”
“Deny she’s wrong.” Ky dipped a few slices of bread into the bowl, then placed them on the now-sizzling griddle.
He looked over at his partner when they were settled to his satisfaction and screamed, “Down!”
He grabbed Gemma and dragged her off the chair and under the table.
Just as she yelled, What the—, an explosion detonated the coffeemaker, hot liquid spurting and raining down all around them.
“Stay down!” Ky ordered, one hand restraining her, the other holding his gun, cocked and ready. He’d positioned his body as a shield over hers.
A spray of rapid and unending gunfire blasted through the kitchen, destroying everything it hit. Ky felt a scorching stab on his back as the skillet was struck, the oil spurting from the implosion.
“Shit!” Jon crouched next to them, his own gun drawn.
“Perimeter breach,” Ky told him, keeping his body over Gemma.
A slight pause in the hail of bullets was enough for them to reach up and return fire. They discharged their weapons in a swift series of blasts.
The kitchen window was shattered, blown from its frame, but Ky was able to get a good view through it.
“How many?” Jon yelled.
“At least two,” Ky told him, crouching back down. “Front lawn and moving.”
Jon nodded. His eyes did a quick dance from Gemma back to his partner. “Cover me.”
Ky nodded. Jon mouthed, “three…two…one,” and then jumped up, sprinting.
At the same time, Ky sprang up and fired three shots in swift succession, giving his partner enough time to bolt from the room, his own weapon primed. Several shots and then a scream shattered the air.
Gemma squatted under the table, her hands covering her ears.
