Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80660 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80660 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
And then it hit him. It was his knife. Angel had found where he stashed the knife between the towels in the bathroom.
“I-I didn’t mean…I was just picking up your clothes,” he stammered, trying to pull his thoughts together, but it kept stumbling over one repeating question: Who the fuck is Angel?
“Maybe,” Angel murmured. His eyes were on the blade in his hands, but Soren’s instincts told him that Angel was completely aware of him and what he was doing. “Why don’t you put the gun on the bed and take a step away from it?”
Soren nearly threw the gun on the bed and took several steps backward. “What the fuck?” he snapped. Horror was finally giving way to anger. It might not be a smart move, but it at least gave him a better sense of control. “Why did you bring a gun to dinner?”
Shit. He hadn’t meant to ask that. He really didn’t want to know.
Luckily, Angel ignored him.
“Do you know who I am?”
“Not beyond what you’ve told me.”
“Did you come looking for me?”
“No!”
“Really? Quite the coincidence that we should see each other at Gabor’s party, and then you just happen to be in Paris. And then you go out of your way to find me today.”
“Wait a damn minute!” Soren snarled. “You found me here first. Sure, I was hoping to run into you today, but I didn’t search the fucking streets for you. How the hell do I know that you didn’t go looking for me?”
Angel’s cold eyes snapped up to his face, but his expression was completely unreadable. It was hard to believe this was the same person who’d made him laugh, who’d cuddled him so sweetly a minute ago. Sure, they both had their secrets, but he hadn’t been expecting something like this. Some part of his brain had been leaning toward some kind of upscale rent boy.
“Should I be looking for you?”
“No! Just—no, forget I said anything.” Soren shoved one hand through his disheveled hair and silently swore at himself. This was what he got for getting greedy, but then, he’d never run across a shiny, rare item quite like Angel. Of course he’d gotten greedy.
Angel pushed off from the doorjamb and took a couple of steps into the room. Soren took a step backward, stopping when his calf bumped a cushioned chair.
“My suggestion is that you go clean up in the bathroom. When you come out, I’ll be gone. From this moment on, we forget about each other.”
“Yes. I’m leaving Paris tomorrow.”
Angel nodded once. “Smart. And if you do return, it would be smart not to look for me again.”
“I won’t.” As much as it hurt to think it, he was already hoping that they never ran into each other again. There was an unsettling coldness to Angel. Something in his posture, the alertness in his eyes while appearing to be completely relaxed. He didn’t just carry a gun, but he was comfortable using it. As comfortable as he appeared to be holding Soren’s knife.
Angel took a step toward the bed and motioned with one hand that Soren was free to escape into the bathroom. He didn’t hesitate another second. He lurched forward, but Angel’s voice caught him before he could pass by him.
“Soren?”
He looked at Angel to find him staring down. Following his gaze, he was surprised to find that Angel was holding his knife out to him, hilt first. He was returning it.
With heart hammering in his chest, Soren very carefully reached out and wrapped his long fingers around the slender hilt.
“I really did have fun with you.”
“Yeah, me too,” Soren replied in a low, gruff voice. He couldn’t escape into the bathroom quickly enough.
This was why he’d chosen the line of work that he had. Maybe it hadn’t started out feeling like much of a choice, but it had been a choice. It meant he didn’t have to deal with cold, dangerous types like the man who was currently in his hotel room.
He placed the knife on the counter and stood gripping the edge of the marble, his head hung while he waited for his heart to slow. What the fuck kind of bullet had he dodged? Who was Angel? Some kind of mob enforcer or middleman? He had to be a member of organized crime in some way.
How was that even possible? It was like he’d met an entirely different person. The cold creature who’d caught him with the gun had felt like a ruthless, calculating killer. That was not the same person who’d hit on him at the bar, sucked his cock, fucked his brains out, and laughed over dinner with him. That was all someone different. It had to be.
He didn’t know how long he stood there, trying to wrap his head around the past twenty-four hours, let alone the past twenty minutes, but it felt as though he didn’t actually take a deep breath until he heard the outer door to the hotel room open and close.