How the Hitman Stole Christmas - Sam Mariano Page 0,38

credit, even if he deserves it.

Sensing my confusion, Jasper casually reaches over, grabs me around the back of the neck, and pulls me into him so he can kiss my forehead.

“Don’t bother,” he murmurs, pressing his lips to my skin.

I look up at him uncertainly when he pulls back, but I let it go for the moment.

The spotlight falls away from me, anyway. As soon as his mother finishes her greetings, she walks back to the kitchen.

Her absence instantly dissolves most of the tension in the air, though a trace of awkwardness remains.

Jasper talks to his sister and her boyfriend, catching up a bit. I have no place in the conversation, but I don’t feel left out like I did at Brady’s when his family excluded me. Here, it feels natural—I’m just not relevant to this particular conversation. There, it felt deliberate—I wasn’t worth including in any of their conversations.

Maybe it’s because Jasper never brings women home, so my presence here leads them to conclude we’re serious. Brady brought home different girlfriends every year, so I guess there was no reason for his family to think I was anything special.

While they chat amongst themselves, I take the opportunity to look around.

We haven’t moved from the foyer yet, but it’s a mostly open floorplan. There’s a great room ahead of us, a dining area to our right. Behind the table is a window that faces the road. Like the beautiful house we passed on the way here, Jasper’s mom chose to put a Christmas tree there.

The tree is thinner than I imagined for such a big house, but beautiful nonetheless, all decked out with gold ornaments and white lights. There’s a red and gold tree skirt beneath it, but no presents under the tree.

The house looks professionally decorated, but not lived in. From outside, I thought it was a rambler ranch house, but now that we’re inside, I can see a set of stairs to a lower level off to the left.

Jasper’s mom comes back from the kitchen with a plate full of cookies. She seems very proud of herself for baking. Nora is indulgent and fusses over her, but Jasper doesn’t say a word. He was plenty talkative when it was just Nora and Tarek, but as soon as his mom came back in, his words went away.

I can feel tension in his body, too. With my arm wrapped around him, it’s easy to reach up and almost absently rub his back to try to ease some of that tension out of his muscles.

I don’t think anything of it. He’s stressed, and it feels like a natural thing to do. The whole point of my being here was that Jasper didn’t want to come alone, so I might as well offer support in whatever way I can.

Instead of paying attention to every little word they say, I pay attention to the feeling of Jasper’s muscular back beneath my fingertips.

Touching him again reminds me of last night at the motel. Trapped beneath him on the bed with only the flimsy cover of a cheap towel—which he took away, leaving me with nothing.

He wasn’t content to strip away all my clothes, either. He wanted to strip away even more. I could feel it in the way he held me suspended off the bed, reliant on him in a way that… didn’t entirely make sense, but strangely felt so good. It was like a release, giving myself over to him.

I still don’t understand the way my body responded to him. I was genuinely afraid, and he’s not just a stranger, but a dangerous one. I may not know all the details, but I’ve gleaned enough to know that.

A dangerous stranger holding me captive, stripping me naked and demanding my trust shouldn’t be able to turn me on.

But oh, how it did.

I was putty in his hands. At least before he told me he wasn’t planning to kill me I could fool myself that I was fighting for my life and willing to use any tool in my belt, but now… I don’t have that excuse anymore, and I still find myself titillated by the prospect of being alone with him again tonight.

Nothing can happen between us, though. It would be too twisted, and I know I would end up getting hurt.

Yes, I find Jasper extremely attractive, but I’m no slave to my baser urges.

I’m his fake girlfriend, not his real one, and I know myself well enough to know that if I sleep