After Happily Ever Afte- Astrid Ohletz Page 0,26

her smooth, flawless legs, all the way up to her white panties. Requiem frowned as she gazed at the ample skin on display. Her heartbeat lifted again, but this time it was not just arousal heightening her senses.

No scars. At all. No wounds, nicks, or cuts.

Who the hell was this woman who seemed to have underworld connections and yet skin this flawless?

“You’re just an amateur,” she said with a dismissive glance. “Playing with fire. What do you know about satisfying me? How could you know? Who have you been talking to?”

“There are stories—more like legends, now—that float around Melbourne, of a female assassin, lethal and sleek as a panther. A predator who hunted, fucked any woman who crossed her, and loved the darkness. Lived it, breathed it. Killed in it.”

“Sounds like a tall tale to me.”

“Is that so? Shall we test that?” The woman shrugged her robe off her shoulders, dropping it to the floor, fully revealing her sheer white bra. Dark, plump nipples were clearly outlined, erect, straining beneath the silk. “Your needs would be fully catered to, of course. They would be part of the remuneration package. And if I don’t meet your requirements, well, we have other women who’d greatly enjoy taking my place.”

Requiem studied her, fighting her arousal. She could all too easily imagine having the woman spread before her, crying out for a release that Requiem would take enormous delight in denying her. She should be denied—for her presumption in thinking she set the terms. For presuming she could have any place at Requiem’s table.

“You think I need that?” Requiem reached for her boots to hide the tremble in her fingers at the intoxicating thought. The scent of arousal was in the air, and she was only too well aware it was her own. She hardened her voice in irritation at her own weakness. “How little you know me.”

The woman laughed. “You’re only human, Requiem. So, back to my offer: Kills, thrills, and unmarked bills. And a pretty perk or two. No one would ever know. Discretion would be absolute in all matters.” Her fingers dropped to her own breast and slid across the hard nipple, then slipped her breast out from her bra. It was as smooth, plump, and as perfect and alluring as the rest of her. Her eyes dared Requiem to be interested. Dared her to be tempted. Dared. Her.

So presumptuous.

But she was right about one thing—she had been restless lately. She’d never acted on it, but neither had an offer been so tempting. It would be so easy. It wasn’t as though Alison would ever know. Requiem could take this job and, while she was at it, take this smug, alluring creature, and make her understand the terrible error she had made in trying to play her. Requiem’s smile felt more like a snarl.

It wouldn’t even be cheating—it wasn’t sexual in the least. It was all about power. It was always about power. She was Requiem, damn it. Requiem. Once Australia’s most feared assassin. She shouldn’t have to check herself like some little housewife. Wildness burned inside her, like an animal straining to be let off its leash. Of late, her pulse often quickened at the thought of being out there, being all that Requiem was. The darkness was still there. You couldn’t turn that off with a pretty penthouse apartment, a classy job, and a sweet woman.

Alison’s face floated into mind, fresh-faced, eager, loyal. Loving.

Her lips thinned.

The other woman seemed to sense her hesitation and swayed closer. “It’s been three years, Requiem,” she said, her voice low and sultry. “Three years of being tied down, playing the meek cellist. And let’s not forget you’re now being trailed around by that little groupie. You must be tired of both by now.”

Requiem froze at the mention of her lover, her breathing compressing into a faint sliver of exhalation. Alarm and rage coursed through her in equal measure.

Had this creature worked out who Alison really was? Who she’d been in Melbourne?

She frowned. They’d known her by a different first name professionally back home. A name she hadn’t been interested in reclaiming when she moved here. So how could she have been recognised a world away?

Requiem thought furiously. Since settling into Vienna, Alison had changed her clothing style to sleeker, darker European fashions, and her hair had gone from a messy, brunette ponytail to an auburn pixie cut. Alison’s own sister hadn’t recognised her at first at the airport during their last reunion. So