Maid for the Hitman: A Steamy Standalone Instalove Romance

by Flora Ferrari

  He bows and turns away, striding down the hallway.

  My woman spins to me, her mouth falling open.

  “I swear fate is playing some crazy games with us right now,” she says.

  “It is,” I say matter of fact.

  I hope it doesn’t turn on us, I think, but I don’t say. I can’t say it, not when she’s looking so bright and happy, letting herself release the anxiety of Vito and all that messiness.

  For a little while, I want us to just be a couple, Ryland and Rosie, nothing else.

  The time for defending her savagely, with bullets and brawn and teeth and blood, maybe that’ll come later.

  But all I care about right now is my woman, the future mother of my children.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Rosie

  As I walk through the imposingly large doorway, I remember what Ryland said to me.

  Wear the dress, he growled. But don’t wear any makeup. I want you fresh and young and beautiful.

  My body shivers as I walk into the fairytale dining hall. The walls are gold and tall, rising to a marble-effect ceiling with a domed chandelier in the middle, the light bulbs enclosed in glittering silver shades, casting icy light around the cavernous room.

  The table is long, at least twenty feet, and gorgeous landscape paintings are dotted all over the walls.

  Ryland stands at the far end of the table, his elbow resting on the back of the chair.

  His silver suit shifts against his muscled body as he walks around the table, his eyes locked on me, hunger creeping into his expression. His massive chest expands as he takes a rumbling breath. His manhood stiffens in his pants, bulging against the zipper.

  I swallow as his cologne washes over me, his sky-blues devouring me.

  The dress is silver with a frilly hem, cut just above my knees, with low cut cleavage. I’ve tied a silver bow around my thigh. I felt silly as I did that – he didn’t tell me where to place the bow – but now I can see I made the right decision.

  He bites down, his gaze moving over my legs, leaving a tingling trail wherever his attention touches.

  “Do you like it?” I murmur.

  “You look so sexy,” he growls. “But not just sexy. Beautiful, cute, adorable, vivacious. Before I met you, I didn’t know a woman could make me want to fuck her and hug her at the same time. Spin for me, Rosie.”

  My chest floats with the force of his words, and I spin, fueled by the words, hot pleasure moving through me when I gaze at his delight-flooded face.

  “Is this why we have such a big table?” I say, sudden confidence exploding inside of me. “So that you can resist throwing yourself at me?”

  “I’m not sitting at the far end,” he snarls. “I need to be near you. It’s so good to hear you talk like that, you beautiful thing.”

  “Talk how?” I murmur.

  “With confidence about your beauty,” he says passionately. “Because you are beautiful. You’re killing me. If you weren’t a virgin, I’d bend you over this table and claim that tight hole right now.”

  I let out a moan, betraying my need.

  Nervousness flairs beneath it all, a voice screaming at me, Don’t get too excited, don’t kiss him too hard, because you can’t go all the way. You’re not ready. You’ll embarrass yourself.

  It’s the same voice I’ve heard all my life, self-doubting and cruel, that little critic that lives deep inside of me.

  “Come on,” he rumbles, reaching over and touching my cheek softly. “Let’s sit. We need to take a look at the menus.”

  “The menus?” I giggle. “Talk about official.”

  He takes my hand and leads me to the table, pulling out a chair for me. I sit, shuffling forward as he helps me in.

  He walks around to the other side and slides sleekly into his chair, moving with so much grace for a lion his size and strength.

  He reaches into his inside pocket and takes out two folded-up menus, handing me one.

  I look down, smiling in delight when I see mom’s handwriting.

  “What are you thinking about?” my man asks.

  “How much I love mom’s handwriting,” I tell him. “She’d leave sticky notes dotted all over the kitchen for me when I got back from school. Need more paint. Dinner’s in the oven. Stuff like that.”

  “She and Harold made them,” Ryland says, looking closely at me. “That was the little request he mentioned. It’s okay to be sad if that’s how you feel.”

  I smile, laughing, but I can’t hide the despair laden in the noise.

  “You can read me that easily, huh?”

  “I can read you better than anybody,” he snarls. “We belong together. Of course, I can.”

  “She’ll be around to write me more notes, won’t she?” I whisper, a dormant sob flaring to life and making my voice tremble. “I can’t stand the idea…”

  He reaches over and rubs my back softly, with firm strength beneath each movement, sending soothing waves through me.

  I feel my body tingling at his touch, my heart telling me it’s all going to be okay as long as I have my man to support me.

  “She’ll get through,” he says.

  “You can’t know that,” I snap.

  He pushes harder against my shoulder, squeezing and massaging, sending soothing waves of strength and contentment through my body. I lean back against him, as though there’s some energy shivering between us.

  I can feel how badly he needs to protect me in his touch alone.

  How impossible should that be?

  “She will,” he growls. “You need to start letting me do some of your thinking, Miss Skeptical.”

  “I don’t think that nickname applies here,” I giggle, wiping tears from my cheek and sitting up.

  I need to be stronger. This is a date and I don’t want to ruin it.

  “It does,” he says, sitting back, but never taking his laser-focused eyes from me. “You want to question hope, the same way you questioned my feelings for you. But if you believe…”

  He smirks, shaking his head.

  “What?” I urge, darting my hand out to his without thinking.

  I squeeze onto him, staring at him until he looks back at me.

  “What, Ryland?” I say.

  “It’ll sound cheesy.”

  “I don’t care,” I tell him. “I want to hear it.”

  “Before I met you,” he says, “I stopped believing. The day we met—”

  “Yesterday, you mean?” I tease.

  He laughs gruffly. “Jesus Christ, that doesn’t feel real, does it?”

  I shake my head, smiling widely, my cheeks flooding with love-sent warmth.

  “Not even a little bit.”

  “I was thinking about it that morning,” he goes on. “How I didn’t believe I’d ever find the woman of my dreams. And then I found you. I don’t remember how I used to feel. I only remember how badly I need to protect you and my offspring.”

  “Ryland,” I whisper, fresh tears pricking my eyes. “You’re lucky I’m not wearing makeup.”

  “You’re sexier without it,” he growls, reaching over and pawing tears from my cheeks. “I can see how fertile you are, how desperate your body is to give me a child. You can feel it, can’t you?”

  “Yes,” I say, my body going tingly and tight, my lips shivering, everything within me screaming to take him, to let him claim me.

  Over, and over… and over again.

  “Shall we look at the menu?” he grins, sitting back.

  I mock-pout at him. “I can’t believe they had time to do this. Mom’s writing is never this neat. Is it crazy to think that means she approves of us?”

  “What has she said?” he asks.

  “That I have to know,” I say, imitating her voice and rolling my eyes slightly. “Her mom told her there was no such thing as a kind rich man.”

  “I’m not kind, Rosie,” he growls, sitting up straighter so it’s like his iron suit could tear to fragments any moment. “So get that notion
out of your head.”

  “But you’re loyal and you’d never hurt me,” I press.

  “That goes without saying,” he rumbles.

  “Ryland,” I murmur.

  He pauses, tilting his head at me the same way a hunting wildcat would if we crossed paths in a dense jungle.

  He studies me, his ice-blue eyes seeing everything.

  “You want to know how many men I’ve killed,” he says, voice husky and deep.

  I turn away under the intensity of his gaze.

  “Look at me, Rosie,” he commands.

  I tug my gaze back to him with an effort, my will smoldering under his captivated attention.

  “If you want to ask, ask,” he snarls.

  “Fine,” I say, my pulse shimmering through my body on anxiety-fueled wings. “How many men have you killed, Ryland?”

  “Over a dozen,” Ryland says matter of fact.

  I swallow, letting the force of the fact wash over me.

  The menu grows limp in my hand and flutters to the table.

  “For money?”

  “I was paid for all of them except one, yes,” he says, still staring at me, unflinching.

  “What happened with the other one?” I ask.

  “He tried raping a woman within my hearing,” he says. “It was a late night and I was cruising through this piece-of-shit street to meet a contact. It was warm and I had the window down, and I hear her screaming…”

  He grips the edge of the table, squeezing it so hard the wood creaks. His knuckles turn the color of bone.

  “It’s okay,” I tell him, keeping my voice steady. “It’s okay, Ryland.”

  “I go and investigate,” he goes on, in a low voice. “And this piece of shit was trying it right there. He had a knife. It was evil. I challenged him. He attacked me. He tore my forearm up pretty bad, but then I had him. I did what I had to do. It turns out he’d abused her for years—her and other women. I don’t regret ending his life.”

  “You don’t have to regret it,” I say. “That’s pure evil.”

  I touch his hand, stroking it until the tension in him relaxes a tiny bit. He’s like an enraged beast when he gets like this, every part of him amplified, ready to burst free.

  “The others were all criminals,” he says. “I’m the best at what I do. My father’s name meant something. So I got to pick my jobs and charge as much as I wanted, too. I only ever killed men who’d done something evil. All of them were rapists. Some of them had murdered women. And the rest… I can’t even think about that sort of evil, Rosie, let alone taint you with it.”

  “You’d never lie to me, would you?” I say.

  He flinches. “Never.”

  “Those men deserved it, then,” I tell him. “I’m not saying it’s the perfect career, but it’s like soldiers. You were in a war…”

  “I am in a war,” he says. “I’ve got a cachet of evidence against the Mafia, the Cartel, the Yakuza. They all know not to cross me. This goes back years. My old man started it, and I carried it on. They all sign contracts every time they hire me, agreeing that I’ll release their organization’s evidence if they ever step over the line.”

  “Whoah,” I say, shaking my head. “That’s crazy. I thought they killed people for that in the criminal world.”

  “They do,” he smirks. “But nobody would ever be able to kill me, Rosie.”

  “Ryland,” I say firmly. “You’re a human being. You bleed. You shouldn’t say things like that.”

  He puffs himself up. His eyes are sharp and intelligent.

  “I’m a professional,” he growls. “They’re amateurs. My father was Bucky Radley, an ex-Army man. He trained me when I was just a kid. He taught me everything a man needs to know by the time I was thirteen years old. I was born into this life. I served in the SEALs for several years in my early twenties, overseas. I’m a black belt in jujutsu and an expert in boxing and kickboxing. I’m the fastest shooter in this goddamn city, and I know my weapons more intimately.”

  Pride flares in his voice as he sits up even straighter.

  “I’m worth thirty of those motherfuckers,” he growls. “But it’s more than that. It’s you, Rosie. Before, I was fighting because it’s all I know. Now, I’m fighting for you, for us, for our future together. I wouldn’t want to be the bastard who tries to stand in the way of that.”

  A shiver moves through me at the heat of his words, the conviction in them.

  It’s like nothing truer has ever been said.

  My wombs sings to me, telling me to believe. We are invincible.

  But my reason refuses to shrink away.

  “What if you’re wrong?” I ask. “What if they get you, and it’s all taken away?”

  “I will never let that happen,” he snarls. “I’d die—no, I’d kill before I let anybody threaten our family.”

  “I don’t want you to have to kill,” I murmur.

  “I’m keeping you safe. That’s my job. My methods are my business.”

  I flinch, and his hard beast’s voice softens slightly.

  “I’m retiring, though,” he says “Once this mess with Vito is cleaned up, I’m done with this life.”

  “What will you do?” I ask, reeling from all this new information, about his military background, about his dad.

  “Build our lives,” he says firmly. “I’ll help you in whatever you choose to do… Wait a second.”

  “What?” I smile.

  “I want to ask you about your hopes and dreams, my beautiful little skeptic, but I’m goddamned hungry too.” He smirks. “So how about we order first?”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Ryland

  “Tell me about your dreams,” I say, as I lay my fork down atop my risotto.

  Harold has cooked it well.

  My queen blushes.

  “That’s a broad question.”

  “Don’t be shy,” I tease.

  She forks her steak. My seed quivers at the sight of her eating meat, a primal song from thousands of years ago. It tells me this is good. She’ll get strong, which means our children will be strong.

  Sometimes, Rosie makes me feel like a caveman, atavistic and instinctive.

  She makes it so tempting to let the beast in me take over, with that blush creeping down toward her fuck-me tits. They look even more delicious with her cleavage making a tempting passage for my cock. I could tear that dress down and get at her hard, needy nipples any time I wanted.

  My cock pulses and I force myself to focus on the glittering copper beauty of her eyes.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” she whimpers.

  “Why do you think? I’m trying to pay attention to you, but you’re so damn sexy, it’s distracting. I can’t stop thinking about fucking that tight slit.”

  “When you say it like that, I want it,” she moans.

  “But,” I growl with effort, “tell me. I need to know. I need to know everything about you.”

  “It’s silly,” she says softly.

  “If they’re your dreams, my sweet virgin, they can’t be silly.”

  She lays her cutlery down and waves her hands, which causes those full breasts to giggle and dance. My gaze tracks a succulent purple vein, moving over her voluptuous beauty.

  I could spend hours on those big round tits alone.

  Focus, my reason roars, as the beast inside howls and hammers at the bars of its restraints.

  “Basically, I want to work in publishing,” she says, her words coming out in a rush. “I was in college for English literature. But it’s more than that. I want to give back, somehow. I have this idea of starting a non-profit that works in underprivileged neighborhoods to help others publish their work.”

  “Go on,” I say, enraptured by her enthusiasm.

  “You really want to hear this?”

  “I need to hear this,” I snarl.

  She giggles, rolling her eyes. She has no idea how sassy and beautiful she looks when she does that. It’s like she’s begging
me to put her in her sensual place, bend her over and spank her big round juicy ass cheeks to teach her who’s in charge.

  I can imagine how pink and tight her hole’s going to be, my massive shaft driving up, hard, hot, deeper, and deeper as her virgin lips part just enough to let me in. I bet her untouched slit is going to grip my cock like a fist made of fire.

  “Ryland,” she moans.

  “I’m listening,” I tell her, my voice trembling.

  “You look like you’re thinking about something else,” she says, her confidence winning over her shyness. “I know what you’re thinking about.”

  “I’m listening,” I smirk, waving a hand in a pathetic effort to pretend she isn’t messing with my self-control.

  “I want to work with the kids from when they’re young to when they’re college-aged, training them to write from the time they can walk. I have this whole program set up, but it’d be such an expensive thing to do. It’s just a crazy dream, really.”

  “It’s done,” I snap.

  “What?” she says, flinching.

  Each time she moves something shimmers across her responsive body.

  I can imagine bending her naked over my knee, commanding her to stick that round voluptuous ass out, and then fingering her tight virgin slit and watching how it makes her breasts and her ass shiver for me.

  I almost groan when I remember how she squirted last time, her lips thick and tasty in my mouth. I could’ve sucked on those enflamed lips for weeks.

  My cock hurts, it’s so hard. The tip throbs and I feel it getting bigger, pulsing like a solid muscle, the tip tight with the need for a release.

  “You’d just pay for that?” she asks.

  “We’re going to be together forever,” I growl. “Of course I would.”

  “Deal,” she says quickly.

  “I guess you don’t need to think about it,” I smirk.

  “I always said to myself, if I ever got an offer to fund this project, I’d say yes. I wouldn’t ask questions. I’m not a proud person when it comes to money, Ryland. I’ve been broke for so freaking long now.”

  “Good,” I grin, wolfishly, my teeth aching with the need to taste her. “I would’ve convinced you anyway. But I think I’ve made a mistake.”