The abandoned warehouse smelled of rust and decay. Natalie’s boots echoed against the concrete as she circled the man tied to the metal chair, her leather jacket creaking with each calculated step. Shadows danced across her face from the single flickering bulb overhead, casting her sharp features in alternating light and darkness.
Her target sat surprisingly calm, wrists bound behind him, ankles secured to the chair legs. No panic. No pleading. Just those dark eyes following her movements with an unsettling composure.
“Tell me the profile you were seeking,” he said, voice steady despite his predicament. “Do I fit into it?”
Natalie stopped pacing, studying him with narrowed gray eyes. She’d done this dozens of times—the interrogation, the psychological warfare before the kill. But something felt off tonight.
“Male, tall figure, black hair, wearing a suit.” She let a sly smirk curl her lips. “I think I got the right guy.”
“I don’t think you got the right man.”
His confidence irritated her. She stepped closer, invading his space, close enough to smell the faint scent of earth and something clean—soap, maybe cedar. Not what she expected from a mark.
“Oh sweetie.” The word dripped with venom as she tilted her head, black hair cascading over one shoulder. “I really doubt that.”
But doubt was already creeping in, wasn’t it? She mentally cursed herself. The file had been sparse—suspiciously so. And this man, bound and helpless, seemed more amused than afraid.
“Is that all?” He raised an eyebrow. “No name, where I work, age?”
“Do you want me to recite your address and social security number too?” The sarcasm came automatically, but her heart wasn’t in it.
“Also, check my hands.” He shifted in the chair, presenting his bound wrists as best he could. “Do these look like they’ve ever hurt anyone?”
Against her better judgment, Natalie moved behind him. Her fingers—calloused from years of handling weapons—brushed against his as she examined them. His hands were smooth, well-kept. The hands of someone who worked with his mind, not his fists. No scars. No calluses.
“No calluses,” she admitted, voice quieter than before.
“Also, do I look like I have huge money that you can take by kidnapping me?”
“Yeah. Why else are you being kidnapped?”
A surprised laugh burst from her before she could stop it. She quickly composed herself, stepping back around to face him. “You’re a smartass.”
“And you are beautiful.”
The compliment hit her like a physical blow. Her breath caught. In all her years of wetwork, no target had ever—
Heat crept up her neck. She cleared her throat, willing away the flush spreading across her cheeks. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”
But even as she said it, she could feel her carefully constructed walls beginning to crack. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. She was supposed to be the one in control, the predator, the dealer of death. Not some blushing fool affected by pretty words from a man who should be begging for his life.
“I can be with you,” he said softly, and there was something genuine in his voice that made her stomach flip. “I can see a slight hint of a smile.”
“Shut up. I’m supposed to kill you.” The words came out weaker than intended, and she turned her head away, fixing her gaze on the graffitied wall. Anything to avoid those dark, knowing eyes.
“You don’t want to. Maybe we can talk, get to know each other.”
Her jaw clenched. “Fine.” She spun back to face him fully. “But no funny business. And if you dare try something—” Her voice dropped to something cold and lethal. “I ain’t gonna hesitate to slit your throat.”
“So, tell me what do you do?”
The casual question almost made her laugh again. Here he was, tied to a chair by a woman who’d just threatened to kill him, making small talk like they were on a coffee date.
She studied his face for a long moment. There was something disarming about his directness, his apparent lack of fear. Against every instinct screaming at her to maintain distance, she found herself answering.
“I’m an assassin.” The words fell flat in the empty warehouse. “My job is to take out my targets.”
She watched for the fear, the dawning horror, the desperate scrambling for mercy. But none came. He simply held her gaze, processing the information with that same unnerving calm.
“And I’m a businessman, as I said earlier.”
“No offense,” she couldn’t help the playful edge creeping into her voice, “but you don’t look like the business type.”
She took a step closer, then another, until she was near enough to see the flecks of amber in his dark eyes. Her own gaze drifted over his features—the strong jawline, the slight stubble, the way his lips curved ever so slightly at the corners.
He was handsome. Devastatingly so. And that was a problem.
“I am actually a farmer, a lazy guy.” His voice held a note of self-deprecating humor. “I have hired people to do the work for me. I just go to market to inform people about my products and they come to buy things at my farm. Thus, a businessman.”
“A farmer?” Disbelief and amusement warred in her chest. A laugh escaped her, lighter than before. “What, no overalls?”
“Haha. I don’t think you always wear sexy dresses, do you? Similarly, I only wear overalls when needed.”
The word ‘sexy’ hung in the air between them. Natalie felt her face heat again. She scoffed, shifting her weight, hyper-aware of how her tight black leather pants hugged her form, how her fitted jacket accentuated her curves.
“Touche, farmer boy.”
“Can we have coffee?”
The innocent request, delivered with such sincerity, caught her completely off guard. She raised a skeptical eyebrow, studying his face once more. He looked genuinely hopeful, like a man asking a woman on a date rather than negotiating with his potential killer.
And God help her, she found herself nodding.
“Fine. We can have coffee. But first—” She smirked, crouching down to eye level, her dark lashes fluttering as she looked up at him through them. “I’m going to have to untie you.”
“You think it’s safe?”
A snort escaped her. She tilted her head, letting her hair fall across one shoulder. “Sweetie. I’m a trained assassin. You’re a goddamn farm boy. I’ll be perfectly fine untying you.”
“What if I try to kiss you?”
The question stopped her mid-reach toward the ropes. Her hands froze, hovering inches from the knots. Heat flooded her cheeks, her neck, spreading down to her chest. A shiver ran down her spine that had nothing to do with the cold warehouse air.
“You wouldn’t dare.” The challenge in her voice was undercut by the breathiness she couldn’t quite suppress.
“I might.” His gaze dropped to her mouth, lingering there with an intensity that made her lips tingle. “You have lovely lips.”
Natalie quickly looked away, her eyes finding the floor as she mentally cursed herself. She was NOT blushing over a goddamn farmer. She wasn’t. Even as the evidence burned across her face.
“As you can see in my eyes, I really like you.”
“Yeah, no kidding.” The grumble came out harsher than intended, defensive. She forced herself to meet his gaze again, scrambling for solid ground. “So. What’s your name, farmer boy?”
“My name is Handsome. You can call me Handsome.” He punctuated it with a wink that should have been cheesy, should have been ridiculous.
It wasn’t.
“You’re insufferable.” But she couldn’t quite hide the ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth, couldn’t stop the warmth spreading through her chest.
“You might want to change into something comfortable. These clothes look heavy.”
She glanced down at herself—the leather, the combat boots, the tactical pants with their numerous pockets. He was right. The outfit was practical for her line of work but stifling in the warehouse’s stagnant air.
“You’re saying you’d rather see me in something more casual, farmer boy?” She crossed her arms over her chest, raising a skeptical eyebrow that didn’t quite hide her interest.
“A beautiful sundress would look lovely on you.”
The image flashed unbidden through her mind—soft cotton, light fabric, something feminine and flowing instead of her usual armor of leather and kevlar. When was the last time she’d worn a dress? Years, probably. She’d almost forgotten what it felt like.
“A sundress?” She repeated incredulously, trying to inject skepticism into her tone even as something in her chest softened at the thought.
“Yeah. The one that is a little above your knees, you know, you will feel cool in this summer.” Another wink, accompanied by that devastating smile.
God, he was bold. Heat crept up her neck again. She knew exactly what kind of sundress he meant, could picture it with startling clarity—how it would feel against her skin, how the hem would brush her thighs, how free and light she might feel.
“You’re bold, I’ll give you that.” She tried to sound annoyed, but her voice came out softer, warmer than intended. The pink spreading across her cheeks betrayed her completely.
“And I am also a great cook. At least for normal food. Come to my farm and we can have goat curry with rice. You’ll kiss my hands after having it.”
Her stomach chose that moment to growl. Loudly. The sound seemed to echo in the empty warehouse, and she wanted to die of embarrassment.
Goat curry with rice. One of her absolute favorites. How could he possibly know that?
“Goat curry, huh?” Her voice had gone softer, interest bleeding through despite her best efforts. “With rice?”
“Yeah. You can have just the meat, but I’d recommend something to go with it for fulfillment.”
Damn him. Damn him and his offer of home-cooked meals and his stupid handsome face and his complete lack of appropriate fear. She could feel herself caving, feel the walls she’d built crumbling like sand castles against the tide.
“Fine.” The word came out like a surrender. “I’ll try your goat curry and goddamn rice.”
“Lovely, my dear.” The endearment sent a flutter through her chest that she absolutely refused to acknowledge. “For now, can you give me something to drink?”
My dear. He’d called her ‘my dear’ with such casual affection, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like they were lovers instead of assassin and target.
She sighed, a sound of resignation mixed with something dangerously close to fondness. Against her better judgment—against every rule she’d ever made for herself—she found herself nodding.
“Fine, I’ll get you a drink.” She pushed herself up from her crouch, joints protesting slightly. Before turning away, she pointed a warning finger at him. “Don’t try anything stupid while I’m gone.”
“Why would I? Why would I leave you?”
The simple question, delivered with such earnest sincerity, hit her harder than any weapon ever had. Her breath caught. Her heart did something complicated and entirely unwelcome in her chest.
She had no response to that. No snarky comeback, no threat, no deflection. So she simply turned and strode toward the small office area she’d converted into a makeshift base, her mind racing.
What the hell was happening to her?
When she returned several minutes later, glass of water in hand, she found him attempting to work free of the ropes. The sight was almost endearing—the furrow of concentration on his brow, the slight flush of effort on his cheeks, the complete futility of his efforts against her expert knots.
A snort escaped her.
“Tch, don’t even bother.” She crouched down in front of him again, close enough that their knees almost touched. “These knots are good, you’re not getting out.”
She raised the glass to his lips, and the intimacy of the gesture wasn’t lost on either of them. He had to lean forward slightly, she had to tilt the glass just right, and for a moment they were close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from his skin.
“Here, you said you’re thirsty, right? Drink up, farmer boy.”
“Just trying to make myself comfortable. I’m not habituated to being tied, you see.” He paused, his eyes meeting hers with that familiar glint of mischief. “I have no such fantasies.”
The implication sent her imagination spiraling in directions it absolutely should not go. Images flashed through her mind—him tied to different things, in different contexts, for entirely different purposes—and her face burned so hot she thought she might spontaneously combust.
“Just drink the water, idiot.” The words came out strangled, breathless. She practically shoved the glass against his lips to hide her flaming cheeks.
After he’d drunk his fill, she set the glass aside, very deliberately not meeting his eyes. The silence stretched between them, heavy with tension that was rapidly shifting from dangerous to something else entirely.
“You need to help me,” he said suddenly. “That way, I can know which perfume you are using.”
She blinked. “You want to know what perfume I’m wearing?”
It was such an absurd request, so completely out of place in their current situation, that she almost laughed. But there was something in his expression—genuine curiosity mixed with that constant undercurrent of flirtation—that made her pause.
With a huff that was more for show than actual annoyance, she leaned closer, bringing her neck near enough that he could smell the faint scent of her perfume. It was something subtle, expensive—vanilla and amber with hints of sandalwood. Not what most people would expect from an assassin.
“This what you’re looking for, farmer boy?”
She watched his reaction, saw the way his eyes fluttered closed as he inhaled, saw the slight parting of his lips. There was something almost vulnerable about the expression, something that made her heart stutter.
“Yeah, it’s really intoxicating. I hope you don’t kill people with it.”
“Yeah, well, it’s not exactly a murder weapon.”
But even as she said it, she was leaning even closer, close enough now that if he tilted his head forward just a few inches, their lips would meet. The thought sent electricity racing down her spine.
He took a deep breath, and she swore she could feel it against her skin. “After deep inhale, I can say your natural smell must surely take me to heaven.”
Then his gaze dropped—deliberately, obviously—to her chest.
“P-pervert.” The word stuttered out, her voice breathless and shaky. Her heart was pounding so hard she was certain he could hear it. Heat pooled in her stomach, spreading outward until her entire body felt like it was on fire.
“Hey, I can’t help it if a beautiful girl is so close to me.” His eyes returned to her lips, lingering there with an intensity that made her knees tremble. “Looking at her lips…”
“Don’t say things like that.” But her voice had gone shaky, weak, betraying every word. She could feel herself swaying slightly toward him, drawn by some invisible force she couldn’t name and couldn’t fight.
“I’m just telling the truth, my dear. If you were in my farm, I would surely have asked you out.”
The honesty in his words, the casual way he called her ‘dear’ again, the romantic image of being asked out on his farm—it all combined into something that made her chest ache with unexpected longing.
She quickly looked away, breaking eye contact before she did something truly stupid. “Tch, you and your damn farm charm.”
Her voice came out softer than intended, tinged with an bashfulness she hadn’t felt in years. When had she become such a mess?
“Like I said earlier, you got the wrong guy. I was just standing there in a nice suit! If you don’t believe me, try kissing me.”
The bold suggestion made her eyes widen, her already burning cheeks somehow finding new depths of heat. A kiss. He was suggesting she verify his identity by kissing him, as if that made any logical sense whatsoever.
And yet…
“Tch, you’re really pushing your luck, you know that?” She tried to sound annoyed, tried to inject some of her usual steel into her voice. But it came out flustered, almost shy.
“Am I? Or am I just asking a girl I like to give me a kiss? I can try, right?”
“You’re not supposed to ask, you idiot. It’s supposed to be more… spontaneous.” The defensive mumble escaped her before she could stop it.
Her heart pounded in her chest, torn between the part of her that wanted to maintain control, maintain distance, maintain her professional detachment—and the other part that wanted to give in, to close the distance between them, to find out if his lips were as soft as they looked.
“Dear, I am tied. How can I hold your hands, look into your eyes, lean on you and kiss you on your lips?”
The image he painted—his hands holding hers, eyes locked together, him leaning close, their lips meeting—sent a shiver of longing through her that she couldn’t suppress. God, she wanted that. Wanted it with a desperation that terrified her.
“Tch, you’re being damn cheesy, you know that?” Her voice had gone weaker, losing the battle against her emotions with every passing second.
“I’d rather try my luck with a beautiful girl than sit here depressed. I know you’ll let me go when you know the truth, and we can go to my farm for dinner.”
The certainty in his voice, the assumption that she would let him go, should have annoyed her. But instead it made something warm bloom in her chest. He trusted her. Despite everything, he actually trusted her.
“Damn you and your charms, farmer boy.” She ran her fingers through her dark hair, a gesture of helpless frustration mixed with growing affection.
Her defenses were crumbling, piece by piece, dismantled by every smile, every compliment, every absurd and endearing thing that came out of his mouth.
“I’ll close my eyes, you can kiss me. I won’t tell anybody—I know you can kill me if I do. You are an assassin. A very beautiful assassin. By the way, I am single, you know.”
Another flutter in her chest, stronger this time. Beautiful. Single. The implications hung heavy in the air between them.
“Also, it’s dark, and I need to tend to my animals on the farm. Can you confirm if it’s really me you’re looking for? I’m sure you are trying to find a prince charming, but I’m not the one you’ve been looking for. Not for assassination.”
The mention of his farm animals, the practical concern breaking through even now, was somehow endearing in its normalcy. And his question—asking her to confirm his identity—made sense. Sort of. If she ignored the part where his suggested method was kissing him.
“Idiot.” She shook her head faintly, but there was no heat in it. “You definitely don’t look like a prince charming, I can tell you that.”
“I don’t want to. If I did, all the girls would be after me. I want only you to like me… the ugly me with great cooking skills. You are an assassin, can hunt goats and chicken, and I’ll cook for you.”
The sweet, ridiculous statement made her heart do something complicated. Him calling himself ugly when he was clearly anything but. The image of them working together—her hunting, him cooking. It was domestic. Intimate. Terrifying in its appeal.
“You’re being cheesy again, idiot.” But her heart was thumping faster, harder, betraying her completely.
“Alright, I’ll be serious. Can you please verify my identity? I need to leave unfortunately, I was liking your company but my animals need me. You can join after you slit the throat of the person you are looking for.”
The casual mention of her killing someone, as if it were no more remarkable than any other errand, should have been disturbing. Instead, it was almost refreshing—no judgment, no horror, just acceptance of what she was.
Her mind shifted back to the task at hand, reality reasserting itself slightly. She did need to verify his identity. She had a job to do, a contract to fulfill.
“You’re absolutely sure you’re not the person I’m looking for, right?” Her tone had gone more serious, professional. She scrutinized his face, looking for any tell, any sign of deception.
“Why would someone want to kill me! I’m just a businessman.”
“You really think people have to have a solid reason to want someone dead?” She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms over her chest. “People get killed over the smallest and dumbest of things, idiot.”
“Yeah.” His eyes went distant for a moment, as if remembering something. “But I was only in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“What do you mean, ‘wrong place, wrong time’?” Her tone softened slightly, curiosity replacing sarcasm.
“I think it was you who hit me. I was there to tell the lady that her zip of her dress was undone, and by luck, I happened to wear clothes similar to her bodyguards.”
Her eyes widened as realization crashed over her like a wave. The gala. The mark she’d been tracking. The man in the suit she’d knocked out in the confusion.
“You’re kidding me.” Frustration colored her voice as she pinched the bridge of her nose. “You’re fucking kidding me.”
She had hit the wrong person. All of this—the kidnapping, the interrogation, this strange and utterly confusing attraction—it was all based on a mistake.
“You can Google me. My name is Max.”
Max. The name rolled off her tongue as she repeated it, already mentally planning on verifying his story. “Max, huh?”
A sigh of resignation escaped her as the full weight of her mistake settled in. She’d really screwed up. Badly.
But a part of her—a part she was desperately trying to ignore—was almost relieved. If he wasn’t her target, then maybe…
“Can I know your name, my dear?”
The endearment again, so casual and warm. It made her decision easier somehow. He’d been honest with her, vulnerably so. The least she could do was return the favor.
She was tempted to give a fake name. It would be safer, smarter. But something in his open expression, his genuine interest, made her want to take the chance.
“It’s Natalie.” Her voice came out softer than she intended, almost tender.
“If you really like my company, that’s fine with me, I’ll stay. But can you tell the guys at my farm to tend to the cattle? It’s night and I am responsible for all those, you see.”
The sweet concern for his animals, even now, made her want to laugh and cry at the same time. This man was tied to a chair by a trained killer, and he was worried about his cows being fed.
“You’re a complete idiot, you know that right?” But there was fondness in her grumble, affection she couldn’t quite hide.
“I feel you need an idiot like me in your life. You can loosen up a bit.”
The observation hit surprisingly close to home. When was the last time she’d loosened up? Let her guard down? Allowed herself to feel anything beyond the cold efficiency required for her work?
“And what makes you think that, idiot?” Sarcasm mixed with reluctant fondness in her tone.
“You seem too serious. Try to see the beauty of life. The beautiful pretty face of yours. I have never seen someone so perfect as you. And I’m not flirting, I’m telling the truth.”
The compliment, delivered with such earnest sincerity, made her cheeks burn hotter than ever. Perfect. He called her perfect.
“Hmph, idiot farmer boy with his damn smooth talk…” She tried to hide how flustered his words made her, how they made her heart race and her stomach flip.
“See the mirror if you have. Or I have my phone in my pocket, you can take your picture and see for yourself.”
“Tch, as if I need a photo to know what I look like.” But there was a flicker of curiosity in her eyes, a tiny part of her that wanted to see herself through his eyes.
“Sometimes, you have to remind yourself how good you are.”
The words struck something deep within her. How long had it been since she’d looked at herself and seen anything beyond a weapon? Beyond the scars and the hard edges and the necessary coldness?
“Idiot… I don’t need a damn photo for that.” But her heart betrayed her words, thumping harder against her ribs.
“Also, there’s something more beautiful I think.”
His gaze dropped to her chest, lingering there with open appreciation.
Heat flooded through her—embarrassment and something darker, more primal. Her heart pounded. A mix of feelings rushed through her that she absolutely did not want to examine too closely.
“Idiot… stop looking at my damn chest like that…” But her voice came out breathless, affected in a way she couldn’t hide.
“Oh I wasn’t. I was only checking if my children could be comfortable in that lap.”
The bold comment, the casual way he talked about his hypothetical children being comfortable on her lap, sent her imagination spiraling again. The implication was clear, intimate, and absolutely not helping her maintain any semblance of composure.
“Idiot, stop making comments like that.” Her cheeks were burning so hot she thought they might catch fire. Despite her attempt at sternness, she couldn’t quite suppress the reddening spreading across her face.
“Let’s get going. Untie me, will you? You know I’m not the one you’re looking for.”
She sighed again, this time in acceptance. He was right. She’d made a mistake, grabbed the wrong person, and now she needed to make it right.
“Alright, I’ll untie you…” The mumble escaped her as she moved toward the ropes binding his wrists. Her fingers worked at the knots, muscle memory from countless similar situations guiding her movements.
“Thank you so much. I invite you to my farm tomorrow for dinner. I’ll be waiting for you.”
The invitation made her pause mid-movement. Dinner at his farm. A real date, or close enough to one. The thought sent another wave of warmth through her chest.
“Dinner at your farm, huh?” She tried to sound nonchalant as she finished untying the last restraint, but couldn’t quite manage it.
“You know, my specialty. Goat curry and rice.”
“Goat curry, huh?” Her voice had gone softer, warmer. “And rice too?”
“You want something else?”
“…No. The curry and rice sound good.” The admission came out slightly hesitant, vulnerable in a way she wasn’t used to.
She was actually considering it. Going to his farm. Having dinner. Spending more time with this infuriating, charming, impossible man.
“Alright. A question—do you drink?”
The question made her raise an eyebrow, curiosity mixing with slight surprise. “Depends. You offering me a drink, farmer boy?”
“Yeah. I intend to take advantage of you.” He punctuated it with a naughty wink that made her heart stutter.
The wink, the implication, the boldness of it all—it almost had her heart stopping entirely. The idea of him taking advantage of her while intoxicated both flustered and intrigued her in ways she refused to examine.
A snort escaped her, sass creeping into her tone. “In your dreams, idiot.”
“How do I leave? Everywhere it’s dark.”
The reminder of the isolated location, the darkness surrounding them, brought a flicker of guilt to her eyes. She’d brought him here, to the middle of nowhere, and now it was nightfall.
She ran a hand through her hair, mentally cursing herself. “Damn it… you can’t see a thing out there.”
“Hello ma’am. Can you help me get out of here?”
The polite, formal address had her mentally raising an eyebrow. Even after everything—the kidnapping, the threats, the intensely flirtatious conversation—he was still being unfailingly polite.
“Damn… You’re too damn well-spoken for a farmer boy.” She couldn’t help the mumbled observation.
But she nodded, already mentally planning the route back to civilization. It was the least she could do after this monumental screw-up.
She led him toward the exit, their footsteps echoing in the empty warehouse. The darkness outside was complete, broken only by distant city lights on the horizon.
As they walked, she felt him following close behind her. Too close. Close enough that she was hyper-aware of his presence, of the heat radiating from his body.
“Sorry lady, but you had got the right man.”
The words came from behind her, casual and calm. Before she could process them, before she could turn around, she heard a soft thump.
Natalie spun, her training kicking in automatically. Her hand flew to the knife at her belt—
But she froze.
The girl—when had there been a girl?—collapsed to the floor, her neck sliced open in a clean, professional cut. Blood pooled rapidly around her body, dark and glistening in the dim light.
And standing above her, holding a blade that gleamed red, was Max.
But he wasn’t Max the farmer anymore. The easy smile was gone, replaced by something cold and calculating. His entire demeanor had shifted—from harmless to predatory in the span of a heartbeat.
“You’re… the man I’m looking for?”
The question came out strangled, disbelief and shock rushing through her. She hadn’t expected to find the person she was hunting for so suddenly, in such a shocking manner.
The fact that she had spent the whole time talking to her target without even knowing it had her mentally cursing at herself. All of it—the charm, the flirting, the innocent farmer act—it had all been a lie. A performance.
He’d played her. Completely.
“You’re the man I’m looking for?” she repeated, her hand still hovering near her weapon, torn between professional instinct and the confusing tangle of emotions in her chest.
The cheeky comment from him earlier echoed in her mind: “Yeah. I am the man of your dreams.”
And he had left, just walked away casually, leaving her standing there with the body and the realization of how thoroughly she’d been manipulated.
As the man—the target, the assassin, whatever he really was—disappeared into the darkness, Natalie stood frozen. Her emotions were a mess of conflict and confusion. Frustration at being tricked. Shock at finding the target in such a way. And underneath it all, that strange, unwelcome attraction she felt toward him still churned in her gut.
She mentally cursed herself for her own feelings, the frustration at herself only adding to the turmoil.
“I swear, that damn farmer boy is driving me insane…” she muttered to herself, her thoughts still racing with the events of the encounter.
His final words drifted back to her from the darkness, carried on the night wind:
“Idiot.”
And despite everything—the deception, the manipulation, the body cooling at her feet—she felt her lips curve into the smallest smile. Because even now, even knowing what he was, that stupid endearment affected her.
God, this farmer boy was going to be the goddamn death of her.
Mission accomplished.