Read Online Return of the Assassin (All the King's Men) by Donya Lynne - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Donya Lynne
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enormity.
It's all in your head…it's all in your head.
That thought was more accurate than he wanted to admit, because try as he did, the time he spent with Gina weeks ago in her cell never left his mind.
For an assassin, she had looked so small. Almost frail in stature. But beautiful beyond description. With slim hips and a trim waist, she was a diminutive force of nature. How could someone so petite be so deadly?
He had sat for hours, simply staring at her. Her neck beckoned him. Gina's neck was amazing, a stretch of flesh and bone to be worshipped. He wanted to lift her short hair away with his fingers and simply revel in her neck's erotic beauty.
His body grew hard all over from the sight and her scent, and he wanted to bury his nose into the delicate curve below her ear and press his lips against her nape as he spread her open and sank inside…to taste and smell her wild fragrance as his body rejoiced in her fragile depths.
Make love.
Fate had delivered him an angel for a mate. An angel with a neck worthy of Aphrodite.
With a shake of his head, Malek slammed his eyes shut, grimacing at the memory as his body shivered, despite the now scalding water that spilled from the showerhead. Still supported on his outstretched arms, he bent his head down. He struggled to contain his emotions as his hair slid across his neck and washed forward to hang on either side of his face.
"Carmen." Heartbreak tortured his voice as he uttered her name, and a harsh sob wracked his shoulders. "I miss you." He choked back another sob. "I miss you so damn much." Without her, he was only half, and the bad half at that. Look at what he had done to Trina tonight. And to the others in the weeks before. He was the worst version of himself without Carmen.
Without Gina, too.
He shut off the shower. Hollow pain ranged through his muscles and deep inside his bones. He pushed open the glass door and swiped the towel off the rack as he stumbled back into the bedroom, running the towel haphazardly over his wet skin and hair before wrapping it around his waist and heading upstairs.
In the kitchen, he pulled a bottle of water from the refrigerator. That, a couple of apples, and half a block of cheese were all he had left in the fridge, not counting the molding two-week-old leftover spaghetti sitting on the second shelf. But he wasn't eating, anyway, so who cared if his fridge and cupboards were on empty and growing science fair projects?
Twisting the lid off the water, he let the door close and turned toward the barren kitchen counter and the dining room table beyond, piled high with books. A shopping bag from the local bookstore sat on the floor, by the leg of the table, discarded there days ago after he had returned home from wherever he had been that day. The days all blurred together now. Between the lack of sleep, no food, all the extracurricular sex that left him feeling like a lecherous heathen, as well as the ache that throttled his chest twenty-four seven, he was lucky to remember his own name.
With a sigh, he set the bottle of water on the counter, rubbed his thumb up and down his aching sternum, walked to the table, and picked up the bag. He set it on one of the stacks, and, one by one, pulled out each carefully chosen book. He had spent hours in the bookstore, selecting what he thought Carmen would like. Even past closing time, he had wandered up and down the aisles until one of the employees told him point-blank it was time to check out. Only then did he mosey up to the cash register and make his purchase.
In the past couple of weeks, he had bought at least two hundred books, as if each one was a token or vessel that would lead Carmen back to him. The more books he bought, the greater his chances of seeing her again.
As carefully as if the books were made of antique paper or delicate crystal, he set each on top of a pile and meticulously lined up the edges as he caressed each cover with all the love Carmen deserved.
She had
It's all in your head…it's all in your head.
That thought was more accurate than he wanted to admit, because try as he did, the time he spent with Gina weeks ago in her cell never left his mind.
For an assassin, she had looked so small. Almost frail in stature. But beautiful beyond description. With slim hips and a trim waist, she was a diminutive force of nature. How could someone so petite be so deadly?
He had sat for hours, simply staring at her. Her neck beckoned him. Gina's neck was amazing, a stretch of flesh and bone to be worshipped. He wanted to lift her short hair away with his fingers and simply revel in her neck's erotic beauty.
His body grew hard all over from the sight and her scent, and he wanted to bury his nose into the delicate curve below her ear and press his lips against her nape as he spread her open and sank inside…to taste and smell her wild fragrance as his body rejoiced in her fragile depths.
Make love.
Fate had delivered him an angel for a mate. An angel with a neck worthy of Aphrodite.
With a shake of his head, Malek slammed his eyes shut, grimacing at the memory as his body shivered, despite the now scalding water that spilled from the showerhead. Still supported on his outstretched arms, he bent his head down. He struggled to contain his emotions as his hair slid across his neck and washed forward to hang on either side of his face.
"Carmen." Heartbreak tortured his voice as he uttered her name, and a harsh sob wracked his shoulders. "I miss you." He choked back another sob. "I miss you so damn much." Without her, he was only half, and the bad half at that. Look at what he had done to Trina tonight. And to the others in the weeks before. He was the worst version of himself without Carmen.
Without Gina, too.
He shut off the shower. Hollow pain ranged through his muscles and deep inside his bones. He pushed open the glass door and swiped the towel off the rack as he stumbled back into the bedroom, running the towel haphazardly over his wet skin and hair before wrapping it around his waist and heading upstairs.
In the kitchen, he pulled a bottle of water from the refrigerator. That, a couple of apples, and half a block of cheese were all he had left in the fridge, not counting the molding two-week-old leftover spaghetti sitting on the second shelf. But he wasn't eating, anyway, so who cared if his fridge and cupboards were on empty and growing science fair projects?
Twisting the lid off the water, he let the door close and turned toward the barren kitchen counter and the dining room table beyond, piled high with books. A shopping bag from the local bookstore sat on the floor, by the leg of the table, discarded there days ago after he had returned home from wherever he had been that day. The days all blurred together now. Between the lack of sleep, no food, all the extracurricular sex that left him feeling like a lecherous heathen, as well as the ache that throttled his chest twenty-four seven, he was lucky to remember his own name.
With a sigh, he set the bottle of water on the counter, rubbed his thumb up and down his aching sternum, walked to the table, and picked up the bag. He set it on one of the stacks, and, one by one, pulled out each carefully chosen book. He had spent hours in the bookstore, selecting what he thought Carmen would like. Even past closing time, he had wandered up and down the aisles until one of the employees told him point-blank it was time to check out. Only then did he mosey up to the cash register and make his purchase.
In the past couple of weeks, he had bought at least two hundred books, as if each one was a token or vessel that would lead Carmen back to him. The more books he bought, the greater his chances of seeing her again.
As carefully as if the books were made of antique paper or delicate crystal, he set each on top of a pile and meticulously lined up the edges as he caressed each cover with all the love Carmen deserved.
She had
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