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you joking?” A nervous laugh bubbles up. What am I thinking? This is crazy. I’m crazy. Roman could be a serial killer for all I know. “I don’t think—”
    “There is also a charity event I’ve been asked to attend. It’s very well known. Tons of press and celebrities,” he adds, as if reading my thoughts.
    Because serial killers bring their next victims as their dates to very public and apparently famous events. Geez, Everly, get it together. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity.
    Go. For. It.
    I stand up, excited and nervous as anything. “Oh my gosh! I have so much to pack.” I grab the nearest towel and bend over to let the water out.
    Roman mutters a curse, and I turn to see him staring at me with more than a little interest. Lust is obvious in his gaze, and it makes me feel so womanly and sexy that I allow myself to put on a little show for him by slowly standing.
    Suddenly, he crosses the small distance between us and hauls me out of the tub, careful not to drop me. “As sexy as you look right now, we really need to get you packed.”
    “Right this second? But I have to buy tickets and—”
    “I don’t think you understand the urgency,” he says roughly, his big hands on my arms as he sets me on my feet.
    I feel so dainty next to him. At the hospital, I had sneaked a peak at his stats: twenty-seven years old, six foot two, and two hundred pounds of lean, lickable muscles. Okay, so I added on that last part, but it’s clear he works out. A lot.
    I shiver, but not in fear. I want his hands all over me again. I want him.
    “Stop looking at me with so much hunger in your eyes. We have to leave.”
    A strange feeling washes over me. Something doesn’t seem quite right. Roman is too... anxious and insistent. Then again, his grandfather is sick, possibly dying. That would make anyone act a little off.
    “Let me call my parents to let them know where I’m going.” I dash into my room, pulling out my suitcase, and then start to get dressed. I throw on a pair of comfy jeans and a thick sweater, after shimming into my bra and panties. Then I grab a pair of thick socks and my favorite boots. “What’s the weather like? It has to be cold; it’s Russia, Everly,” I remind myself.
    Roman frowns. “Forget packing. You can call your parents on the way.”
    I freeze in the middle of pulling on my boots. “Forget packing?”
    “Yes, get your passport, your purse, and anything else you can’t live without. The rest I’ll purchase for you in Russia.”
    I stare at him, like he’s suddenly turned into someone I don’t know. Actually, I don’t know him. Not really.
    His expression softens, and he holds out his hand. “Trust me, love. I’ll take very good care of you. Come with me.”
    My body thaws by slow degrees, and I finally finish pulling on my last boot. I look at his hand.
    Then I take it.

Dedication
    T o my fellow Indie Authors, because it’s not just about thinking outside of the box. It’s about the box not existing in the first place.

CHAPTER ONE
THE DECEPTION
    R oman
    My name is Roman Smith, and I’m an assassin. I only kill the scum of the earth, never taking an innocent life.
    I shake my head in utter disgust. Still a lie.
    My name is Nikolai Romanov, and I’m an assassin. I was barely sixteen years old the first time I killed a man. I hadn’t wanted to take his life, yet I wanted to please my grandfather and father.
    Actually, more than anything, I wanted to please my mentor, Viktor Chapeyev. It was under his tutelage that I learned how to take a life with precision and finesse. I learned how to be cold, calculating, and take my emotions—guilt and self-loathing—out of the equation.
    “Only the dead have time for guilt, Nikolai.”
    Better, but I’m still reprehensible, and Everly—the woman constantly in my thoughts—still has to be kept in the dark.
    “What’s wrong with your grandfather?”
    Everly’s gentle question jolts me back to the present. I focus on my lap,