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Chapter 2

  • Chapter Two
  • She wasn’t surprised he knew who she was. She never made her identity a secret. She wanted people in her world to know who she was, so that when they saw her coming for them they would make the hunt a hell of a lot more fun. But mostly, she wanted one man, in particular, to know what she was, a nightmare of his own creations. She wanted him to easily recognize her work as an incentive to stay the hell away from her.
  • But that was a story for another day.
  • Katarina cursed herself. The entire thing was a setup. She knew the exhibition was to distract her but not to draw her to his room and trap her. She knew he wanted to be noticed, but she never thought further as to explain why, because she was too busy drooling over his orgasmic body. If she got out of this alive, she was going to show Ellsa where she could stuff her opinions. She should have just scratched him, and by scratch she meant kill him. Now, she had to wait and see the move he made next. Only amateurs made the first swing without taking a moment to assess the situation.
  • “What I would like to know is why you honor me with a visit.”
  • The easy way he spoke, it was as if she was a neighbor, stopping by to ask for a cup of sugar.
  • “Bad advice from a soon to be dead friend,” she grumbled.
  • Damn the darkness. She could have looked around the room for possible weapons. Trying to reach for the knife in her boot would alert him and she was at a disadvantage if he had a gun close by. She didn’t carry guns. That was Ellsa’s thing. Katarina preferred a blade; it was up close and personal. She had an entire variety of them. Guns were a last ditch option for her.
  • “Oh really? What exactly did your friend send you in here to do?” he brought her hand behind her back, pulled it up until her fingers touched the back of her neck. Her shoulders pinched, but she refused to show it. “Sorry for the discomfort but I don’t trust you not to try anything while I search you.”
  • She snorted, “If I wanted to kill you, you would be dead right now.”
  • He chuckled, “Oh really?”
  • She felt him squat then his hand moved up her right leg and down her left. She smiled. He never once bothered to check her boots. She was going to give Andres a fat bonus for his great custom job on them.
  • “Yup. It’s because I wanted to kill you that has led me to this situation.”
  • He paused for a second before his hand kept moving slowly up her left leg. He was being thorough with the body search. Good for him.
  • “What exactly is ‘this situation’?”
  • “Scratching an itch,” she answered nonchalantly.
  • He stopped altogether, let go of her wrist and stepped away. The next instant the room was flooded with light. Still she didn’t move from where she stood. A great fit for a predator like herself.
  • She felt more than heard him move around her, his feet very light on the thinly carpeted floor. He stood in front of her and she got to appreciate all that had her drooling from across the street, up close and personal. He wore black from head to toe and his latte skin looked even more appealing. Before, when she’d watched him through her scope, he’d been shirtless, in flannel blue pants that hang dangerously low on his hips and barefoot. He looked so at ease moving around the room, she was envious. He must be prepared, with weapons strategically placed around the room. He was cocky with a reason—though he should have checked her front and boots. She had just as many knives sewn into her jacket as she had in her boots. When he pressed himself into her back, she knew he was looking for a weapon there.
  • Derek was good at what he did. Probably one of the reasons she wanted to curve up his pretty face. And that was the other thing, he was prettier than she was. He had these grey-green eyes that were hypnotic, full pinkish enticing lips and had a strip of hair from the bottom of his lower lip that joined that at his chin that ran from one end of his jaw to the other before joining his side burns. The top of his head was full of curly short black hair.
  • His eyes narrowed and he looked her over from head to toe and back up, “Katarina, what are you doing here?”
  • “I thought we’ve already been through that?”
  • He gave her a crooked smile, “You want me to help you scratch an itch?”
  • She rolled her eyes, “it’s light picking at the CIA, huh Derek?” she waved his shocked look off, “Yeah, I also know who you are Derek Silva. In fact, I know a lot more than what I’m comfortable with. This is the fifth time I’ve seen you and I don’t think it’s a coincidence.”
  • He had his flirty smile back on, “No?”
  • “No, because I don’t believe in coincidences.” She started unbuttoning her jacket, “You had your reason why you were parading half naked in front of your window. Right now, I don’t care to know it. I’d rather we get to what brought me here. Scratch my itch.”
  • His eyes flared with desire as he watched her strip and yet his body language said how much he distrusted her. Once she was stripped down to her bra and boy short panties, she made a three-sixty turn, “See, no concealed weapons.”
  • He shook his head, “Black Widows are known for their ability to hide weapons in plain sight. One of you is known for using a garrote as a headband. Run your hand through your hair.”
  • She snorted. What exactly could she hide in her hair do? Her hair was as short as his and most of it sat around her forehead temple to temple. At the top, her hair was twice as long as the back at four inches filled with red streaks and combed to the right side. But she did it anyway, ruffling and messing it up.
  • “Satisfied?”
  • With a quirk in his lips, he said, “Not quite yet. Strip it all off.”
  • “Oh for crying out loud!”
  • Katarina was getting tired of this fast. Quickly she reached for her boot, grabbed the hilt of her favorite knife that was disguised as a buckle and pulled it out. She dropped further into a crouch and swiped his legs from under him. He landed hard on his back and she quickly straddled him, grabbing the neckline of his shirt with her free hand.
  • “I’m on a schedule and I don’t have time to play pussyfoot with you. Once we screw, I’ll be right as rain and you’ll be out of my system. Now, you either strip or I’ll cut your clothes off.” She felt his crotch swell under her, “Derek, does having a knife to your throat turn you on?”
  • “What do you think?” he asked hoarsely, pushing his pelvis up, thrusting his crotch into hers.
  • “My, my Derek Silva. Don’t you just get high on danger? How much hornier would you get if I spilled some blood? Not much, just a little.” She pressed the sharp edge of the knife into his collarbone, nicking him a little and drawing just a drop of blood.
  • He didn’t even flinch. Instead his lips spread into a full blown smile, “Oh, I think I’m in love.”
  • Things progressed quickly from there. His clothes, well his shirt at least suffered the knife, but his jeans dropped off quickly enough. They never made it to the bed, just went at each other like crazy horny beasts on the floor. Her back and ass were hot from the friction from the carpet, but she was too high with pleasure to care about carpet burns. Her nipples on the other hand fell in love with the carpet when he pinned her down on her stomach and took her from behind. She loved that she was right about him. Derek knew his stuff and amazing sex ranked very high on his skillset. Once they were done, laying side by side exhausted, their bodies twitching from the aftershocks of beyond fantastic orgasms, she knew there was no way this was a one time thing.
  • “So,” he started through heavy breathing, “Should I get your number or do you want mine?”