"Well, you're right," I said. "That was me. I gave you the food. But you don't owe me anything for it. Hell, I didn't even do it for you. I did it for me. Because I'd once been in that alley digging for garbage to eat."
Owen nodded. "I thought it might be something like that."
His thumb stroked soft and slow over the scar on my palm. A pleasant warmth spread through my stomach, then moved lower, as I thought about other places where Owen could touch me. But I didn't want him like this. Didn't want him to feel that he needed to pay me back-for anything. I wanted him to want me, Gin Blanco, as I was now. Cold heart, bloody hands, iron will. Not because of some soft sentiment he felt for a girl who didn't even exist anymore.
"So that's what this is all about?" I asked. "You asking me out, you wanting to get to know me better. You actually think you owe me something for some random act of kindness years ago?"
"I owe you everything, Gin."
I shook my head. "No, you don't. Sure, I gave you the food and the jacket. But the job with the blacksmith? That was all the old man. Fletcher Lane. He owned the Pork Pit before me."
Owen frowned. "Lane? As in Finnegan Lane?"
I nodded. "Finn's father. He was the one who got you that job, Owen. Not me. I didn't have anything to do with it. Fletcher never said a word to me about it."
"I see."
"So you don't owe me anything. Not one damn thing," I said, letting him off the hook and ignoring the bitterness that filled my mouth-and heart. "Because I would have done the same thing for anyone who'd been in that alley looking the way you and Eva did that night. So whatever debt you think you've accrued with me over the years, cancel it. I certainly have. Just keep your mouth shut about Elliot Slater and what I told you tonight, and we'll be more than square."
I started to pull my hand out of his, but Owen tightened his grip, the strength of his fingers pressing against mine. His eyes burned with violet fire.
"You think that I just want you now because of something that happened back then? That I'm coming on to you to pimp myself out to pay off some debt?"
I raised an eyebrow. "Not a big leap to make, given our conversation tonight."
Owen shook his head. "You're wrong, Gin. Dead wrong."
"Really? Would you still be holding my hand if I were old, toothless, and had a face like a piece of leather?"
He had the good grace to wince.
"That's what I thought," I said. "Besides, I've been down this road before. In case you haven't been listening, let me recap. I'm an assassin, Owen. A very, very good one. I've spent my entire adult life killing people for money, a lot of money, and after I leave here tonight, I'm going to go plot how I can slit Elliot Slater's throat and get away with it. Do you really want to be with a woman who sleeps with a silverstone knife under her pillow? And would use it on you at any time if she thought you were a threat to her? Because that's me, in a nutshell."
Instead of answering my question, Owen regarded me with another thoughtful stare. "Donovan Caine really did a number on your self-confidence, didn't he?"
He had, but I'd be damned if I was going to let Owen know how badly the detective had wounded me when he'd left. So I shrugged.
"The detective and I came from two different worlds. The twain met, and one of them decided that he couldn't handle it. I don't want to waste my time going over the same old ground with someone new. Assassins aren't known for their exceptionally long life spans. Even retired ones like me."
Owen stared at me another moment, then pointed toward the wall of weapons. "Do you see that axe to the left?"
"Yes," I replied, not sure where he was going with the sudden change in conversation.
"I chopped off a man's fingers with that," Owen said in a calm voice. "Because he was Eva's first-grade teacher, and he touched her the wrong way. And then, when he was screaming at me to stop, I took his head off with it. I used that mace over there to smash a guy's kneecaps to splinters because he wanted me to pay him protection money when I started my own blacksmith shop. I have other stories I could tell you. The point is that I haven't gotten to where I am today by being kind and gentle. I did what I had to in order to survive and protect my sister. I imagine you've done the same."
I didn't say anything.
"I don't judge you for what you've done, Gin. Why are you judging me for another man's mistakes? Because Donovan Caine did make a mistake," Owen said in a soft voice. "Letting someone like you go."
"Someone like me?"
Owen got to his feet and moved until he was standing in front of me. "Someone strong and tough and smart and sassy and sexy as hell. That's why I'm interested, Gin. Because you're all of those things and more. Not because of a small kindness that you showed to me in the part of my past I'd like to forget."
Owen's words made my heart ache. Because these-these were the words that I'd longed to hear from Donovan Caine. I'd wanted the detective to understand me, to accept my actions and be able to look past them toward the future we could have together.
But Donovan was gone, and he wasn't ever coming back. Instead, Owen Grayson stood before me, a silent but clear offer burning in his violet eyes. Once more, my gaze drifted over his broad shoulders, his solid frame, his strong, capable hands. And I made up my mind. I'd take what I could have tonight and damn the consequences and feelings I might wake up with tomorrow.
I scooted off the desk and stood so that I was directly in front of Owen. We stared at each other, gray eyes on violet ones. The seconds ticked by. Ten, twenty, thirty, forty-five... Owen opened his mouth to say something. What, I didn't know, and I didn't care.
Instead of listening to him, I grabbed his jacket, pulled him to me, and crushed my mouth to his.
Chapter Twenty
Owen seemed startled by my sudden movement, but I flicked my tongue against his lips, and he got with the program. There was no hesitation with Owen, the way there had been with Donovan Caine. Owen kissed me just as hard and long and deep as I did him, until we were both panting for breath and aching for more-much more.
Owen was gentle and fierce at the same time. His hand gliding through my hair, softly massaging the back of my neck, even as his hot tongue wrestled with and thrashed against mine. His fingertips skimming down my throat and chest before boldly cupping my breast through the satiny fabric of my cocktail dress. At his light but aggressive touch, those little twitches and tingles of desire I'd felt with Owen before flared higher than ever, coalescing into a tight ball of fiery want and aching need that settled between my thighs. His smell filled my nose-that rich earthy scent that made me think of cold metal. I breathed in and felt my own Stone magic quicken in response to the elemental scent of him. Mmm.
But I just didn't sit back on the desk and let Owen have his way with me. I was too busy with my own explorations for that. I ran my fingers through his ebony hair, enjoying the coarse, bristlelike feel of it under my fingertips, before sliding my hands lower. His shoulders and biceps were wider and stronger than I'd realized and coiled tight with pent-up tension, as though he were holding back. As though he were afraid of hurting me or scaring me off. I didn't want him to hold back, so I upped the game, sliding one hand down to cup and rub his bulging erection.
Owen hissed with pleasure
"Do you like that?" I murmured.
He hissed again, then pulled back and smiled at me. His eyes sparked with violet fire and mischief. "Probably just as much as you like this."
Owen's hand slid down my leg and up under my short dress. He ignored the silverstone knives strapped to my legs and went straight to the sweet spot, drawing his finger up and down the junction of my thighs. I moaned in response, wanting him to rip away my silken panties so he could really touch me.
But instead, Owen drew his finger away and smoothed my skirt back down.
"But we'll get to that in a little while," he said. "I haven't finished my work up top yet."
"You're such a tease," I muttered.
His grin widened, and he leaned forward to kiss me again. I wrapped my arms around his neck and drew him closer, tighter, so our bodies were flush against each other, his erection pressing between my thighs. I rocked my hips forward, grinding against him, letting him know exactly what was waiting for him, if only he'd get on with things. Owen's shoulders bunched and tightened that much more under my fingers-along with other parts of him.
"Now who's teasing?" he rasped.
I laughed.
Owen started kissing my neck, nibbling at it the dainty way a rabbit might work on a carrot. One hand held me close to his chest, while the other one started its exploration of one of my breasts, then the other.
Somewhere between that first kiss and Owen's hand sliding up my leg, a funny thing had happened-I realized that I wanted him. Not just for a round of hot sex, though that was in the immediate offing. Somehow over the last few weeks, Owen Grayson had worn me down with his open, unabashed interest, playful banter, and calculated determination. I wanted to see what could happen between us-starting tonight.
As Owen worked his magic on my neck and breasts, I opened my eyes and weighed the options. The desk I was sitting on was wide enough, but the leather couch to the side would be much more comfortable-
The doorbell rang. A low, sonorous chime that echoed through the mansion. A moment later, the bell sounded again, and then again, as though someone was jabbing it repeatedly.
I sighed. "That's probably Finn."
Owen pulled back. "And he can't wait, can he?"
I sighed again. "No. More like Roslyn can't wait."
I didn't often feel guilt, but a sort of shame filled me. Roslyn Phillips had been stalked and worse, and instead of figuring out how I could kill the bastard who'd tortured her, here I was getting busy with a man I knew almost nothing about. Fuck. I was getting soft in my pseudoretirement.
I scooted off the desk and got to my feet. Owen stepped back and watched me finger-comb my hair and put my dress back into its proper position.
"Duty calls," he murmured. "Even for an assassin."
I gave him a tight smile. "Sadly, yes."
Owen Grayson escorted me to the front door and opened it. Sure enough, Finn stood outside leaning against the doorjamb, his Aston Martin parked in the driveway behind Owen's Mercedes.
Finn's green eyes took in my flushed faced and red lips. A sly smile filled his face. "I do hate to interrupt," he said. "But we have work to do, Gin."
"I know."
I turned to Owen. "Sorry to cut the evening short. Rain check?"
His violet eyes glittered with a hot promise. "Definitely."
Owen grabbed my hand, his thumb tracing over the spider rune scar on my palm. I enjoyed the sensation for a moment, before squeezing his hand and slipping mine free.
I didn't look back as I slid into Finn's car, but I could feel Owen's eyes on me as I got inside and buckled up. Finn hopped into the driver's seat, cranked the engine, and roared down the driveway away from the gray stone house.
"Well, I see someone ended the evening on a high note," Finn said as he drove through the iron gate that ringed Owen's property.
"Not really. You rang the bell before I could get mine done," I sniped.
"Sarcasm does not become you, Gin," he replied. "So I take it Owen took the news well? What exactly did you tell him?"
"Just about everything."
Finn looked at me out of the corner of his eye. "Why would you go and do something like that?"
I shrugged. "Seemed like the thing to do. He knew I was involved with Tobias Dawson's death, and he had his suspicions about me killing Jake McAllister at Mab Monroe's party. He would have put it all together anyway when Slater's body turns up cold and rotting somewhere in the next few days."
"Do you think he'll talk?" Finn asked in a low voice.
I thought about Owen's confession that he'd wanted to kill Jake McAllister himself. About the other men that he had hurt and killed to protect Eva and himself. About what he thought he owed me for giving him food that night all those years ago. About the hard, passionate way he'd kissed me even after I'd told him exactly who and what I was.
"No," I replied. "Owen has his own reasons for keeping his mouth shut."
I told Finn what Owen had said about living on the streets and how Fletcher Lane had gotten him his first job as a blacksmith.
"Dad helped Owen and Eva?" Finn asked. "I never knew about that."
"Me neither," I muttered. "It would have been nice for Fletcher to mention his altruistic streak before he died."
Memories of Fletcher Lane flooded my mind. The knowing look in the old man's green eyes. The way he so thoughtfully and carefully studied everyone and everything around him. My heart ached, the way it always did when I thought of all the things I wanted to say to him, all the things I wanted to ask him-and would never get to.
Finn and I didn't speak for a few minutes, but I could tell he was still thinking about Owen and the possible risk the businessman represented to us.
"Don't worry about Owen, Finn," I finally said. "Besides our past history, he wants to fuck me now, remember? Spilling news of my secret identity is only going to get him a knife to the chest. He knows that. And I seriously doubt he wants Eva to finish growing up without big brother around to keep her safe and in line."
"And what happens if you're wrong?" Finn asked.
