Maid for the Hitman: A Steamy Standalone Instalove Romance Flora Ferrari (summer beach reads TXT) 📖

bet. It was his idea not to wear protection. Which would’ve been one thing if he did the right thing and stood by her. But he humiliated her.”

“Evil,” Ryland snarls, his jaw becoming tight, his hand closing into a fist on the back of the couch cushion. “Where is this animal?”

“Dead,” I sigh. “He got into a car accident a few years ago. The mutual friend told us. My so-called dad didn’t want anything to do with us.”

Ryland shifts down the couch and wraps his arms around my waist.

I’ll always be shocked by how easily he handles me, pulling me into his lap as though I’m one of the weightless cheerleaders in high school. He pulls me into his lap and brings his lips close to mine, painting my cheeks with his warm breath.

“I am not like that,” he says fiercely. “I’m not tricking you. I’d never trick you. I swear.”

I nod shortly.

“Thank you, Ryland,” I murmur. “It means a lot. But…”

“But what?” he prompts when I trail off.

“Do you think I could go to bed? I need time to process all of this. I need sleep.”

He nods, kissing my cheek with surprising softness, and then stands up.

I slide from his lap and gaze up at him.

He leans down and scoops Chopper up, cradling him to his chest. The tiny, loud dog curls up and closes his eyes, content to be so close to Ryland.

“Take the time you need,” he says fiercely. “But don’t for a second think I’m ever going to let you go.”

With that, he leaves me, striding away in his armor-colored suit.

I sit back, staring up at the stars, willing myself to stop questioning this fate-fueled gift.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Ryland

I sit on the balcony with Jackie’s nurse.

Harold is a tall, thin man with sharp cheekbones and a tufty red chin beard. He sips his coffee and then lays it on the platter, moving with the slow certainty I’ve come to expect from him.

It’s why I chose him.

He did an excellent job in my father’s final days.

“She’s doing tolerably well,” he says in his swanky British accent. “There isn’t much I can do but keep her company, make sure she takes her medication, and pray with her.”

“Pray,” I grunt, laying my coffee down and turning to my estate, the sun rising over the long green fields and turning them verdant and vivid.

I try to focus on this moment, on Harold, and talk of Rosie’s mother, but my mind keeps returning to last night and all the crazy heat that passed between us.

Rosie knows how I truly feel now. There’s no going back.

She said she felt the same.

But she also said she needed time to think.

Think about what?

I’m dead certain she’s the one for me. My stomach twists at the thought she might not feel the same.

“It seems to help her,” Harold says, with a shrug.

“Are you two getting on?” I ask.

“Yeah, very well,” he says. “She says I have a kind voice, which I’ve never been told before, but which means a great deal to me.”

“My old man thought the same,” I tell him.

Harold smiles, shaking his head. “With all due respect, Ryland, I can’t imagine Bucky Radley saying something like that.”

“He didn’t say it. I could just tell. He was one-tenth less a dickhead when you were around.”

Harold chuckles. He’s about to say something else, but then footsteps approach from behind us.

I turn when I sense that they’re Rosie’s. I’d be able to pick her footsteps out of a hundred, I’m sure. She has a particular sound, as though part of her is nervous about where she’s going, but the rest of her won’t let those nerves hold her back.

She appears at the door. Her auburn hair in loose waves around her shoulders. She’s wearing no makeup, making her face look flushed and fresh in the morning sun.

Her voluptuous body is a prisoner within her summer dress, settling lightly against her curves.

“Sorry, Harold,” she murmurs. “Mom is asking for you.”

Harold rises with a short bow. “No apologies needed, ma’am,” he says. “It is my duty, and I do it willingly.”

She giggles as he leaves us, head held high.

“Is he always so official?” she asks.

I smirk over at her. She’s talking to me, but she’s studying the grounds, the sky… looking anywhere, it seems, except for directly at me.

I stand up and move over to her.

She flinches when I bring my hands up to her face, hungry to clasp the warmth of her cheeks.

“Why so skittish, Rosie?” I ask, leaning down to kiss her forehead.

My body stirs at the taste of her. All night, I’ve been waiting to feel her fire-hot skin against me again, dreaming of it.

“I thought I might wake up and discover I’d dreamed last night,” she whispers, her smile quirking as she gazes up at me.

“Disappointed?” I ask, taking her hand and leading her to the table and chairs.

“No,” she says firmly.

“Did you talk to your mom about us?” I ask.

She bites her lip as she drops into the seat, shaking her head. “No, not yet. I don’t really… maybe we should try an actual date or something before I tell her.”

I smirk, chuckling as I pour myself a mug of fresh coffee. I gesture with the pot, and she nods thankfully.

“That sounds like a delaying tactic to me,” I say. “But I’m not going to turn down an offer like that. I’ve never been asked on a date before. What a modern little minx you are, Rosie.”

She mock-glares at me, pouting her lips adorably. “I did not ask you on a date.”

I smirk teasingly. “No? That’s what it sounded like to me.”

“You need to listen better, then,” she says. “I was suggesting the idea of a date one day.”

“Fine,” I growl.

I reach across the table and take her hand, squeezing it possessively, letting her feel all the hunger rioting through me, all my need to own her.

“We’re having a date this evening,” I snarl. “I’ll leave a dress in your bedroom for you. Wear