Chapter 2

Ethan

A heavy sigh slips from my lungs as I remain at the edge of the crowd, lingering in the luxurious event hall of the museum. The band is playing music as a very talented singer performs classic Christmas hits live. I wish I could say I had better things to do on Christmas Eve, but I don't. My job is my life, and the amount of money paid for tonight's hit was too good to pass up. It's also better than spending another year rotting in my apartment and drowning in self-pity.

I take a sip of my whiskey, and my gaze roams the crowd again, looking for the target, but he still hasn't arrived. From the picture sent to me earlier, I know exactly what he looks like and what mask he will be wearing tonight. So there is no way he can slip through my fingers. If there's one thing, I'm good at it's people watching. As a retired Army sniper, I spent countless hours improving my ability to remain entertained while staying alert for my target's approach.

Or so I thought. My gaze settles on the woman walking through the tall doors that have just opened to the main hall. Nothing but subtle, my eyes travel up her perfectly shaped curves, over her ass, into the dip of her waist, the curve of her spine, and over her round breasts, wrapped in a stunningly form-fitting crimson dress. Perfectly toned and styled blonde hair cascades down her pale shoulders. Her plump lips are painted a deep red to match her gown and the Venetian mask that conceals her identity.

As she turns in my direction and looks through the crowd, my gaze settles on the hyperpigmentation on her shoulder. My eyes widen as I realize that the woman who has captured my attention is none other than Harlee Carter. A fire erupts in my chest as her icy blue eyes find mine, her movements freezing as she stares back at me. Despite her warm appearance, she radiates the same cold, forbidden energy that has been tempting me for months.

I first fell in love with her art after my eyes settled on one of her paintings hanging in my boss's office. I never felt as much peace as I did when I focused on that abstract painting, the vibrant red filled with so many raw emotions that mirrored mine, yet managed to calm the raging storm inside. Afterward, I went to one of her exhibitions with the goal of buying one of her paintings, only to be met with more than countless masterpieces capturing the painful emotions I experience every day. But aside from that, I was also met with the revelation that she is just as much a work of art as her paintings.

That night, and for many that followed, I was unable to talk to her. At every exhibition, she was mobbed by people, everyone waiting for the small opportunity to exchange a few words with her. While everyone else ignored the signs, I noticed how her mood changed throughout the nights, how tired and upset she was, and the last thing I wanted to do was add to her dismay. But even though we haven't spoken a single word, it doesn't mean that I don't know anything about her. Quite the opposite. I know every important detail, her daily schedule, her daily coffee order, the toppings on her take-out food, her clothing size, the shampoo she uses... and most importantly, her dirty little secret .

Ever since I first witnessed her slit a man's throat, I've been head over heels in love and have made it my priority to protect the woman of my dreams. I cleaned up every scene thoroughly after she left with her new paint and made sure there was no trace of her left. She hasn't noticed me yet, and I haven't found the right time to reveal myself.

A disappointment settles over me, my heart dropping as she breaks eye contact and continues to push through the crowd.

I slip my phone from the pocket of my pants and steal a glance. The screen lights up as I flip it over, revealing a text message from my partner, Logan, stating that the target is still at home, getting ready. Which means I have plenty of time to get my shot with her. So far, no one has recognized her, which means I should do it now before someone does and they swarm around her, yapping for her attention. Although I’m here for a job, I shouldn’t deny myself some fun.

Scurrying through the crowd, I walk toward the woman, standing by the buffet with small delicacies and glasses of drinks until I reach her, coming to a halt right behind her, with only a few dangerous inches separating us.

"What is a beautiful woman like you, Miss Carter, doing all alone at an event like this?" I speak directly into her ear. Her body tenses right under my looming presence, but it only takes a few seconds for her shoulders to slump and relax before she turns to face me.

"To whom do I have the pleasure?" she asks, and my heart skips a beat as her voice addresses me for the first time since I set eyes on her. I've been close to her before but never close enough to smell the sweet scent of her flowery perfume. Or where I had a perfect view of her stunning, icy blue eyes, which are now solely focused on me. A sensation I could get used to.

"Ethan Reid," I say, reaching for her free hand, lifting it to my lips, and planting a soft kiss on her knuckles.

"It's a pleasure," she says, pulling her hand back before bringing one of the small treats to her mouth. Her eyes remain fixed on me before the corners of her mouth twitch into a grin. "I’m surprised you’ve recognized me this fast.

"Easy," I say, raising my hand and gently brushing her hair from her shoulder, revealing the hyperpigmentation that adorns her otherwise pale skin. Against my better judgment, my fingers connect with her skin, silky soft, and warm against the roughness of my fingertips. She tilts her head to look at where my hand touches her but doesn't push it away. Instead, her attention returns to my face.

"An attentive admirer, I see." She chuckles before popping the last of the treats from her plate into her mouth.

"If you want to put it that innocently." A smirk finds its way to my lips and a subtle shade of pink creeps through her make-up, enhancing her perfectly applied blush.

At the sound of the orchestra's music fading as the last dance ends, I take the chance. "Would you do me the honor of a dance?" I nod in the direction of the area reserved for dancing, where attendees are waltzing to the slow Christmas songs.

She takes her eyes off me, darting through the crowd, clearly looking for something or someone in particular, until they finally fall back on me. "One dance," she agrees, and my grin widens.

"Perfect." I offer her my arm and she accepts, puts down her plate, and wraps her arms around mine, letting me lead her to the dance floor. I put my hand on her hip and hold her other hand straight as she puts her hand on my shoulder, and we fall into a gentle waltz to the slow acoustic take on Holly Jolly Christmas.

"So, tell me," I say, letting my hand slide to the small of her back, pulling her just an inch closer. "What brings a woman like you all alone to an event like this?"

"Who says I'm alone?" she asks in that overly confident tone I've heard her use so many times before.

"Miss Carter—"

"Harlee is fine," she interrupts, her grip on my shoulder tightening.

"Harlee," I correct myself. "You grabbed all my attention the second you walked into this very room. I would have noticed a companion if there had been one."

"I see." She chuckles, and with the next step in my direction, she swings closer, her body now pressed against mine as her hand slides to my nape, her fingers brushing the back of my neck. "What about you?" she asks, her tone casual, though her gaze is anything but. "A handsome man like you all alone?"

"Maybe I'm here to find someone to make this festive evening less lonely." A smirk curls at the corner of my lips when she doesn't pull away. "And it seems I'm very lucky tonight."

"Lucky we have that in common." A small chuckle escapes her. "Though I'd be careful who you bump into." Her voice is soft, almost playful, but there's something darker in her tone.

"Oh, I've always been drawn to a little risk," I murmur, leaning forward slightly. "In fact, I think I know danger when I see it."

"Is that so?"

"Yes," I say, lowering my head to her level and brushing my lips across the arch of her ear. "Because we have a lot more in common than just being lonely tonight."

"And that would be?" she asks, her voice taking on a more innocent tone. A subtle change, but noticeable if you listen closely.

"Our thirst for blood." Her muscles stiffen and my grip on her tightens as I pull her flush against me, leaving her no room to escape. Her hand leaves my neck and her arm wraps around my shoulder, holding onto me.

"Mr. Re—"

"Ssh," I shush her.

Her gaze lingers on me, holding steady. "And what makes you so sure?" Her voice is soft, almost teasing, as if daring me to spell it out.

"Let's just say," I reply, my pulse quickening with excitement, "I'm more than familiar with your work ."

She hums in response before bringing her hand back to my neck, her sharp nails digging into my skin and my eye twitching at the sting. "And you think it's a good idea to reveal this to me?" she replies in a seductive tone. "Not afraid of ending up on my list?"

"A professional ending up on the list of a hobby killer?" I snort in mockery. "But if that’s a list of lovers, I'll gladly take a spot on it."

"You're so full of yourself." She rolls her eyes. "Careful, Mr. Reid. You might just be asking for trouble."

"Trouble?" I quirk an eyebrow. "Yet you haven't pushed me away."

"Touche, there's a chance I'm enjoying myself."

"Oh, I'm sure you are," I tease and continue to lead her through the dance.