My heart stops, starts, then stops again.

Did he just say he’s been sent here to kill me?

A hot blush makes my cheeks tingle as a cold surge of adrenaline pumps through my veins, chilling my fingertips and toes.

I stare and try to process what’s happening.

He can’t be a hitman. He’s too handsome for that. Not handsome in the traditional sense like you’d see in a magazine, but in a purely masculine way that reminds me of a feral animal. The kind of man who could live on his own in the mountains and be just fine.

His eyes are steady, cold. Like a killer. And when...