When the man in my apartment rolls off me, so many thoughts are running through my head, I’m not sure how to deal with all of them.

Scratch that. Any of them.

As I turn my back on him and attempt to gather myself, I focus on the facts.

Someone put out a hit on my brother.

This guy—the one I know biblically, but don’t know his actual name—knows my brother.

Mount knows that he accepted a hit to kill my brother.

Because he’s a freaking hit man.

And I just turned my back on a killer.

I whip around to face him, and his expression is hard to read. If I had to guess, I’d say a mix of amusement, approval, and . . . arousal? Since apparently I caught him on the tail end of adjusting himself.

“You go back a long time with Rafe?”

For some reason, this is one piece of the bomb-dropping revelations I’m having the most trouble digesting. Right up there with the fact that he kills people. Of all the possible people in all the world, how is it that I end up banging a guy who kills people and knows my brother?

Seriously. This. Isn’t. Fair.

He nods, and it seems he’s back to his man-of-few-words persona.

“How long?”

“Long enough.”

I stare at him harder, like if I had the ability to shoot laser beams from my eyes, they’d be glowing red right now. “And you knew who I was the whole time?”

His face is completely impassive now. “Does it matter?”

Is he insane?

“Yes, it goddamned matters. I thought I was having some wild fling with a hot stranger, and I find out I’m banging my brother’s friend!” His lips quirk like he’s trying not to laugh, and my rage from earlier returns. “Don’t you dare smile at me.”

“Hot stranger, eh?”

“Shut up. This isn’t funny.”

“But you’re so fucking sexy when you’re furious. If I’d only known . . .”

“You would’ve told me who you were and pissed me off sooner?”

The mirth in his expression evaporates. “No. If it were up to me, you never would’ve known.” His gaze intensifies. “I knew then I never should’ve touched you.”

“Then why did you?”

His stare rakes over me, and as pissed and scared and confused as I am, I can’t help but feel the rising heat. I force it away to focus on what really matters.

“I don’t understand any of this. You’ve gotta break it down for me. Why would someone want to kill Rafe?”

“We need to move this conversation elsewhere. Somewhere safer.”

This throws me for a loop. “What do you mean?”

“Pack your bag, princess. You’re coming with me. Your boss’s orders. Or should I say, the boss’s orders.”

He doesn’t have to explain who he’s talking about, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to take him at face value either. I’m finally starting to understand this man is anything but what he seems on the surface.

“Don’t expect me to believe a damn thing you say to me ever again.” I snatch up my phone and turn to head for the bedroom.

Why did I turn my back on a killer?

I spin around, keeping my gaze locked on his face as I walk backward, my other arm stretched out behind me, feeling for my bedroom door. I shove it open and slip inside, never breaking our stare.

“Go ahead. Call her. Trust, but verify.”

“Trust? That’s rich.” I push the door shut, cutting off my view inch by inch.

My mouthwateringly sexy view. His hair is ruffled from rolling around on the floor with me, and his collar is open.

No, Temperance. Stop. You are not interested. I laugh to myself. Even I don’t believe me. Then I remind myself he’s a hit man. Sobering.

I tap Keira’s contact and wait for her to pick up.

“Did he find you?” she asks instead of a greeting.

“If by he you mean the hit man who took the job to kill my brother, even though he knows him? Yes. Yes, he did. Can you please tell me what the hell is going on, and what I’m supposed to do now?”

“Hold on. Lachlan wants the phone.”

Of course he does, the bossy bastard, I think, because I wouldn’t dare say that out loud.

“Temperance.” His deep voice sounds more relaxed than normal, which seems completely at odds with the situation at hand.

“There’s a hit man in my living room,” I blurt out.

“Good. Do what he says.”

“Are you joking? Because I’m really, really hoping you’re joking.”

All I hear is silence at the other end of the call.

“Okay, so that’s a hard no to joking. Got it.” I try to inject some humor into my voice.

“Your brother is in a bad situation. This bad situation could spill over onto you. My wife doesn’t want anything to happen to you, so I made a call and now you’re safe.”

I swallow and try to find some words to string together in a coherent sentence at his pronouncement. “What about Rafe?”

Another beat of silence. Then, “Saxon’s the best. If anyone can help Rafe, it’s him.”

Saxon. He has a name. I picture the man in the living room, but it doesn’t fit him.

“You good?” Mount asks.

Good? Is he serious?

I answer honestly. “I don’t know what I am right now.”

“You’re cut from the same cloth as my wife. You’ll rise to the occasion.”

The call ends before I can respond.

“Well, fuck,” I say to the empty room.

“Pack your bag. We’re moving out.”

I screech and whirl around to see my stranger—Saxon—standing inside the open door to my bedroom. I didn’t even hear the damn thing open.

“Don’t ever do that again!”

“No promises.”

I narrow my gaze on him. “How do you move so quietly, anyway?”

He shoots me a crooked grin. “Part of the job description.”