"You're going on a work trip?" you ask him, looking up at the tattooed man as you gently close your book. "When do you leave?"

"Tomorrow. It'll be a week." His voice is cool and even, his gaze flicking to you. In your pyjamas, sitting in the bed next to him, he's suddenly reminded of how vulnerable you are as a civilian. If any of his fellow assassins knew about you, you could be in danger. And besides, you're just his cover. So why are you suddenly making his heart skip? "It'll be quick."