I slowly came to. I was exhausted. I didn't even bother to open my eyes. I just wanted to sleep. I was in my bed that much I could tell. I was warm and extremely comfortable. My conscious level was rising gradually. My senses were coming back to me slowly.

I could now recall how awful and terrified I'd had been earlier, but all those feelings were gone. They were now replaced by a rather pleasing sensation trailing up my thigh. I leaned my head back and my lips curled into a small smile.

His tongue moved higher. He nipped lightly at the tender skin of my inner thigh. I sighed deeply, feeling my blood growing hotter. He chuckled in his deep melodic voice. "Good morning, Jack," he breathed against me.

After a few minutes, I had decided that this was the only way to wake up. I couldn't remember waking up so happy in quite a few years. Ah hell, I'm pretty sure that I've never woken up this happy in my entire life! I clenched at the sheet and arched up off of the mattress as his tongue swirled around my clit.

The delicious pressure was building. I savored every second. I moaned, my breathing became quicker and more labored. I was close now...so close. Then his very persuasive, very wicked tongue moved about a half an inch to the left.

I gasped at the sudden emptiness. He turned his efforts back to my thighs. He bent my right knee and kissed from my hip down. I had to suck a sharp breath. "Bastard," I said in a rather loving tone.

This apparently amused him greatly. He moved from between my legs entirely. I felt him lie at my side. He traced from my eyebrow, down my cheek, across my lower lip and onto my neck.

"C'mon, Jack, open your eyes," he whispered in between kisses.

I opened my eyes, then immediately shut them again. They were burning out of my head. I quickly rubbed at them, trying to sooth them enough so I could see.

I blinked several times. Kirill was leaning over me, eyebrows raised and a strangle little smirk on his face. I tried to sit up, an intense wave of nausea mixed with striking pain hit me.

I was on the leather couch in my living room. My head, legs and arms were throbbing. Kirill helped me sit up, "Okay. C'mon, Jack, you're okay."

"Is there still a dead man in my kitchen?" I asked, leaning back against his shoulder.

He laid a hand over my flushed forehead, "Of course there's a dead man in your kitchen. If there wasn't, you'd be dead in your kitchen."

This is when things started to sink in. There was a wanted assassin in my living room checking to see if I had a fever, a dead bad guy bouncer on the dining room floor...things like this only happen to me. I sat up completely, "You didn't get rid of him?"

He laughed. LAUGHED. I failed to see what was funny. There was a man dead in my kitchen! "Sweetheart, I can't get rid of him. Soon," he checked his watch, "Very soon, actually, when the morning shift arrives and your car is still in the garage, they will start asking questions. Is there delayed video surveillance in that garage?" he asked.

I nodded. "Then most likely they'll have tape of Drake abducting you. So, what we need to do is go take care of my prints and make it look like you shot him, okay?"

I stared at him. I blinked several times. I wanted to cry and he could tell. He pulled me into his lap and held me there for several minutes. He smoothed my frazzled hair and placed a kiss on the top of my head, "Come on now, Jack. We have a lot of work to do."