Read Online Last Hit (Hitman) by Jessica Clare, Jen Frederick - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jessica Clare, Jen Frederick
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suddenly standing in front of me.
"Daisy," he murmurs, and his fingers touch my chin to make me look up at him. Those intense eyes are devouring me. "What is wrong?"
For some reason, my lip trembles. "I…you shouldn’t have bought me these things."
His eyes narrow. "Why?" His accent is so thick it sounds more like "vyyy."
"That woman…she thought you were my boyfriend."
He stills and when he speaks, his voice is hard. "You have a boyfriend already? He will be jealous?"
"What? No." I shake my head. "No boyfriend. I just—she doesn’t realize you were just being kind."
A harsh laugh escapes him. "Daisy, there are many things you can call me, but ‘kind’ is not one of them."
It is an odd thing to say. He has been nothing but kind to me.
"It’s too much money."
He considers this for a moment, and then he puts his hand out for the bag. I hand it to him, feeling crushing disappointment. Why am I so hung up on lovely, silky panties? Perhaps it’s not the items themselves, but what they represent.
Old, timid Daisy would never wear such flimsy, sweet, colorful things. And new Daisy wants them more than anything. I want to see that gleam of approval in Nick’s eyes as he sees them on me.
I want to feel special to him. I wonder if he realizes how messed up I am. I’m already clinging to him. I’m a strange, needy little package.
Nick reaches into the bag. He pulls out the receipt, and to my surprise, he crumples it in his hand and tosses it into a nearby trash bin. Then, he holds the bag out to me. "Now you have no choice but to accept my gift,
da?
"
I look at him with wide eyes. “But, Nick. The money…”
He leans in. His pale eyes seem to caress my face, his stare almost too direct. "Which part bothers you," he asks after a moment. "The money or the fact that she thinks you belong to me?"
I feel trapped under Nick’s gaze. He’s staring down at me as if the world hinges on my answer. I feel the same way. I need to find a way to admit how I feel without embarrassing myself. Regan would have something smooth and funny to say in this moment, but all I feel is stupid. Like I’m reading way too much into things and making both of us incredibly uncomfortable.
"Just the money," I whisper. The thought of belonging to him makes me feel hot and breathless. For some reason, I think belonging to Nick would be nothing like my father’s oppressive control. Nick would let me run free, I think. Give me just enough to let me do what I want, but he would always be there to protect me if I needed him.
His hand reaches up and touches my face. Ever so softly, his thumb grazes across my skin. Prickles of awareness shoot through me, and I feel goosebumps rise. I should push his hand away. I should.
I don’t.
Instead, I meet his gaze, incredibly drawn to him. That small, simple touch is mesmerizing me. He leans in, as if he wants to tell me a secret—or kiss me—if I lean in to meet him. The thought makes my pulse flutter all over again.
As he does, I notice his open collar has shifted, and I can see a hint of black on his neck. I’m fascinated. “Is that a tattoo?"
It is the wrong thing to ask. He stiffens, his eyes going cold. He pulls back and shrugs his shoulders, and the enticing glimpse of tattooed skin is gone. He drops his hand, and I’m left cold and alone all over again.
"So," he says. "The clothing is a gift."
I’ve offended him. How awful. I should apologize. But he’s not looking at me anymore, and I can’t find the way to form the words. Instead, I clutch the bag closer. "Thank you."
We walk toward the next store in silence, and I see another couple holding hands. Suddenly, I want that, too. If I brush my hand against his, will he take it? Or will he ignore me?
This, I think, will tell me how he feels about me. If he’s as messed up over me as I already am over him. A normal girl would not be so attached so quickly…but I’m not normal.
I switch the bag to my other hand, leaving one
"Daisy," he murmurs, and his fingers touch my chin to make me look up at him. Those intense eyes are devouring me. "What is wrong?"
For some reason, my lip trembles. "I…you shouldn’t have bought me these things."
His eyes narrow. "Why?" His accent is so thick it sounds more like "vyyy."
"That woman…she thought you were my boyfriend."
He stills and when he speaks, his voice is hard. "You have a boyfriend already? He will be jealous?"
"What? No." I shake my head. "No boyfriend. I just—she doesn’t realize you were just being kind."
A harsh laugh escapes him. "Daisy, there are many things you can call me, but ‘kind’ is not one of them."
It is an odd thing to say. He has been nothing but kind to me.
"It’s too much money."
He considers this for a moment, and then he puts his hand out for the bag. I hand it to him, feeling crushing disappointment. Why am I so hung up on lovely, silky panties? Perhaps it’s not the items themselves, but what they represent.
Old, timid Daisy would never wear such flimsy, sweet, colorful things. And new Daisy wants them more than anything. I want to see that gleam of approval in Nick’s eyes as he sees them on me.
I want to feel special to him. I wonder if he realizes how messed up I am. I’m already clinging to him. I’m a strange, needy little package.
Nick reaches into the bag. He pulls out the receipt, and to my surprise, he crumples it in his hand and tosses it into a nearby trash bin. Then, he holds the bag out to me. "Now you have no choice but to accept my gift,
da?
"
I look at him with wide eyes. “But, Nick. The money…”
He leans in. His pale eyes seem to caress my face, his stare almost too direct. "Which part bothers you," he asks after a moment. "The money or the fact that she thinks you belong to me?"
I feel trapped under Nick’s gaze. He’s staring down at me as if the world hinges on my answer. I feel the same way. I need to find a way to admit how I feel without embarrassing myself. Regan would have something smooth and funny to say in this moment, but all I feel is stupid. Like I’m reading way too much into things and making both of us incredibly uncomfortable.
"Just the money," I whisper. The thought of belonging to him makes me feel hot and breathless. For some reason, I think belonging to Nick would be nothing like my father’s oppressive control. Nick would let me run free, I think. Give me just enough to let me do what I want, but he would always be there to protect me if I needed him.
His hand reaches up and touches my face. Ever so softly, his thumb grazes across my skin. Prickles of awareness shoot through me, and I feel goosebumps rise. I should push his hand away. I should.
I don’t.
Instead, I meet his gaze, incredibly drawn to him. That small, simple touch is mesmerizing me. He leans in, as if he wants to tell me a secret—or kiss me—if I lean in to meet him. The thought makes my pulse flutter all over again.
As he does, I notice his open collar has shifted, and I can see a hint of black on his neck. I’m fascinated. “Is that a tattoo?"
It is the wrong thing to ask. He stiffens, his eyes going cold. He pulls back and shrugs his shoulders, and the enticing glimpse of tattooed skin is gone. He drops his hand, and I’m left cold and alone all over again.
"So," he says. "The clothing is a gift."
I’ve offended him. How awful. I should apologize. But he’s not looking at me anymore, and I can’t find the way to form the words. Instead, I clutch the bag closer. "Thank you."
We walk toward the next store in silence, and I see another couple holding hands. Suddenly, I want that, too. If I brush my hand against his, will he take it? Or will he ignore me?
This, I think, will tell me how he feels about me. If he’s as messed up over me as I already am over him. A normal girl would not be so attached so quickly…but I’m not normal.
I switch the bag to my other hand, leaving one
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