Marina.
She was dressed in a jacket and plain jeans, but somehow managing to look better than any other woman in the city. Her hands clutched her purse tight, eyes squinting. She was surprised to see me.
Straightening my shoulders, my grin spread. “What are you doing out here?”
Marina darted her gaze side to side, from my feet back to my face. She was nervous, but then, she often got fidgety when I was close to her. “Just getting some air. Are you... working right now?”
Half turning, I looked back where the bar was down the street. “Kind of. We don't open for another hour. Did you want to get a drink?”
“At two in the afternoon?” she asked. The curve of her lips was tempting me more and more, especially when she smiled in disbelief. “It's early for alcohol. Cocoa would be good. Want to go do that?”
“Marina Fidel,” I gasped, covering my mouth. “Are you asking me on a date?” The flush that hit her cheeks had my heart thumping. She made it such a treat to rile her up. Reaching out, I adjusted the front of her jacket. The zipper had slid low, and another man might have peeled it open, but I did the opposite. Surprising her was a real treat. “Yeah. Let's go get something hot.”
That line just made her pinker.
Together, we slipped into one of the thousands of cafes filling the city. It was that magical hour where no one was free, busy at their jobs or classes. We had the place to ourselves.
I bought our drinks, not needing to ask what she wanted. In a small table in the corner, a view of the street through a large window, we sat and sipped and smiled.
It was oddly normal. Special and private. Pretending we were not who we were—a hitman and a woman on a murder mission—wasn't easy. But with her smiling at me, eyes alight and lips cherry red... I tried my best.
She slid her jacket off, revealing the creamy white shirt beneath. It clung to her chest, extra bright against her toffee skin. “Hey.” Her fingers snapped, drawing my attention briskly. Her smile was coy. “Eyes up here, buddy. I didn't take my coat off to distract you.”
I folded my hands under my chin. “You don't need to strip to distract me. That's the problem.”
Pursing her lips, she watched the outside world and acted like her ears weren't going red because of my compliment. “Is this weird for you?” she asked, gesturing with her paper cup.
“What, having coffee? Relaxing?”
Her attention swung back to me. The unfiltered realness of her question balanced between us. “Yeah. All of that.”
Toying with the lid of my cup, I smiled thoughtfully. “Not at all. If anything is weird, it's how natural this is. Spending time with you feels right, no matter how we do it.”
“Hunting, stalking, and coffee. They all go so well together,” she said.
I laughed helplessly. “I guess we've been doing a lot of intense stuff.”
Inquiring eyes roamed my face. “Well, what do you do besides clean your gun and flirt with innocent girls?”
“Innocent? You?” I teased.
“Wait, are you saying you are flirting with me?”
Narrowing my eyes, I ran my toe along her ankle under the table. Her parted lips were intoxicating. “You want to know what else I do?” The more I chased an answer, the more my smile faded.
I'd been pondering this right before Marina had bumped into me. Nameless girls and forgotten hours, whiskey for breakfast, polishing my Ruger every chance I got. That had been my life.
The closer I got to her, the less I thought about my old addictions.
Who was I without them?
“You okay?” she asked. Marina was staring at me, genuine worry carved into her features.
Reaching out, I placed a hand on hers and felt her fingers spasm. She hadn't been ready for me to touch her. Definitely not ready for me to squeeze my hold. “Everything that I used to do for fun in the past is just that. The past. It doesn't matter now.”
Marina's mouth went slack. Every line vanished from her pretty face. When she spoke, it was a hush so quiet I had to read her lips. “Then what does matter?”
The simple word was so close to spilling down my tongue.
You.
What a word. I couldn't do it. Admitting my feelings was unfair for both of us. I couldn't torture her, or me, with something that might never happen. Until I was sure that Marina would live—that she'd pass Jacob's test—I just couldn't say it. Even so, I knew the fucking truth.
Marina was what mattered to me now.
She held my hand for a long while. Under the table, her boot rubbed my calf. It was forward and comforting all combined. I wanted more of this side of her, but she had other ideas.
“The past,” she whispered. “I want to know more about it. About you, where you come from and who you are.”