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I’m just doing Nikolai a favor and paying her back for almost killing her. And even if that weren’t the case, she won’t be able to accept that I kill people for a living.
She takes photos of birds and old people where I hunt targets and kill. She enjoys snacks and comedies while I maintain a healthy diet and barely watch TV. Her camera is her favorite thing, where a gun is mine.
And she’s worth more than a one-night stand.
No matter how sexy her fucking ass is, how beautiful her smile is, and how amazing her personality is, I can’t allow myself to feel anything for her.
The guilt I’ve had to live with the past ten years is the only emotion she’ll get from me.
Christ, I didn’t expect Camille DuBois to be so fucking perfect.
Why the hell isn’t there a line of men at her front door?
I’m so deep in thought I don’t realize that I’ve changed into the gray sweatpants instead of just staying dressed in my cargo pants.
She thinks I look hot in sweatpants.
The corner of my mouth lifts, and I shake my head.
You’re just going to watch the movie with her because the first one was good. There will be no bonding and shit.
I leave my gun on my bed and walk out of the bedroom. Hearing Camille in the kitchen, I head down the stairs and find her gathering enough snacks to feed a small army.
She glances in my direction then stops what she’s doing to stare at me. “You have to let me take a photo of you in those pants. I’ll make millions.”
I chuckle and shake my head at her. “Not happening.”
She scrunches her nose. “I tried.” Pointing at the snacks, she asks, “Will you take those to the living room? I’m going to make ramen for dinner.”
I gather all the chips, pretzels, and packets of candy and carry the load to the coffee table, where I dump it.
I head back to the kitchen and take a seat at the island. Camille’s stirring the noodles in a pot, a soft smile playing around her lips.
Christ, please stop looking so damn beautiful.
She glances at me then her eyes widen. “Why do you look like you want to kill someone?”
Not kill. Fuck. I want to fuck someone. You in particular.
I wipe the emotion from my face. “Let’s eat so we can watch the movie.”
She gives me a cautious look before dishing the ramen into bowls. “Chopsticks or a fork?”
“Chopsticks.”
Camille takes a seat across from me and chooses to use a fork to eat.
Her eyes are glued to my hand when I take my first bite, then she mutters, “I’m jealous. I can’t use chopsticks.”
I point at the drawer. “Get some, and I’ll show you how.”
She quickly gets a pair and excitedly takes her seat again.
“Cradle the bottom chopstick between your thumb and the other with your index finger so you can move it up and down.”
She does as I instruct and grins when she gets it right.
“It will take some time until you get the hang of it. Don’t get frustrated,” I warn her.
