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This is new for me. Normally, I finish a job, and that’s it. There’s no connection to anyone else involved in my target’s life. Looks like we both experienced a first this evening.
Instead of making her sweat it out, I take it easy on her. “I really did have a nice time tonight. It’s rare in my line of work to genuinely enjoy a job.”
“You aren’t just saying that?”
“Not a chance.”
“I had fun, too.” She taps her fingers against her knees, staring out the window to her right. “How many of these jobs do you do? Like over the course of a typical week?”
“It varies. I generally have a decent amount of downtime, though.”
“I see.”
I pull to a stop in front of her building and fight back a smile as I turn to her. I don’t want her to get the wrong idea, like I’m laughing at her. She’s been through enough of that. “If you’re asking whether I usually fool around with my clients, the answer is no.”
“Oh, I wasn’t asking that. It’s none of my business, anyway.” She can’t pretend with me. I see her relief. She wants to know she isn’t yet another nameless, faceless fuck.
And nothing could be further from the truth. No, there’s no forgetting this girl. I close my fingers around her hand and lift it until my lips graze her knuckles. The little shiver that runs through her is beyond gratifying. “I’ll look fondly back on this night for a long time. I hope you had a good time, too.”
Her face goes roughly as red as a stop sign, but she nods. “I did. Like the whole thing. It was great. Thank you.”
“My pleasure.” I look past her toward the building. “Klaus is probably wondering where you’ve been all this time, and that turtle of yours might be staging an escape as we speak.”
If anything, she looks relieved as she leans over and kisses my cheek. “Thank you, Talon.”
“You’re welcome, Ainsley.”
“Ten out of ten would recommend.”
“That’s good to hear.”
“Maybe I’ll see you around?”
“Who knows? I might decide to get a hairless cat of my own one day, and we’ll run into each other at the pet store.” She’s laughing as she steps out of the car, then dashes up the walkway, holding her skirts in both hands so she won’t trip. I savor the sight of her for as long as I can until she disappears into the building—a few moments later, a light comes on in one of the front windows on her floor.
“Good night, Ainsley,” I murmur, putting the car in drive as my plan for what to do next begins forming in my head.
I’m going to see her again, but it won’t be at the pet shop.
In fact, she won’t even know I’m watching.
8
TALON
Strange. She struck me as a smart girl—offbeat and quirky, sure, but not stupid, far from it.
Yet she might as well be using a piece of gum to secure her front door. I understand there’s only so much a person can do when they’re renting, but she could at least have installed a better lock. Something that wouldn’t be so easy to pick.
She could have also chosen a building with actual security. The day after the wedding, once she left for the library, I made it my business to study the building inside and out. I suppose, as a librarian, she doesn’t make much money, which might explain the lack of cameras in the hallways and stairwells. Hell, it would be a miracle if the smoke detectors worked.
After my inspection, I headed out to my favorite electronics store, where the owners are discreet and never ask questions about why a guy needs half a dozen nanny cams. I’d already done my research, so there was no need for them to offer their opinion on the equipment I’d picked out. My money’s good, which is all they care about.
She’s working again on Monday. I wait, this time across the street from the library, sitting at a table near the window of a coffee shop. By now, somebody must’ve found Paul. Nothing about the way she carries herself suggests she’s mourning in any way. Why would she? It’s like the guy made it his life’s mission to hurt her.
“You’re welcome,” I whisper as she chains her bike to the rack in front of the building. Today, she’s wearing an ankle-length flowered skirt and a lace-trimmed blouse. How she managed to ride her bike in that skirt is a mystery. Her hair’s pinned up in a loose bun with pieces blowing free around her face. My hands clench against the desire to bury themselves in that hair.
What is it about her? I don’t know whether I want to put her in a bubble so that innocence of hers goes untouched or if I’d rather bend her over that bike rack and fuck her senseless. Nothing about her way of dressing or living is meant to draw a man’s attention—she’s hardly showing any skin at all—but I’m hard as a rock, just the same. She was meant for me, simple as that. Everything about her was made for me.
