Last Hit (Hitman) (13 page)

And I want Nick to remember me. "What do I do?"

Becca turns and gives Regan a smug look. "We go through
her
closet. If you want slutty, she's got it."

Regan mock-gasps. "Whore," she says to Becca affectionately, and then grins and turns back to me. "Come on. Let's see what I've got that will fit you."

By the time six rolls
around, I am ready for my date. My long brown hair has been pulled into a ponytail, the ends curled; my fringe of bangs are trimmed and perfect. I am wearing a light dusting of makeup with gray eyeliner that makes my eyes seem bigger and bluer than ever. My lashes are curled and darkened with mascara. My lip gloss is just a faint sheen of color.

Even though it's just a movie theater, it's a first date, and both girls insist I should ‘wow' Nick. I have no dresses, and they think I should wear one, so I've borrowed from Regan. It's black, and it has lacy sleeves that caress my arms all the way down to my wrists. The neckline is high and the bustline modest. It almost looks schoolgirl-ish, until I turn around and the entire back is made of the same sheer black lace as the sleeves are.

Becca declares it perfect—not too trampy, not too sedate.

Regan has let me borrow a pair of hoop earrings and a small sparkly necklace that caresses my throat. I have also borrowed a pair of black, low-heeled Mary Janes that Regan insists she never wears.

I feel pretty. I'm me, but just a little better than usual, with a little more pizazz.

I glance at the door repeatedly as it gets closer to our meeting time, worried that my date won't show. Will Nick stand me up again and make me feel stupider than ever for trusting him?

But at six on the nose, the doorbell rings.

"That's me," I say breathlessly, throwing my purse over my shoulder and scooping up my phone.

"Have fun," Regan tells me. "Call me if you need a ride home." She's smiling, though I know she's a little worried for me. Becca's gone and Regan's home alone, staying in just in case I need her. She's a good friend.

I pause before opening the door, smooth my ponytail and bangs with nervous fingers, adjust my coat, and then put my hand on the knob.

When I open it, I can't help but smile at him.

He's so beautiful, my Ukrainian. I know I have the silliest crush on him, but I don't care. From his high cheekbones to his arching brows to that cleft in his chin, he's all elegance. He's wearing a nice trench coat, his clothes entirely covered up by the length of it. He looks the same as he does every day—incredible. For a moment, I feel silly that I've gone to such lengths for a movie date.

But his eyes warm as he sees me, and I'm glad I did. His gaze travels over me, pauses on the jacket in my hands. "Allo."

"Hi, Nick." I smile broadly at him.

He puts a hand out for my jacket. "You must allow me to help you with that."

I hand it to him and turn my back obligingly, an excited shiver going down my spine. A man is putting my coat on me!

To my horror, I hear a rip, and then a muffled curse in Russian. I turn around to see that Nick's large foot is standing on one of the sleeves of my threadbare jacket, and it has ripped it entirely away.

"Oh no." I take the jacket from his hands and clutch it to my chest. I should be horrified that I've had another piece of clothing destroyed, but all I can think is that this might make us late for our date, and right now, the date is so much more important than my stupid jacket.

"I am
mudak
," Nick says in a flat voice. "Leave your coat. I will buy you a new one."

"That's not necessary," I say quickly. "It's not that cold out."

He grunts agreement, and then he crooks his elbow at me. "Shall we go, Daisy?"

I slide my hand against his arm and let him lead the way. We step down to the curb and toward what must be his car—no motorcycle today. It's a dark gray. Non-descript, with tinted windows. A sedan.

"Wait here," he tells me as I stand on the curb.

I shiver as I do. My dress isn't warm at all, and my back is almost entirely exposed. I will need to buy a jacket with my first paycheck, I decide. Maybe they will have something in my size at the thrift store…

My thoughts trail off as Nick pops open the trunk of the sedan and pulls out a large box. He hefts a leather jacket—a women's leather jacket—into his hands and then holds it open for me. "Here. Come put this on."

I approach him, eyeing the jacket. It's one I admired in the store the other day. He had this one already waiting for me? "Nick! Did you tear my other jacket on purpose?"

"Of course not," he says in a tone that indicates he is a terrible liar. There is a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "I am
mudak
, yes?"

 "You are sneaky," I tell him, but I let him put the coat on me. It's cold thanks to the wind, but it's heavy. As soon as it warms against my skin, it will be perfect. "And thoughtful. Thank you, Nick. You must let me pay you back."

"
Nyet
."

"Nick," I say protestingly. "You can't keep ruining my stuff and then replacing it."

He cocks his head to the side. "I do not admit to this, but if it would happen that I accidentally mar something of yours, should I not replace it?"

"It's just…too extravagant and
wrong
." I struggle to explain my feelings of indebtedness to him.

"The wrong is from me, Daisy. You must allow me to right my wrongs, or I do not deserve to be with you."

I know that there is something odd about this statement but I can't figure it out right now.

He opens the front passenger door for me.

I sigh and get into the car. We will argue about this later. I slide in to the passenger seat and then look around as he heads to the other side of the car. The interior is stark, no signs of the car being used at all. It could be a rental for all I know. I want to open the glove box and see if there is anything in there, but that feels nosy.

He gets behind the wheel and I buckle in, and then we are off to the theater.

We're quiet on the drive there. I feel like I should say charming, pleasant things to break the ice, but I can think of nothing. My mind is a giddy blank. So I twist my fingers in my lap and hope he's not disappointed in my lack of chattiness.

He glances over at me. "Are you tired?"

"Tired?" I touch my cheek. Do I look tired to him? Washed out? How embarrassing.

"You work late."

I tilt my head at him, curious. "How did you know?"

"You told me you worked until two in the morning."

"Oh."

He stares out the windshield, not looking over at me. A moment later, he admits, "Also, I was worried about you. I drove past after we spoke to check on you."

"I was fine," I tell him. "One of the other employees lives down the street, and he said I could call him if anything happened. Plus, they have a Taser and cameras and a baseball bat behind the counter. Lots of things to keep me safe."

Nick's mouth tightens. "This does not make me feel better."

Chagrined, I go silent and burrow a little deeper into my coat. The newness of it is delicious, as is the heavy, decadent scent of leather that permeates it. "It's a job. I'm fine." I won't quit, either. It's not stubbornness that makes me keep the job. I need the money. I need to be able to support myself if I'm going to stay here in this new life, and I will continue to pass out resumes in the hopes of a better job. But if I can't find something else, at least this way I will have some money.

"I do not like this," he tells me.

"I didn't ask you if you liked it," I retort.

He goes silent.

I say nothing else. He's frowning fiercely as we pull into the parking lot. I feel as if I've messed things up already, and we haven't even gotten to the date destination yet.

It is worse than silent when he stops the car. He pauses for a moment, as if contemplating something, and I wonder if he's changed his mind about dating me. I'm almost in tears at this point. The only talking we've done is to argue.

I feel so stupid. I've ruined our date already. Poor, stupid little sheltered Daisy goes on a date with a man and immediately argues with him about money. Maybe we should call this off. Maybe he doesn't know how messed up I am inside. That underneath my calm exterior, I'm a terrified mess who's tasting her first days of freedom and doesn't know how to be a normal girl. He probably wants a normal girl.

I can't be her. I wish I could, but I don't know how.

He gets out of the car and I suck in a deep breath, shoring up my courage. Time to be Bold Daisy and take charge of the situation. Nick opens the door for me, and I get out.

And then I pause there and wait by the car.

He offers me his elbow, but I shake my head at him. His gray eyes grow cold and bleak, his expression shuttered as if I have rejected him.

It's now or never. "Can I ask you something?" My words are all breathless, my voice small.

"What is it?" His accent is thicker. It almost sounds like "
vat
." I wonder if his accent gets thicker when he's upset. He looks upset, as if I've betrayed him.

"Are you sure you want to date me?"

His brows furrow. "Why do you ask me this?"

I wring my hands, unable to help myself. "You don't approve of me. Of what I do. You keep buying me things because it's clear what I'm wearing is not good enough for you. You seem like you're angry, and...I don't know how to deal with that." I try to smile to fix my words, but I'm ready to cry. I wanted this date—and him—so badly. "I'm not the most normal girl, Nick."

For some reason, this makes his mouth quirk in a half smile. "Why do you tell me this, Daisy?"

"I just don't want you to be disappointed." My gaze drops to his mouth and I stare at it. "In me."

His hand clasps mine and he lifts it to his mouth again, brushing my knuckles over his lips. No kiss, just touching my skin to his mouth. "Why would you think I am disappointed in you?"

"You want me to quit my job, and I'm not going to quit it. You keep buying me new clothes."

He sighs, but he doesn't let go of my hand. Just keeps rubbing my knuckles against his mouth. "I buy you clothes because it pleases me to see you wear things that suit you. You deserve the finest things, Daisy. It is only proper that I wish to give them to you."

It's not proper at all
, I want to say, but I am entranced by his sweet words and the brush of his lips on my skin.

"I do want you to quit," he continues. "Because I worry for you. But if it is important to you, you stay there,
da
? I will just watch out for you." His expression cools. "Or do you not wish to date me now?"

"I want to more than anything," I blurt, and then wince at my own voice, at how eager I sound. "It's just that...I'm nervous."

I've
never
kissed
anyone,
and
I'm
scared
I'll
do
it
wrong
and
then
you
won't
want
to
see
me
anymore
. I think for a moment, and then decide that I should reach out and kiss him. If we wait until the end of the date, he might not want to kiss me, and I want that first kiss more than anything I can think of.

"Why are you nervous?" His lips move against my skin, and I feel the soft whisper of them all the way down into my panties. It's like he's touching me everywhere. My nipples are hard through the filmy fabric of the dress, and I am not wearing a bra.

"Are you going to kiss me on this date?" I ask.

He looks surprised at my words. "Do you wish for me to kiss you?"

"Yes," I say firmly.

"Then,
da
, I will kiss you." His face relaxes.

"Let's kiss now," I tell him.

He moves forward toward me, and I am pinned between him and the car. He leans in, and his gloved hand touches my cheek. It's all I can do to keep from trembling at the caress, but I am held by those gray eyes—and the hint of possessiveness I see there. He's concentrating on me so hard, as if he's determined to get this right.

I part my lips and tilt my face towards him. I've stopped breathing. I want Nick's kiss so badly.

He moves closer. His mouth grazes over mine in just the barest brushing of lips. It sends a ticklish flutter through me, and I make a small noise in my throat. My lips part a bit more. Is that all I'm going to get? Just a tease of a kiss?

I decide that's not enough. So I lean forward a bit more and as he pulls back, I try to kiss him more. I end up pressing my mouth to his lower lip, and I'm not sure who is more startled—Nick that I've tried to kiss him, or me that I've messed it up like an idiot.

His eyes widen.

I fumble backward, humiliated. "I'm sorry. I—"

His hands move to cup my face and then he's tilting my mouth toward his all over again. This time, the kiss is not a soft, gentle graze. This time, his mouth presses against mine firmly, and his lips part over mine. Mine part as well, following his lead, and his tongue slicks into my mouth, tasting me.

It is divine.

I whimper, and he makes a soft noise in his throat that might be a groan. His tongue strokes into my mouth again, flooding my body with heat, and I want to do more than just receive. I want to reciprocate. Is that wrong? So I hesitantly touch my tongue to his and wait for a reaction.

Nick tears away from my mouth, breathing hard. He presses his forehead to mine and mumbles something in Russian. But he doesn't seem displeased. Instead, it seems as if he's trying to control himself.

I feel oddly…proud. I'm flushed with desire and my skin feels sensitive, but I want more. Does he? "Thank you," I murmur. And I wait. The kiss is over. Does he seem pleased?

He presses a kiss to my forehead and looks at me, and his gloved fingers curve my jaw as if tracing it. "I will kiss you, Daisy. I will kiss you all night. I will do more than kiss you if you wish. Simply say the word."

I suck in a breath. My pulse has centered between my legs and throbs there. I'm not brave enough to say the word. Not just yet.