Page 27 of Lady and the Hitman

“To the women.”

“But not the rest?”

His eyes glinted. “If you’re asking whether I’ve done this before, the answer’s yes. If you’re asking whether I’ve done it with anyone like you …”

He let the sentence hang.

I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to feel special or in trouble.

“Do I ask too many questions?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “You just expect answers.”

“And that’s a problem?”

He took a slow sip. “Not for me. For you.”

I opened my mouth to fire something back—something clever, something sharp—but nothing came.

Because I realized he was right.

I didn’t want answers.

I wanted to know how it felt to be the question someone else was dying to solve.

“Why Miami?” I asked suddenly, my voice a littlesofter than I intended. “You could’ve taken me anywhere.”

He paused mid-step, just for a beat, then turned back.

“I like the heat,” he said. “And the water.”

“That’s it?”

“No.” A small smile played at the edge of his mouth. “But it’s not time for the rest.”

I studied him. The way he stood. The way he answered only what he wanted. “I’ve only been once,” I said, more to fill the air than anything. “To Miami.”

He tilted his head slightly, interested now. “When?”

“College. Junior year. My parents took me and my grandfather on a cruise. One of those big, cheesy ones with the endless buffets and awkward theme nights.”

His expression didn’t shift, but something in his eyes warmed—just slightly. “You hated it.”

“I wanted to,” I admitted. “But it was the last trip I ever took with him. My grandfather. He died the following spring.”

He didn’t respond right away. Just watched me in that unnerving, hyperfocused way of his. Like he was cataloging more than I was saying.

I took another sip of my drink. “I remember we stopped there for one night before the ship left. Stayed in a hotel that smelled like bleach and coconut sunscreen. I bought a dress at the Bayside shops with my mom. Bright blue. Way too tight. I thought it made me look grown.”

His voice was low, smooth. “Did it?”

“No,” I said, smiling faintly. “But I wore it anyway. My grandfather told me I looked like a movie star. My dad told me to go change.”

“And you?”

“I went out in a hoodie.”

He didn’t laugh, but something about him eased. A crease softened near his mouth. “You regret that?”