He taps his pretty manicured nails on the mug. “I think the circumstances have changed enough to warrant a shift in your plans.”
I study Cashmere for a moment, more than a little distracted by his near nudity. He’s right. It’s not like this is any normal courtship. Not like it ever could be.
The problem is I’ve never told a soul before. Not one singleperson. There’s never been a reason to, and of course confidentiality is important, but he is in my home and I don’t plan on letting him leave any time soon. When this is all said and done, he’ll be my man, so he may as well know what he’s dealing with.
“I work for an organization that…” I pause, searching for the right words. “We take care of problems that traditional methods can’t.”
He pulls his head back slightly. “That’s the most cryptic thing I’ve ever heard. You said words without saying anything at all.”
A smile tugs at my lips. “You’re right.” I set my mug down on the coffee table. “I’m a hitman, Cashmere.”
He stares blankly at me, blinking several times before calmly sipping his tea.
“Did you hear me?”
“Yep.”
“Well?”
“You murder people?”
I nod. No sense trying to soften it. “Yes.”
After a moment, he shakes his head and chuckles darkly. “Leave it to me to jump out of one frying pan into another.”
“You’re not in a frying pan with me, Cashmere. Obviously, I’m not going to hurt you. I don’t hurt anyone unless I’m paid to do it or they’ve earned it.”
He swallows hard. “Everyone in this house is…” His words trail off as I nod. “I can see why you save this news for after you’ve already hooked your prey.”
“Prey? Is that what you think you are to me?”
“I don’t fucking know, Specter. You don’t know me, so other than wanting to fuck me, what else is there?”
“We’ve been over this. I want everything with you, not just your body.”
“Based on what?” His tone is sharp. “Based on how pretty I am? Looks fade. Look at me right now, Specter. What do you see? A bruised face?”
“Beauty. Raw, natural, absolutely stunning beauty. That’s what I see.”
He scoffs, wrapping his hands around his mug.
“And if you think I’m only talking about your face, you’re wrong.”
“You don’t know anything about me beyond my face.”
“I disagree.” I scoot a little closer in the already small space between us. “I see your spirit. Your fight. How strong you’ve had to be for probably way too long.”
His gaze softens.
“I see someone who intrigues me, and I desperately want to know more. I see art, a rare treasure who deserves my attention. If all I wanted was a quick fuck, trust me, I wouldn’t work this hard.”
Cashmere’s gaze focuses on the liquid in his mug. I wait quietly for him to say something. I know I’m intense, but I’ve always believed it’s better to say what you want plainly instead of dancing around it.
“And then what?” he asks softly, almost inaudibly if I weren’t so trained on him. “Wedate? We go to movies and dinner like average people?”
“Is that what you want?”
He shifts away a bit, like the question makes him uncomfortable. “I have no idea what I want,” he admits. “What do you want?”
