The last thing she needed was this man distracting her. Tempting her. Especially when he would eventually tire of her or come to his senses and then wherewould she—Hannah gritted her teeth—she’d be fine. Like she had been before. Like she always would be.
He was just a man, after all.
“Who are you for, then?” he asked, interrupting her swirling but still sensible thoughts. “The man you spoke of the other night? The one you lost your temper with in the alley?”
She raised her brows. “Jealous?” Her lip twitched a little. Not because she cared, but because it served him right.
Sol contemplated her for a moment. “Very,” he answered before his own lips curled into that earnest grin that caused annoying and inconvenient feelings in her chest.
Hannah rubbed the back of her neck. “You shouldn’t be. My relationship with Ned was one of pure business.”
“You work for him?” he asked, surprise in his voice.
“He wished.” She snickered before raising her chin. “Worked, as our relationship has concluded. But I did, and always will, work for myself. I found information he needed from time to time, and he paid me accordingly.”
Sol frowned as if he was turning the situation over in his head. “What did he do with the information?”
“Does. We’re both still in business, just not with each other. And he uses it to hunt.” She shrugged again, glancing down at the battered, aging floorboards beneath her feet. “A person, more often than not. One who owes someone money—usually to the person who hired him.”
He blinked at her for a moment. “And when he finds them?” he asked, his words slow and careful.
“They pay. One way or another.” And even she flinchedat the hardness in her tone. But there was no room for anything softer. Not in her life. Not if she wanted to live and not crumble. “It’s not a nice business. But of course, I’m not a nice person.” Her chest tightened. “Besides, I prefer being the hunter rather than the hunted. And in these parts, you’re either one or the other.”
Sol didn’t say anything. Which was probably for the best. If what she’d told him the prior night hadn’t made him see the truth, perhaps those illusions of his were being shattered here and now.
“Go home.” She straightened her shoulders. “Go back to your world and forget—”
“There’s no way that I’m forgetting you.” And in three large steps, boots gleaming in the low light, he was back in front of her, wrapping his hands around her back. “I don’t want to,” he insisted. “I can’t.”
She shook her head. “You’re a fool.”
“So I’ve been told. But I make up for it with hard work and tenacity. And I intend to here.” He loosened his grip but did not let her go. “And yes, I’m inexperienced. And I have been too distracted by the problems in my own part of the world to even think about, let alone understand, yours, but I know how to listen, how to learn, and how to know when something—someone—has value.”
She opened her mouth to make a biting remark, but he cut her off. “My brother and I did not get to where we are—did not rise from the ashes by being afraid to demand what we wanted.”
“And what do you want?” she asked, glaring. She should remove his arms. Give him a physical shove for good measure, but her hands wouldn’t work.
His lip twitched. “Isn’t it obvious?” he asked, gazingdown at her with heat in his thickly lashed dark eyes. “I want you.”
“I—” she started but couldn’t quite form the words, which was good, as apparently he wasn’t finished.
“And not just for a few tumbles in the sheets—though I will never say no to that with you.” It was a good thing he still had her wrapped in his arms, because he gave her that wolfish grin then that despite everything, including the fact that he was clearly meshuggeneh, still made her knees buckle. “No, I want more. I want a life with you. Not just a fraction of one. And I want you to at least consider the possibility of the same.”
Hannah gaped at him. “Are you out of your head?”
“No. I just refuse to accept limits,” he told her with an irritating shrug.
No, he was definitely out of his head. Or he’d spent so much time with his brother and gentile friends that he’d forgotten who he was.
“You’re a Jew,” she said, shaking her head. “We don’t get to ‘refuse to accept limits.’ That’s the way we die.” The higher even just a few of them rose, the harder they all collectively fell. Over and over again throughout their history. A truth that never changed.
Sol tapped his fingers against her thigh and looked as if he was going to argue but clearly thought better of it. “Fine. I refuse to accept that any limit is permanent, that any limit can’t be changed.” He cocked his head at her. “What do you say?”
Hannah rolled her eyes. “I say that you’re meshuggeneh.” Because that was the only explanation for any of this.
“Why?” he asked.
Wrinkling her nose, she frowned at him. “What?”
