Page 7 of The Hitman's Forbidden Obsession

I squeeze my thighs together in a futile attempt to dampen the tingling sensation that has appeared between them.

“I want to take you out to dinner tonight,” he says, his voice steady. “When your shift ends here.”

“Tonight?” I ask, my voice little more than a surprised squeak.

He nods. “I know it’s sudden, but I don’t want to wait. When you see something worth chasing, you chase it.”

Oh.

My knees feel weak, and I lean casually against the shelf beside me, relying on it to keep me upright under the force of his attention.

My voice is small when it comes. “Okay. Sure. Dinner sounds... great.”

His lips twitch like he knew all along that I’d say yes. “Good.”

I let the word hang between us for a beat longer than necessary, then clear my throat and glance back towards the children’s section. “I should probably... get back to work.”

The smile he gives me is something softer now. Like he’s looking right through me and seeing every single naughty thought I’ve been desperately trying to suppress. “Of course,” he says, voice warm as velvet. “I’ll be right here when you’re done.”

I blink. “Here?”

He turns to a little display table a few steps away and grabs a hardcover without even looking at the title. “This looks good.”

And before I can ask anything else, he walks over to the small couch in the corner of the library and sits down like he’s got all the time in the world. Like watching me shelve books and talk to customers is a perfectly normal way to spend an afternoon.

I stand there for a second, frozen, gripping the book in my hands and forgetting where it was supposed to go.

He’s really just... staying to watch me work?

A ridiculous grin tugs at my lips, and I duck my head, turning away quickly so he doesn’t see it.

My face is already burning. And now my heart is doing a strange, fluttery thing every time I feel his eyes on me. Which is constantly. Because even though I’m trying not to look, every time I sneak a glace over my shoulder, he’s right there. Still watching. Still smiling.

It’s flattering. Overwhelming. Addictive.

I move through the stacks, pretending to straighten books that are already perfectly aligned, just to give myself a reason to take another peek at him.

He hasn’t touched the book he grabbed. Hasn’t looked away once.

And that should make me feel self-conscious... but it doesn’t somehow. No one has ever looked at me like this before, and I think I might actually like it.

He’s looking at me like I’m already his, and he’s just waiting for me to figure it out.

A part of me hopes he is right.

Chapter Four

Dante

Avery sits across from me in a quiet booth, tucked into the back corner of a dimly lit Italian restaurant. White linen tablecloth, flickering candlelight, soft strings playing overhead with some old Sinatra song.

And her.

She’s the centerpiece of the whole damn place.

Her eyes track everything with curiosity, but when they land on me, it’s like everything else fades out. I doubt she realizes she’s doing it, but she keeps brushing her fingertips against the edge of her water glass, like she needs something to anchor her.

Like I’ve unmoored her just by being here.

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