Page 127 of Hit Man
“Shhh. I’m not finished. You said so yourself, you’re a protector—”
“That’s not the word.”
“—someone whose job it is to help others. Instead of donating money, you’ve committed your life, your safety, your future . . . or so you believe—”
“I don’t believe it. It’s just how my world operates.”
“None of your colleagues are in relationships?”
He frowns yet doesn’t answer.
“So why is your being in one any different?”
“It just is,” he mumbles. Looking very . . . unsettled, like he wants nothing more than to end this conversation.
“Diego?” I say, ignoring my heartache, my hurt.
“Yeah?”
“Not everyone you care about is going to end up like your mother.”
He sucks in a breath.
I push onward, driving my point home. “You’re afraid.”
He finishes his wine and places the glass on the table before turning to me. “Chavita, I was born into this world as fearless as can be.”
“Bullshit,” I tell him, rising to my feet.
He blinks.
“I hate to say this but I’m going to anyway.”
“Dios mío,” I hear him mutter.
“For such a passionate man, you’re an emotional coward.”
I stiffen, prepared for him to jump to his feet and haul me into his arms. Which is what usually happens after I poke this puma. Instead, he places his wineglass on the table and reaches down and underneath the sofa. Our eyes connect and hold, as he places something on his thigh. I refuse to look. He needs to understand I mean business.
A few uncomfortable minutes pass.
“You going to do it?” he murmurs. His tone deep and full of purpose.
“Do what?”
“Look down at the surprise I have for you?”
Seriously, the way he rolls thoser’s in the wordsurprisemakes me remember every naughty thing I’ve done with this handsome, stubborn man. Is that what this is? Is he distracting me by making me think filthy, wildly tempting thoughts?
Recasting our conversation into something he excels at. Sex.
Andmanipulation.
Not so fast.
“No,” he tells me.
My eyebrows lift. “No,” I repeat rather breathlessly.
