Page 17 of Hannah and the Hitman

There, staring at me from the far side of the check-out counter was the guy from the plane in another crisp, deliciously dark suit. He was staring at me with a vigorous, dark intensity I remembered. He may have had a haircut, the sides trimmed close with the top longer showing off a hint of dark curl.

I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry. He wasn’t here for a library card. He was here for me.

9

JACK

She looked better than I remembered, even with the blatant panic on her face.

It wasn’t the look I wanted to see, especially directed at me, but what had I expected? For her to fling her clothes off and climb up on the circulation desk for me to fuck her like I’ve imagined since I got off the plane?

Shit, that thought got me hard, which was bad since a mother with two small children walked by, heading for the exit with bags full of books. Yeah, no fucking on the counter.

The interior was brightly lit with multiple book display islands. To the left was the hold section and DVDs. To the right was a separate room, the kids’ section, based on the size of the tables and chairs and a large dinosaur painted on the wall. In the back and up a flight of stairs, were rows of books.

When she kept right on staring, her mouth open, her cell to her ear and her eyes as wide as saucers, I raised my hand and offered her a little finger wave.

Coming out of her stupor–that was a good sign, right?–she disconnected her call, set her phone down and came out of the back room.

Tentatively, she approached the desk as if I was delivering bad news or was a stalker from a plane flight we shared the week before and was nervous about getting too close.

I didn’t like the idea of her being afraid of me, even though she probably should be. If it wasn’t me but some other guy she sat beside on the plane who showed up at her work, I’d be the first to tell her to run the other way.

But this was me. Hitman? Yes. Stalker? Yes. Yet, completely safe.

“Hello,” I said.

She blushed a hot pink and had a hard time meeting my eyes. Nerves or fear, I wasn’t sure which. “Um… hi.”

Her body was lush and curvy, and I wanted to grab and squeeze and cup and caress every soft inch of her. In a pretty black skirt and white V-neck tee–which only accentuated her more-than-a-handful tits–she looked business casual and cool enough for the summer heat. She looked sweet and innocent.

I knew that wasn’t completely true. It was that contradiction that made me so intrigued.

I stared.

She stared.

I stared some more. Took in how her dark hair was half pulled back, tendrils falling loose to frame her round face.Her brown eyes. The way her eyebrows had a pretty arch to them. Her pert nose. Full lips that would look amazing wrapped around my dick.

“Um… what are you doing here?” she asked, finally finding her voice.

“Isn’t it obvious?” I asked.

She blinked, bit her lip. Obviously, it was not. “A… book?”

Squeaky wheels announced the arrival of a cart pushed by the older woman who I’d seen leaving the day before. She stopped right beside the counter. “I finished the self-help section, Hannah. I–” She stopped talking when she noticed me. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had a patron.”

Hannah.

Her name was Hannah.

It suited her.

A cell rang from the back room.

“Do you need to get that?” the older woman asked.

Hannah shook her head. “No, Mrs. Metcalf. I’m sure it’s my mother. I hung up on her a minute ago.”