“I’ve had enough of hand-holding with you.” She flounces past me without taking it.
Something foreign and buoyant stirs within me. Something I haven’t felt in years. What is it?
Amusement.
The girl amuses me.
That’s my lips trying to curve, but they don’t remember how.
I ignore the urge and follow her.
Chapter Twelve
Hannah
We walk up the stairs to my apartment, and I try to remember if I cleaned out Shadow’s kitty litter this morning. My place is tiny, and it can easily start to stink.
But that’s stupid—am I really worried about what he thinks?
It’s not like he’s some guy I invited to come up to Netflix and chill. He’s a mobster who killed a guy in my shop today. He’s taken me, my van and my apartment hostage, and I have absolutely no clue how this thing ends.
The only thing that keeps me from totally freaking out is his obvious attraction to me. Even now, walking up the stairs, I sense his gaze on my ass.
I turn around to verify. Yep.
“Like what you see?” I say dryly.
“Oh, Flowers,” he says. “I am all about your ass.”
I turn away before he can see the satisfaction on my face. This guy hasn’t been with a woman in years, and I’m his first lay, so, of course, he’s going to think I’m all that. Even so, his lusty reaction to my kiss back at the shop forever changed me. I don’t ever want to be with a guy who gives me less of a response.
It’s not that I don’t usually get attention. I do. I get plenty of it. Men all over my thing. But it never lasts because I’m the idiot who always gets attached too quickly. I’m an emotional sponge, and I get into their worlds. I feel their emotions for them. Try to fix their problems. Forget about my own. And then suddenly, I’m all in, and they’re walking away. Like clockwork.
Seriously, I’ve dated too many man-babies. Immature players who are more interested in themselves than anything else.
Armando is…
He’s extremely capable. And very dangerous, yes. I’m sure in some twisted way that’s part of the attraction.
And I remember once upon a time, he used to be charming.
Now he’s damaged.
He’s been in prison, just killed a guy in front of me and then tied me up and fucked me immediately after. He’s probably very damaged.
I’m crazy to be so turned on by him. What is it about the bad boy that makes a woman think she can reform him? It’s a losing proposition, I’m sure. He may be sexier and more capable than the usual guys I date, but my pattern of wanting to fix is the same.
Some secret instinct in me wants to heal him.
I think that’s what made me give myself over to him. Made me kiss him. Offer my body up to quench his desperate need.
I wait for him at the door because Armando has my purse. He fishes out my keys and hands them to me. When my fingers shake trying to slide the right one in the lock, he takes over, opening the door and ushering me in with a hand at my back.
My apartment is just a studio and a bathroom. Fortunately, it doesn’t smell.
The front door is painted the color of a bumblebee, something my landlord would shit over if he knew I painted it. But I needed color in all the drab.
Inside, my apartment is simple and small. The one room is furnished with a small two-man purple sofa, a coffee table with a colorful tapestry flung over it, and a TV I bought at a thrift store for thirty bucks. The kitchenette has four cabinets and a small refrigerator. I’m lucky enough that this unit also has a two-burner stove unlike some of my neighbors. There is barely enough room for a tiny table and two chairs, but I was able to cram them into the space.
