“Well, Adam Boucher. It’s not easy for a man to blow my mind. But you have just crossed that finish line.”
“I aim to please.”
She sets her glass down on the bar and sighs. “I guess I should get going.”
“Why?”
“We’re done. Aren’t we?”
“Done? No, Miss DeCoudreau. We haven’t even gotten started.” She looks over her shoulder in the direction of the bedroom. But I quickly correct her. “That’s not what I mean.”
“Oh.” She turns back to me. “What did you have in mind?”
“Breakfast, for one. But it’s either too late or too early for that. So why don’t we just take a seat and have a talk.”
She bunches her hands into tight fists, then makes an explosion sound as she opens them up near her ears. “Mind. Blown.”
I walk around the bar, take her hand, and lead her over to the couch. She sits, but I do not sit next to her. I take a seat in one of two chairs opposite the couch.
Perrine DeCoudreau is no longer just a woman I want to fuck.
She’s a woman I want to know.
Perrine draws her legs up, tucking them underneath her as she arranges her robe. I watch with fascination. It’s been a good long while since a woman intrigued me, so I allow myself to enjoy her enchantment.
Once she’s settled, she says, “OK. Let’s talk. But I get to go first.”
I put up a hand. “Hold on. I have one question before we start.”
She cocks her head at me, intrigued. “OK. You go first.”
“Are you here to kill me?”
Her single word response is a barked-out laugh. “What?”
“Are you here to kill me?”
She stops laughing. “You’re serious.”
“I’m afraid I am.”
“No.” It’s not an overly emphatic no. But she says it with convincing authority. And then she says it again. “No. I mean, kill you? I don’t kill people, Mr. Boucher. Do I look like a person who kills people? Because I do admit, I can be quite the bitch when I want to be. Is this why you took my purse?”
I sigh, so tired of being me. Then I stretch my legs out, my bare feet digging into the thick, plush rug that outlines the seating area, and cross my arms over my chest. “It’s just… I think I like you. And I don’t want to let it get too far if this is just some setup.”
She doesn’t say anything. But I know what she’s thinking. I don’t usually approach women like this, but to be honest, I haven’t been with any women since Misha. She hurt me. And she made me hurt her. And regardless of what people think about me, I’m not that kind of man.
Killing is a job. Misha wasn’t a job. She was my refuge for years and years. Her betrayal was a hit I still haven’t recovered from. That might be why I’m so hooked on McKay right now. As far as a lover, I mean.
He will never betray me.
Perrine says, “I’m not setting you up, Adam. I don’t know you. I don’t know what you do, or who you are, or why I’m even here, to be perfectly honest. In fact, I don’t even know who I am, either. Maybe that’s why I’m here. If you were looking for my ID, it’s not in my purse. But I have no objection to easing your mind with proof of who I am, if you’re living the kind of life that makes you ask these questions.”
Her response is so gentle and so genuine, I let it penetrate me so I can recall it later. Then I say, “I just feel the need to be careful.”
“I understand. Should I go get my ID? I have a room here.”
I pull my phone out of my pants pocket and shake my head. “I can do a background check with your social security number.”
She smiles. “You have an app for that?”
And we both chuckle. “I do. And I do apologize for ruining our conversation with this formality, but I can’t—”
She puts up a hand. “It’s fine. We all need to do what we need to do.” And then she recites her number for me as I plug it into my Company app.
Her face pops up immediately. Same long dark hair, same hazel-green eyes. Same smile. But she’s not connected to anyone in my database. Not even peripherally, and lots of people are, even if they’re not Company.
I look up from my phone and find her smirking at me, eyebrows raised. “Am I legit?”
“Yeah.” I sigh the word out. “You’re legit.” Then I set my phone on the table.
“Good.” She sits up straighter. “Now you owe me some answers.”
“Better make sure you want them,” I caution her.
“Oh, yes, sir. I do want them. What the hell do you do for a living? Besides own hotels, I mean.”