How the Hitman Stole Christmas

“Very happily, but he’s still a shit stirrer who yanks on people’s strings purely for his own entertainment. He likes to play games with people. He’s been known to torment his own friends for fun. It’s just not a door we’re gonna open.”

I pull a pout to exaggerate my disappointment at not getting my way, but as Jasper talks to the host about getting us a booth, I suddenly realize I have no idea if I’ll get to spend even a single night in Chicago with Jasper.

My return flight to Syracuse is Sunday.

Christmas is Friday, and I doubt we’ll leave on Christmas day.

That means I’ll likely only have one night with Jasper in his natural habitat.

It also means I only have three more days with Jasper, period.

That brings me down a little, but I try to perk back up as we’re seated in one of the lush velvet booths.

The place is packed. I’m surprised we didn’t have to wait, but I think Jasper may have slipped the host a twenty or something, because we’re seated before some of the other people who seem to be waiting, and they definitely got here before us.

I gaze across the table at Jasper as he removes his coat and shoves it to the side along with our shopping bags.

He looks sharp tonight. He always looks handsome because he is handsome, but tonight he dressed up in black slacks with a navy blue dress shirt. Since I’ve only seen him in more casual clothes, it makes me wonder how he usually dresses when he’s not on vacation.

“So, there are two stereotypes when it comes to how guys in your business dress, right? Which one is real? Track suits, or real suits?”

Jasper’s lips curve up, his gaze drifting around the room. He must be satisfied that we have enough privacy, because when his gaze returns to me, he answers. “I can’t speak for every outfit, there are certainly some that prefer them, but no one who works for Mateo Morelli better be caught dead in a fucking track suit.”

I grin, my gaze drifting to where his dress shirt is open just a bit at the throat. “So this is how you normally dress back in Chicago?”

Jasper nods, crossing his arms on the table and leaning forward. “You like?”

“I do,” I answer warmly. “If I had known you were going to bring me here, I would’ve stepped it up a little, changed into one of my new dresses first.”

He shakes his head, letting his gaze drop to check me out. “What are you talking about, step it up? You look gorgeous. You don’t need to change anything.”

His compliment brings a little splash of heat to my cheeks. I’m just about to tell him he doesn’t look so bad himself when the waitress comes over.

We haven’t looked at the menus yet. With the place so busy, I want to get our order in promptly, so I grab a menu and make a quick drink selection.

Jasper seems cooler and more collected when he orders, like he was already prepared even though I know he couldn’t have been.

Looking across the table at me, he asks, “Are you hungry?”

“I could eat.”

Without asking what I want, he tells the waitress, “We’ll also have the filet mignon bites and a charcuterie tray.”

“Ooh,” I tease, settling back against the plush velvet now that my coat is off. “A man that orders for me. I like that.”

“Of course you do,” he says in a way that makes it clear he’s teasing me.

I narrow my eyes at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

He shakes his head and looks away with a little smile tugging at his lips, but he doesn’t answer.

The waitress brings back our cocktails after a few minutes. Jasper’s is amber-colored, I think he ordered an old-fashioned, but I can’t remember. Mine is fruity and pink and much more fun. It’s also delicious, which leads to me unintentionally drinking it so quickly, I need another drink right away.

Jasper orders me one, then another, and another. The waitress finally brings over our food and the scent of the steak bites makes my mouth water.

Turns out, they’re delicious. So is the charcuterie board. Jasper and I share both. I’m so caught up enjoying all the flavors, I hardly notice when he signals the waitress to let her know I need another drink.

I don’t realize how drunk I am until I have to walk to the bathroom.

As I make my way clumsily back to the table, I start thinking about how sexy my handsome captor is. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the atmosphere, but when I get back to the booth, I don’t scoot into my side—I scoot into his.

Surprised, Jasper scoots back to make a little more room for me, but I don’t want room. I curl my legs up on the seat behind me, loop an arm around his neck, and pull him in for a kiss.