They ate and talked until the streetlights came on. He hadn’t realized how late it had gotten, too wrapped up talking with Scarlett. For the first time in a long time, he felt like a whole man, not a broken son of a bitch. “I want to kiss you,” he said.
She swallowed hard, the candle on the table reflecting in her big green eyes “Okay…”
“Tell me to stop if you want to.”
He didn’t care what anyone around them thought, never had given a shit about other people’s opinions. Bain tucked her soft curves against him and kissed her lips, losing himself as the kiss quickly became deeper and deeper. It was soft, sweet, and gentle. It felt real, more than a moment of passion. He pulled back, but he’d wanted to keep going, to trail those kisses down her neck. Fuck, he wanted her naked and bent over the table.
Bain was losing it. He paid the bill, then took Scarlett’s hand.
“Want to walk for a bit?” he asked. He liked spending time with her, pretending things were different. Once they returned to his house, he’d have to deal with his reality and the complication she was in his life. Boss would only wait so long for him to clean up the mess.
“Okay.”
They walked hand in hand. The sky had darkened but the streets still had shoppers, and the night life scene had already started to pick up. Bain didn’t drink, and he’d always hated being around people. The only time he’d ever set foot in a bar or club was to carry out a hit. With the drugs, alcohol, and music, they were always the easiest contracts.
“Bain, what happens next?”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“You’re confusing me. First you want me dead, and now you’re acting like we’re on a date or something. I don’t know if I’m coming or going.”
What could he tell her? The truth was raw and dirty. He had to find and kill her friend, and then knock Scarlett off and dump her body at one of Semenov’s clubs so her death looked related to her interview with the Russian mobster. The longer he was with her, the less likely he’d complete what needed to be done. He’d broken the most important rule drilled into him as a captive—never get personal. Never fall in love.
“Let’s just live in the moment,” he said. Bain wasn’t sure exactly how old he was, but he figured over forty. Was it normal for a man his age to feel his heart race from something simple like holding a pretty girl’s hand? It felt more intimate than all the sex he’d had in his life put together.
“Scarlett? Is that you?” A man wearing khakis and a red t-shirt stopped in front on them, and Scarlett’s grip on his hand tightened.
“I have nothing to say to you,” she said, trying to walk around him. When the guy blocked them from passing, Bain wasn’t going to have it.
“Who the fuck is this?” Bain asked, feeling a unique possessiveness wash through him.
Scarlett’s demeanour changed, her body and presence closing in on itself. “My ex’s brother,” she said.
“Really.” Bain looked the shit up and down.
“Michael’s been trying to contact you for ages. Where’ve you been staying?”
“I have a restraining order. He shouldn’t be trying to find me,” she said. “Just stay away from me.”
The piece of shit scowled at Scarlett. “He’s not going to like this. You’ve already moved on to another man when he wants to work things out?”
“I left him over a year ago,” she said. “He has no say over my life, and he never will again.”
Bain could practically feel her nerves, her fear tainting the air. He didn’t like it.
“Back the fuck off,” Bain said. He glanced around, the streets full of night owls. Too many witnesses for him to put a bullet in this asshole.
He shouldered the guy as he passed, securely holding Scarlett’s hand. It was disappointing when he didn’t try to pick a fight.
After walking another block away, they approached a small group of rowdy bikers spilling outside one of the popular dive bars. It was time to get Scarlett back to his house. He didn’t want her exposed to any more shit tonight. This outing was supposed to be about making her happy, not creating more problems.
“Nice tits, baby!” shouted one of the bikers.
Bain shoved Scarlett behind him and punched the bastard with a clean, straight shot to the face. It was enough to send him toppling backward into his friends. A few others rushed him. The venom in Bain’s veins unleashed. He grabbed one in a headlock, punching him into unconsciousness before taking on the other two. It was child’s play compared to other scrapes he’d been in. Bain briefly squatted down, pulling out a lethal switchblade from his boot. He played with it so efficiently, he had the rest of the crowd morbidly transfixed.
“Anyone else want to say something to my woman?”
There were no takers, so he backed away and led Scarlett back to his BMW.