Raid (Unfinished Hero #3)(25)

“You thought I was involved with drug people and investigated me. You got involved with me to investigate me.”

“I got involved with you to get involved with you, but I also had to clear you of that shit so we could move on and get his f**kin’ guy.”

“Raiden, can’t you see how I can’t see that I’ve been around, you’ve even looked right at me and didn’t see me and now, all of a sudden, you’re into me, and how I can’t believe you’re actually, well… into me?”

“How the f**k can you make something that makes no sense make sense?” he asked back.

“So you understand what I’m saying?”

“I do and it might make sense, honey, but it’s still whacked.”

Her eyes rolled to the ceiling.

“Hanna, look at me,” he ordered.

Her eyes rolled back.

“I’m into you,” he told her.

“I don’t believe you,” she told him.

“Why the f**k not?” he asked.

“I just don’t,” she answered.

“Christ, honest to God, you think I’m a man who comes back to his hometown, a town his mother and sister still live in, takes the town’s beloved native daughter—who also happens to be the great-granddaughter of the town’s matriarch —out to dinner in order to play her, and I’d do that shit at Chilton’s where everyone can see?”

She blinked.

She hadn’t thought of that.

Thank f**k, he was getting somewhere.

Raid kept going.

“And you think I’m a man who lays out bullshit lines to cute, sweet, pretty women and keeps at it after a job is f**ked just for shits and grins?”

She pulled one side of her lips between her teeth.

Yeah, getting somewhere.

Raid kept at it.

“And serious as f**k, Hanna, you think that kiss was pretend?”

She stared into his eyes and her little white teeth appeared to bite her lip. She let it go and whispered, “That kiss was really good.”

Raid’s eyes didn’t go to the ceiling. His head dropped and he contemplated his boots.

He also saw she had f**king sequins glued to her toenails that looked varnished with black polish, but had some kind of white flower design painted around the sequin.

Christ, she was adorably ridiculous.

A sequin stuck to her f**king toe.

He couldn’t help it, and didn’t try. He started laughing.

“Are you laughing?” he heard her ask.

“You got goddamned sequins on your toes,” he said, his words trembling.

“They’re pretty,” she returned, and he lifted his head to look at her, no longer laughing.

His reward.

“Yeah,” he agreed. He wasn’t talking about sequins and he knew she knew it when he heard her sharp intake of breath. “Are we done with this idiotic conversation about me not being into you?”

“Uh… I think so.”

“So you get I’m into you,” he pushed to confirm.

She pressed her lips together and thought on it awhile.

Raid used the last of his patience to let her.

Then she nodded.

“Thank Christ,” he muttered and finally relaxed.

“So, uh… when you said you were going to call me tomorrow, which is today, incidentally, you actually meant it?”

Raid heard the growl roll up his throat before he rumbled after it, “Yeah, Hanna. I meant it.”

Her eyes lit. She liked that, didn’t hide it and he liked both.

Again, he wanted to kiss her.

“Cool,” she whispered.

“Honey, tell me you see the absurdity of me callin’ you tomorrow, which is today, incidentally, askin’ you to a movie, only so after the movie I can maneuver you to my house, then my bed, when I’m right here in your house with your bed upstairs?”

Her eyes rounded and she again stopped breathing.

Fuck yeah, he wanted to kiss her.

“Well, I can see the absurdity of you calling me when we can make plans for a movie right now,” she allowed.

Goddamned ridiculous.

And cute.

Fuck it, he was just going to kiss her.

So he did.

It was a repeat of the one before. Hot. Wet. She slid her fingers in his hair and pressed her warm, sweet, soft body to his, opened herself up and gave him everything.

He fought back the near overwhelming urge to drop her to the floor and take her in her foyer when what she said penetrated.

He ended the kiss, slid his lips to the skin under her ear and felt the soft puffs of her quick breaths against his neck.

“I’m sensing you wanna slow this down,” he noted, his voice rough.

“We’ve only had one date,” she replied softly. Then, quieter. “I’m not that that type of girl.”

She wasn’t. Hanna Boudreaux absolutely wasn’t that type of girl.

Fuck.

His reward.

He lifted his head and looked down at her to see her face soft, eyes bright and heated, lips swollen.

Fantastic.

“Movie. Tomorrow night. You pick. Text me,” he stated.

“I don’t have your number,” she told him.

“Where’s your phone? I’ll program it in,” he offered.