Hittin It: A Hitman Romance (Marked for Love Book 2) Read Free

from his fingers. Luckily, she came to in just a few minutes.
    “What’s your name?” His tongue felt thick and clumsy in his mouth.
    “Sabrina...Walker.” She wet her full lips with the tip of her pink tongue and struggled to sit up as the confusion clouding her eyes slowly dissipated. “What happened?”
    “You fainted.”
    “Oh,” she said softly, as she realized she was alone, with a complete stranger, in the back of his Tahoe, miles from anywhere. She pushed herself upright and licked her lips again, her eyes scanning for a means of escape.
    “It’s okay.” He pressed the open bottle into her hand, and then slowly backed away from the open door, motioning toward the road with a wave of his hand.
    “You? What’s your name?”
    He stuck with what he knew, his brain distracted by long eyelashes and soft, puffy-looking lips. “Roy. Now, how about that ride?”
    She sipped at her water, glancing around the SUV again. She finally nodded, slowly and with obvious reservations. “I need my stuff, and my dog.”
    Sabrina Walker had a permanent tan, her skin a lovely shade of golden brown and dotted with freckles, her nose was small and pug-like in a cute way. Her large eyes were a hazel green rimmed with brown and accented with long lashes, and her lush lips formed a cupid’s bow. He could thank his sister for that obscure bit of knowledge. Her long, dark, curly hair was shot through with red and gold—the better to make things interesting. They might call her plump, but no one would ever call her plain.
    Her van was probably shot and he couldn’t leave her sitting there on the side of the road to pass out again while waiting for help that might never come, or worse.
    He did the only thing he could. He’d loaded her and her damn dog up in his SUV. He figured he could find a garage in El Paso and buy her a meal while they waited on the tow.
    “Why do you keep staring at me?” Her voice was husky, rough and unrefined like her.
    He forced his attention back to the road. If he didn’t stop staring, she’d jump out, moving vehicle or not. “Just wondering what you were doing out here in the middle of nowhere.”
    “Driving. You?” she quickly shot back.
    Will laughed as much at her sarcasm as her quick wit. She’d obviously been around the block a time or two. “Where you headed?”
    “A Ren-Faire in San Antonio.”  The dog on her lap pawed at the console separating them. He wasn’t near as cute as she was, so Will frowned at him, hoping he’d stop before he marked up the leather.
    “What the hell is a Ren-Faire?”
    “You know, people dress up like knights and bar maids and drink mead and eat turkey legs. I tell fortunes.”
    “Fortunes.” He snorted, thinking he told fortunes too, but his were probably nowhere near as fun as hers.
    “I’m actually pretty good.”
    “That’s why you live in your van?” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. Proving once again what an insensitive ass he was. He scowled at the road, waiting for a sharp retort that never came.
    Instead, she sighed, her fingers curling in her mutt’s short hair she glanced out the window. The Tahoe ate up the miles carrying them closer and closer to El Paso. In her lap, the dog whimpered briefly, raised his head then settled back down as Sabrina stroked him. Her short, utilitarian fingers continued to gently knead as outside the SUV, the desert finally, slowly gave way to humanity.
    With each mile that passed, her silence dug at him like a knife in his gut. “I’m sorry,” he finally blurted out.
    “Sorry for what?” She turned to look at him, her big greenish eyes curious.
    “For what I said.”
    “Huh?” A slight frown puckered her brow. “What did you say?”
    Here they went—the passive-aggressive, dog-and-pony show was on. Sorry was never enough. Women. They always wanted more...blood, sweat, tears, your American Express card. Whatever... “My comment about living in your van. I’m sorry.”