Cade
“ H ey, .” Riley bounces up to me in the dairy aisle, where I’m loading our cart up on enough milk, cheese and butter to last us a couple weeks. “You wanna make pizzas tonight?”
“Sure.” I glance up at the frozen goods behind me, scanning for pizza boxes. “I’ll grab some in a second.”
“No.” My angel is bright-eyed and pink-cheeked, practically vibrating off the linoleum with excitement. “I mean, let’s make pizzas from scratch. I know how. Luis taught me last summer.”
I watch closely for the usual flinch whenever she says her brother’s name, and it’s there, but her smile barely falters. Riley really wants to make these pizzas. I’m no chef, but that’s enough of a reason for me.
“Can you fetch the ingredients?”
She grins and bounces off, her loose waves dancing against her shoulders, and I watch her go like an idiot. I’m clutching a brick of cheese in one hand, trying not to reach for her with the other.
I shouldn’t have touched her like that this morning. Not only was it out of line, but now I can’t get the feel of her off my fingertips. Hours later, my hand is still tingling and warm, my fingers itching to wrap around her hip once again.
It doesn’t help that she’s still in my navy shirt, a pair of gray leggings pulled on underneath. Did she put on a bra too?
Fuck me. Such a messed up thing to wonder about my dead friend’s little sister.
Our shopping cart squeaks as I push it through the aisles, one wheel wobbling like crazy, the fluorescent lights buzzing softly high above. Piled high with fresh veggies and canned goods and other supplies, this cart should tide us over for a good while.
Then I can whisk Riley back to the cabin. Away from all these prying eyes.
Goddamn it, she draws a lot of attention.
She’s not seeking it. I don’t think she’s even aware, but every aisle she skips down, chattering brightly to me about some food she wants to cook or snacks she’s been craving, there are at least three sets of hungry eyes on her. Men in groups and men alone. Hikers and hunters. Young guys and men old enough to be her father, and the occasional woman too.
Makes me want to beat my chest and growl that it’s my damn t-shirt she’s wearing. That she’s coming home with me.
“Do you have a headache?” Riley pops up at my shoulder, her arms full of pizza-making supplies. Those chocolate and honeycomb eyes are narrowed with concern. “Is it the fluorescents? I could grab painkillers.”
“It’s fine.” It’s not the lights messing me up, damn it, it’s the constant urge to grab Riley and plaster her body against mine. The never ending lust pounding in my veins.
It can wear a man down, fighting his nature like that. And I’m not about to give in, but yeah. I have a headache.
“It’ll get better at the cabin,” I tell her, and it’s true. Back at the cabin, there won’t be all these other fuckers sniffing round my girl. Putting my hackles up and sharpening my need to kiss her, fuck her, claim her.
Forgive me, Luis.
“Okay. If you’re sure.” The pizza supplies tumble into the cart from her arms, then Riley’s grabbing my sleeve. Nudging me toward the checkouts.
How can the lightest brush of her knuckles against my arm do such intense things to me? Every ounce of my awareness is zoomed in on that tiny point of contact; every cell in my body is waiting, shivering with anticipation for where her next innocent touch might land.
But once we reach the checkout, she lets go. Starts loading up the belt with our groceries, and I grit my teeth through the swooping sense of loss before helping with that, too.
We work in companionable silence. Packets rustle. Cans clink.
“Mornin’.”
Neither of us realize at first that the voice is directed at us. Well—at Riley. Then a man clears his throat and tries again, sidling up to lean against the edge of our checkout. “Hey, sweetheart.”
Riley startles, glancing over at the man. My heart sinks when I realize he’s not old or ugly—in fact, since I got my scars, this asshole’s a damn sight better-looking than me. With his thick brown hair and deep country tan, he grins at her, wide and confident, and trails his eyes all over her like he has any fucking right.
I go rigid.
My heart slows right down, slamming so hard in my chest I swear I could crack a rib.
“That your boyfriend, sweetheart?” The man’s eyes barely flick to me, lingering on my scarred neck. He’s so confident that we’re not together, and I guess he’s not wrong, but it sickens something deep inside me. Does it really seem that impossible?
“Um.” Riley glances at me, then back at the man. “N-no.”
Ah, fuck. Searing pain ripples through my chest, and I grit my teeth in silence. Been a long time since I’ve hurt like this.
And I know it’s her right to do whatever she wants with who ever she wants, but if I have to watch Riley Sanchez make a date with this asshole, I’m going to howl.
But then: “He’s my husband.” Her voice rings out, pure and confident as it tells the sweetest lie, and the man’s smile drops away where he’s leaning so close. He glares at me outright then, and I raise a cool eyebrow.
Her husband? Shit.
Shit .
She can’t drop stuff like that on me. I’m rigid for a whole new reason now, every nerve in my body crackling to life.
“No rings.” The man’s charm is long gone. He’s embarrassed, and he’s looking for a row.
“We don’t need ‘em.” My voice makes him jolt, and it’s like he forgot I was here. Forgot, since I was so quiet for a minute there, that I’m bigger than him and rougher than him and so fucking ready to move him along by force. “Clear out.”
Maybe it’s a shame he slinks off so easily. Hearing those words from Riley’s mouth, hearing her call me husband … I’ve got a lot of energy to burn off now. Could’ve done with throwing a few punches in the parking lot—but no. I won’t embarrass Riley like that, not without a damn good reason.
The checkout lady is scanning our cans, wide-eyed. I shake my head and stomp to the end to start bagging.
“Husband,” I mutter after a few minutes. Packing beside me, Riley’s ears turn pink. “ Husband . You trying to kill me?”
“Would it really be so bad?” she whispers back, and she’s frowning now, staring down at her hands as she works.
Bad?
Would it be so bad? Is she kidding?
Fuck. Me.
* * *
It’s been a long morning already, and maybe that’s what does it. What snaps the final thread of my control. Or maybe it’s the sad, hurt look on Riley’s face, or that word— husband— echoing around my head.
I load the bags into the truck. Take back the stupid squeaky cart. Then stride across the parking lot to where Riley’s slumped against the passenger side door, fiddling with the hem of my stolen shirt. She’s all tired and caved in on herself again, staring out at the mountains all around, and I’m a man on a fucking mission. If a car slammed into me right now, it would bounce off. Ping clean off me like a pebble.
“Riley.”
She looks up just as I reach her, but I don’t stop moving. I plow right into her, flattening her against the side of my truck.
“Oh!” Even with her squeak of surprise, those slender arms reach up automatically, winding around my neck. My thigh wedges between her legs, and we’re sealed together. Brown eyes gaze up at me. Her hair dances on the breeze, tickling my neck.
“Would it be bad ?” I sound pissed off, and I know that’s not the right way to handle this, but I can’t help it. It’s such a ridiculous notion, and it makes me so fucking mad. “Would it be so bad to be your husband? Is that really what you asked me in there, Riley?”
She whimpers as I grind our hips together.
“Does that feel like it would be bad? Does that feel like I don’t want you every fucking minute of every day?”
Because there’s no mistaking the hard line of my cock; no mistaking the need hardening my words. And I shouldn’t touch her like this, shouldn’t be such a goddamn caveman, but my ears are ringing and I can’t shake the memory of all those hungry eyes on my girl. Looking at her . Mentally undressing her in the fresh fruit aisle.
“If you were mine…”
I’m panting. Rocking my hips against her, a single heartbeat away from scooping her up right here in the parking lot, tearing her leggings open and sinking deep inside.
“If you… were…”
The realization of what I’m doing hits me like an eighteen-wheeler. If Luis could see me now—if he saw what I’m doing to his baby sister—
I stagger back like I’ve been shoved. And Riley’s staring at me, her pupils blown and cheeks red, those goddamn nipples prodding the front of that borrowed shirt.
“I’m sorry,” I rasp, and her face hardens. She balls her hands into fists.
“Don’t take it back, .” Riley’s words are calm, but there’s no mistaking the warning beneath. “Not after that. Don’t you dare.”
Silence stretches between us, and my head is noisy with all the things I can’t say. All the words I desperately want to spill. All the reasons I’m no good for this angel.
The breeze is cold, scented with pine, and across the parking lot, the automatic doors to the store rattle open and closed.
“Let’s get back,” I mutter, breaking the silence at last.
And Riley’s shoulders droop before she climbs into the truck, slamming the door hard enough to make me wince.
I’ve fucked up. I’ve really done it this time.
As I climb into the driver’s seat, I find myself praying to be numb again. Dead inside.