Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Dahlia
The door chimes and I glance up automatically, expecting to see another customer walk through the door.
Instead, it’s the last person I expected to see.
Echo.
It’s been over a week since that night in the alley. In the time since, I half convinced myself I imagined him. That he was just some kind of scary hot apparition my brain created after being under severe duress.
But nope.
He’s real. And he’s standing in the doorway of my bookstore looking even more attractive in the daylight.
He’s dressed in all black. Wearing a fitted t-shirt that does nothing to hide the muscles underneath it and a pair of jeans that sit low on his hips and are way too tight around his—
Nope.
Not going there.
His dark hair is combed back neatly, and there's a faint shadow of stubble along his jaw. A man like him has no business looking this hot.
Nature is kind of twisted in that way. It’s like the universe purposely makes the most dangerous things alluring just to fuck with us.
He steps further in, letting the door swing shut behind him, and every other customer in Better Than Fiction notices. Their heads swivel in his direction cartoonishly, and my eyes flare when a woman standing near the historical romance section actually bites her lip when she spots him.
Jesus.
He’s pretty, but he’s not that pretty.
And if they had any idea what he was capable of, eye-fucking him would be the last thing on their minds.
He walks up to me with his hands in his pockets, looking entirely too comfortable in my space.
Those dark amber eyes track over me slowly, taking inventory, and I feel completely exposed despite the fact that I’m fully clothed.
Having him here, in my carefully controlled space, is making every single one of my nerve endings fire all at once.
How the fuck did he find me?
“What are you doing here?” I manage, narrowing my eyes at him, as I flash him my fakest customer service smile.
He tilts his head and smirks as if he finds my reaction amusing. “You never answered my text.”
My smile drops and I press my lips together. “What?”
“Did you get home okay?” He explains, his voice low. “The night we met. I asked. You never answered.”
My throat tightens, and I glare at him. “That was over a week ago.” I hiss.
“I know.” His eyes linger on my face, cataloging every detail. “I still want my answer. So, did you get home okay?”
I stare at him and try to pretend like my stomach isn’t flipping in on itself.
“I did.” I say tightly, crossing my arms over my chest. “As you can see.”
The defensive posture does nothing to help. If anything, it just makes me more aware of how close he is and how much bigger he is than me.
He takes another step closer, and his eyes catch on my cheekbone. On the fading bruise I spent twenty minutes covering with concealer this morning.
“You’re covering it with makeup.”
“Yeah.” I say quickly. “But it’s mostly healed.”
“Show me.”
I take a step back. “Excuse me?”
“The bruises.” He says, his voice calm and almost conversational. “The ones they gave you. The ones you're covering with a turtleneck in the middle of August. I want to see them.”
Heat crawls up my neck. “No. Absolutely not.”
“Why not?”
“Because this is a business.” I hiss, grasping for any excuse that creates distance. “And you’re a customer. You can’t just—”
He moves.
One minute he’s on the other side of the counter. The next, he’s rounding it and backing me against the shelves behind the register.
“Echo—”
His hand comes up to my face and I freeze. He trails his fingers down the side of my face, and his touch is so gentle and so unexpected that it makes my breath catch. His thumb ghosts over the fading bruise on my cheek, and when I tense up, something dark flashes in his eyes.
“It still hurts.” He murmurs, more to himself than to me.
I need to push him away. I need to tell him to get the fuck out of my store. Instead, I’m rooted in place, watching him touch me as my heart pounds erratically in my chest.
His fingers slide down and slowly trace the side of my neck, coming to a pause on the edge of my turtleneck. He swallows as his eyes bore into the black fabric around my neck, then, ever-so-slowly, he tugs it down to reveal the marks there.
The bruises have faded to a sickly yellowish-green, but they’re still visible. Still a reminder of how close I came to dying that night. His jaw tightens as he traces them with his fingers.
“They put their hands on you here, too.” It’s not a question.
I swallow hard, and he feels it beneath his fingers. “They did—”
“I should’ve made it slower.” He whispers. His thumb presses gently against my pulse point, and I know he can feel how fast my heart is racing. “I should’ve made them suffer more for what they did to you.”
The violence in his voice should scare me.
It doesn’t though, and I can’t explain why.
“They’re dead.” I whisper. “That’s enough.”
His eyes meet mine, and the intensity in them steals my breath. They’re a deep amber green, and up this close I can see the flecks of gold in his irises.
“No.” He says softly, his voice rough. “It’s not.”
I’m painfully aware of how close he is. How I can feel the heat emanating off his body in waves. And how he smells exactly like the jacket I still haven’t thrown away. Woody, warm, and incredibly masculine.
I study his face, and my eyes catch on the fresh scar above his eyebrow. It’s a stark reminder that we both didn’t leave that night unscathed.
“You should step back.” I manage, but my voice comes out breathy. Weak.
“Should I?” He asks, his thumb still on my neck, still feeling every frantic beat.
“Yes.” I say, but even I can hear that there’s no conviction in my voice.
Echo doesn’t move. He just keeps looking at me like he’s trying to memorize every detail.
“Your pulse is racing, Bambi.”
“That’s because you’re scaring me.”
“Liar.”
My breath catches because he’s right.
I’m not scared.
I’m something else entirely. And given the fact that I know what he’s capable of, that’s really fucking disturbing.
A throat clears behind us, and we both turn to see a woman in her 70s standing at the other side of the counter. She’s clutching a book to her chest and looking deeply uncomfortable as a blush spreads across her cheeks.
Echo steps back smoothly, as if he wasn’t just invading every inch of my personal space, and steps towards one of the bookshelves.
I know how intense that felt to me. I can only imagine what it looked like to her.
I ring her up quickly and am eternally grateful for her silence as she hands me her card and I slip her receipt into her bag.
She turns around, and Echo stupidly, ridiculously gives her a wink as he waves her goodbye. The poor woman literally gasps and stumbles over herself as she heads for the door.
I cut my eyes at Echo and follow her out, just to make sure she makes it to her car okay. She does, and when she slips into the driver’s seat and I see the huge smile on her face, I can’t help but find what Echo did a little endearing.
I step back into the store, looking for the menace, and surprisingly, I find him browsing in one of the aisles.
“What are you doing?” I ask, studying him warily.
“Shopping.” He says, his voice returning to that casual tone. But when he glances at me, there’s something heated in his eyes that makes my stomach flutter.
This is insane.
He moves to the paranormal romance section, and I feel myself following him. I watch him, completely off-balance, with my hand pressed to the side of my face that still feels the phantom of his touch.
“You don’t strike me as much of a reader.” I say, trying to regain some control over the situation.
He glances back over his shoulder. “You don’t know me well enough to make that assumption, Bambi.”
There’s that nickname again.
“Don’t call me that.” I mutter, tugging on my collar.
“Why not?” He asks, his eyes still skimming across the shelf. “It suits you.”
I grimace. “It really doesn’t.”
“Agree to disagree.”
He pulls a book from the shelf and holds it up. “Ah, here we go. I’ve been looking for this one.”
It’s Darkfever by Karen Marie Moning.
I stare at him.
“You have?” I ask, fighting a smile.
“Yes.” He says automatically. “It’s been on my list for a while now.”
“Hmm.” I nod, trying to hide my amusement. “I didn't take you for someone into fae smut, but I’m not one to kink shame.”
He quirks a brow. “Fae what—”
I watch him glance down at the cover and then look around the store. Taking in the predominantly female clientele and the shelves labeled with different genres of romance and something like realization crosses his face.
“Well, I guess it’s not just fae smut.” I continue with a completely straight face. “There’s also these really hot mysterious beasts. And immortals. So many yummy immortals. It’s one of my favorites.”
Echo shakes his head and smirks at me. “Well, if it’s one of your favorites.” He says, drawing out his words before gently licking his lips. “Then I’m definitely taking it.”
My eyes linger on his mouth for a second too long and of course, he notices.
“Come ring me up.” He says, nodding towards the register.
I clear my throat and follow him, inwardly cursing myself for getting caught staring. Echo stops in front of the counter and slides the paperback towards me.
“You’re really going to buy that?” I ask, the disbelief in my voice clear as day.
“Of course.” He says smoothly, pulling a leather wallet out of his back pocket. “The books are for sale, aren’t they?”
I roll my eyes and scan the book, hyper-aware that his eyes are on me.
“That’ll be $16.41.” I say, proud that my voice sounds at least somewhat normal.
He takes out a hundred-dollar bill, and when he hands it to me, his fingers deliberately brush against mine.
My body jolts in response.
“Jumpy.” He notes, studying my face with that infuriating smirk.
I snap my hand back. “I am not.”