Chapter Thirteen
Remi
I march through the shopping centre, the heels of my trainers slapping against the shiny floor and my heart hammering harder than it should over one stupid sales assistant.
Logan.
The way she said his name, like it belonged to her. I roll my eyes. The truth slices deeper. He made me believe it was a privilege, that his name was mine to hold, mine to whisper. That it was special, sacred even, because he only wanted to hear it from my lips.
I tug the hem of the dress lower, suddenly aware of every stranger’s eyes on me.
I should have changed back, should have thrown this lace scrap of nothing at his smug face, but my anger wouldn’t let me.
So, now, I’m stuck looking like a hooker on the run while he’s probably still in there charming her with that stupid grin of his.
God, I hate how much this hurts. I knew he wasn’t a saint. I knew his past was crowded with women whose names he can’t remember. I mean, it’s obvious looking how he does that he’s not an angel. But knowing it and having it shoved in my face are two very different things.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I don’t need to look, I know it’s him. I keep walking. If I hear his voice right now, I’ll break, or worse, lose my shit.
My phone vibrates again. I just shove it deeper into my pocket and walk faster, head down, jaw tight.
“Remi!” His voice cuts through the crowd, sharp and commanding. I stiffen but don’t stop. If anything, I move quicker, weaving through the late afternoon rush.
“Remi!” He’s closer now, his boots pounding. My heart lurches, panic and fury mixing in my chest.
Then his hand clamps around my arm, strong and unyielding, and in one swift move, I’m hauled off my feet. A startled cry leaves me as my legs kick at the air, my back slamming against the solid wall of his chest. He’s got me caged, completely lifted, his arms locked around my waist like iron.
“Put me down,” I hiss, thrashing, but he only tightens his hold, his lips grazing my ear.
“Not a chance, darlin’. Not until you listen.”
It’s infuriating, and God help me, intoxicating. My pulse thunders in my veins, every nerve aware of his heat pressed against me.
A man strolls past, eyes dragging over my legs and the too-short dress.
“The fuck you looking at?” Shadow snarls, his voice feral. The man stumbles, mutters something, and scurries away like his life depends on it.
Shadow lowers me slowly, but his grip never loosens.
One arm staying locked around me as he digs into the bags with the other.
He yanks out my brand-new coat and forces it around my shoulders, jerking the fabric closed.
His hands are rough, decisive, tugging it tight and fastening it all the way to the collar, as if I’m a child refusing to wear it.
“There,” he growls, tilting my chin up with his thumb. His eyes are wild, burning. “Now, no one sees a damn thing but me.”
My breath catches. I should slap him, shove him, anything but feel the way my body reacts to the possession laced through every word.
His arm stays locked firmly around me as he steers me out of the flow of people. I dig my heels in, but he’s relentless, a storm cutting straight through the crowd until he finds what he wants—a shadowed gap between two shopfronts.
Before I can twist away, he spins me, pressing me back against the cool brick. His hands slam to the wall either side of my head, caging me in. His chest heaves, the muscles in his jaw ticking like he’s fighting to keep control.
“You ran . . . again.” His voice is low, dangerous, and way too sexy for how furious I still am.
I glare up at him, refusing to shrink back. “What else was I supposed to do? Stick around and let her humiliate me while you stood there looking guilty as hell?”
His eyes darken, heat blazing in them. “Guilty?” He leans in, his nose almost brushing mine, his breath hot and heavy. “The only thing I’m guilty of is wanting you so bad, it makes me insane.”
I swallow, hating the way my pulse skips at his words. “She was pretty, Logan. Way prettier than me. What the hell are we even doing?”
“You think I give a fuck about her? About anyone but you? The second you walked out that door, darlin’, the only thing I cared about was dragging you back to me.
” The fury in his voice—dangerous, magnetic, impossible to fight—should scare me.
Instead, it pulls me under. He leans closer, his forehead almost brushing mine, his voice dropping rough and low.
“And don’t you ever say she’s prettier than you.
You hear me?” His gaze drags over my face, heated and unflinching.
“You’re beautiful, Remi. All I can think about is you. ”
I blink, my throat tight, torn between anger and something that feels far too much like hope.
“You’re just saying that,” I whisper, though the tremor in my voice betrays me.
His hand comes up, fingers rough against my jaw as he tilts my face towards him. “I can’t think straight with you in that damn dress,” he mutters. “Please put the jeans back on.”
I pout, pretending to consider it, then a wicked smile curls at my lips. Payback’s a bitch.
He must sense it because he groans dramatically, pushing off the wall and letting me slip from his cage.
I unzip the coat, confidence shaky but defiance stronger, and step out like I own the place.
My hair’s a mess, my cheeks blotchy, but I know one truth—men are fickle.
Flash a little chest, a lot of leg, and their eyes betray them.
“Rem,” he growls, pained. “Come on, don’t do this. You’ll get someone killed.”
I laugh, spinning a few steps ahead, the coat flaring open. “Now, where to next?”
“Home,” he shoots back instantly, hope bleeding into his voice.
I pause, tapping a finger against my lips as if I’m actually considering it. Then, I arch a brow, teasing, “Underwear. I need underwear.”
He drags a hand over his face, muttering, “You’re trying to kill me.” But he stoops to gather up the bags anyway, following me like a man who knows he’s already lost.
The bell over the shop door jingles as I push inside, my coat flapping open. The place smells like vanilla candles and new fabric, with soft music humming from hidden speakers. Lace and silk in every colour hang from neat displays, more beautiful than anything I’ve ever owned.
“Hellooo, gorgeous.”
The voice is warm, singsong, and undeniably camp. A man in his thirties, wearing a sharp suit, his hair slicked to perfection, swans over from behind the counter. He clasps his hands dramatically. “Oh, my word, that dress is divine on you. Legs for days. Face like a doll.”
Heat floods my cheeks, but I can’t help smiling. “Thanks,” I mumble, instantly standing a little taller.
Shadow steps in behind me, and instantly, the man’s gaze slides over him. He tilts his head, lips quirking. “And you’ve brought arm candy. Hello, handsome.” He actually winks, and a giggle escapes me.
Shadow stiffens. His voice is flat and unimpressed as he asks, “Where’s the female assistants?”
“Oh, touchy,” the man teases, leaning a little too close to me as he gestures towards a rack of lacy sets. “Ignore him, babe. Men get grumpy when they’re outshone. Now, what’s your poison? Satin? Lace? Something that says, I woke up like this?”
I laugh, tension melting off my shoulders for the first time since the shop assistant debacle. “Definitely lace.”
The man claps his hands, delighted. “Lace it is. With your figure, you could wear a bin bag and stop traffic, but lace will make the angels weep.”
Shadow mutters something under his breath, dark eyes narrowing as he watches the man flit around, plucking sets off hangers with flair.
“Size?” he asks, glancing back at me. The second he sees my panicked look, he waves his hand like it’s no big deal. “I’d say thirty-two C, but I can measure if you prefer.”
“Not a chance,” Shadow spits, and the man laughs, rolling his eyes.
“No worries, handsome, my eyes are never wrong.” And he picks out some sets in the size he suggested.
He holds up a red scrap of lace and presses it into my hands. “Try this. Trust me, sweetheart, you’ll feel like a goddess.” His eyes flick to Shadow, sharp and knowing. “He looks like a red kind of guy.”
I giggle. “My god, he’s good,” I say as Shadow’s eyes darken.
Shadow
I growl low in my throat, stepping close enough that my arm brushes hers. “He’s not that good,” I mutter, glaring daggers at the guy until he sashays away to fuss with another rack.
She smirks, knowing damn well she’s got me twisted-up. “Jealous much?” she teases under her breath.
I lean down, voice a rough whisper at her ear. “Darlin’, you’ve got no idea.”
She disappears behind the curtain, a flash of lace in her hand, her giggle still echoing in my head. I stay rooted to the spot, arms crossed, jaw locked so tight, it hurts.
The camp bastard drifts past, humming to himself. “She’s a lucky girl, you know,” he says in that sing-song tone. “To have a man look at her like you do.”
I grunt, not trusting myself to answer without snarling.
From behind the curtain, fabric rustles, followed by the faint sound of her laugh.
My chest tightens. I imagine her slipping out of that damn dress, sliding into lace so thin, it’s criminal.
My blood heats just thinking about it. And the fact that he picked it out makes me want to rip the curtain down and remind her who she belongs to.
The curtain shifts, and my pulse spikes.
Then she slides it back, revealing a sight so much better than I could have imagined.
The red lace clings to her curves like it was sewn onto her skin, delicate straps hugging her shoulders, every inch of her a sin wrapped in temptation. My breath punches out of me, sharp and raw.
She’s blushing, chewing her lip like she’s unsure, but she shouldn’t be. She’s perfect. Too perfect. My hands twitch at my sides, aching to pull her back into the cubicle and make damn sure she never doubts it again.
“Well?” she asks softly, glancing up at me through her lashes.