Chapter 34
Rhys
The market noise fades to black, as well as my anger toward yet another person acting rudely to Fallon. I’m aching for a pint to take the edge off, but I’ve noticed Fallon doesn’t drink.
Fine by me. It’s better if I stay sharp. Before, I would drown myself in whiskey after a kill, but now, just sitting with Fallon makes the screaming in my head and the smell of blood slowly vanish.
Fallon’s hand is tucked firmly in the crook of my elbow, cheeks glowing from the cold. That impossible smile of hers hasn’t stopped curving her mouth.
“All these people enjoy your plants,” I say, pointing to the crowds at the food tables. “They’d be your friend in a heartbeat.”
Her brows knit. “I think Basil will be jealous.”
“Is he jealous of me?” I ask, and oddly, I mean it.
“No,” she snorts.
“Where are we going now, love?” I ask, lengthening my stride to match her skipping pace.
“Ornaments,” she says, as if that explains anything.
I blink down at her. “Ornaments?”
“For the lobby Christmas tree,” she adds, like it’s obvious. “Remember? We have the decorating committee meeting on Wednesday at four p.m.”
I shake my head, and there I am, typing lobby decorating committee meeting in my phone. If my enemies ever hack me, they’ll think it’s a decoy entry for an assassination attempt.
A laugh rumbles out of me.
Ordinarily, I’d be shaping up one of my many I’m busy excuses to slip away. But after what I saw at that market and how that guy Vin went from trying to feel her up to stiffing her paycheck, there’s no way I’m letting her spend the rest of this day alone.
If Fallon is going to fight for color and beauty in the world, I’ll fight to make sure no one dares to get in her way.
Halfway down a narrow street that I bet only a fraction of the city knows about, we reach a shop, and Fallon practically bounces through the door.
The place looks like the North Pole had a yard sale the day after Christmas.
It’s wall-to-wall lights, frosted garland dripping like frozen waterfalls, and ornaments dangling from every beam like jeweled raindrops.
There are glass baubles shaped like nutcrackers, acrylic hand-painted finials, and tiny glittery snow birds with silk feathers.
The place reeks of cinnamon and sugar, pine and glue. My skull throbs instantly.
Yet, Fallon exhales, “This is perfect.”
She grabs a wicker basket and blazes a trail down the center aisle on a mission, unaffected. Her short skirt swishes against her candy-cane tights, flashing red and white with every step of her black ankle boots.
I’m having the most impure thoughts of what I want to do to her with a piece of peppermint.
I follow silently, taking the basket from her to give my guilty hands something to do before I lift that skirt and show her my blue Christmas balls.
“These are even better than last year.” She plucks ornaments from a hook with surgical precision.
I smile at the glass roses in a wreath, miniature watering cans with red and gold bows, and mini spruces painted emerald and gold.
“I call these Spruce Willis,” she says, laughing.
I snort a laugh so hard I practically hurt myself. I barely keep up with her darting movements, while somehow also thinking about her legs. But the way she stretches on her toes to reach the top branch of the display, her skirt inching higher—
Bloody hell.
She drops another ornament in the basket with a triumphant little hum that has me wondering what she sounds like when she comes.
I grip the basket handle tighter. This woman is going to kill me.
At the register, she takes the basket from me and sets it down before rummaging through her purse. She pulls out a thick wad of cash that makes my eyes widen.
“I got this,” I mutter, sliding my credit card across the counter before the cashier can blink.
“You don’t have to—”
“I know,” I interrupt gently. “But if these are going on our lobby tree up for everyone to see, they should come from both of us.” I bend down and kiss the tip of her nose. “I want everyone to know you’re mine.”
Her whole face brightens into a glorious smile as she leans her head against my arm.
“This is the best season ever,” she sighs dreamily. “I should’ve snuck into your apartment and watched you kill someone sooner.”
The cashier freezes mid-scan.
I flash the woman my most civilized grin and mouth: She’s kidding.
“Oh. Oops.” Fallon shrugs, eyes huge.
Judging by her glitter bow headband and candy-cane tights, the cashier probably thinks she’s quirky. I don’t fucking care what Fallon thinks is real or not anymore. I’m real right here, right now.
We leave with a shopping bag full of ornaments wrapped so they don’t clink and break.
The air outside is icy, bringing my body heat to a simmer. For a few blissful seconds, Fallon is quiet, just swinging the bag at her side.
Then I make the mistake of saying, “Can we do something I want to do?”
She halts, and the smile fades from her mouth. “You’re right,” she whispers. “I never ask what you want. I’m a terrible girlfriend.”
Christ.
“No. You’re not.” I wrap my arms around her, crushing her against my coat. I dip to murmur against her red curls, “You’re the best girlfriend a mate can have.”
Her breath hitches. Slowly, her shoulders loosen as she peeks up at me, eyes gleaming.
“Thank you,” she says with the last of the afternoon sunlight caught in her lashes.
Fallon is not only aware of the heat growing between us. She’s also aware of sex and what a man like me wants from her.
“What do you want to do?” she asks, hesitantly.
I lean in to her excited curiosity and brush my thumb over those fucking lush lips.
“Let’s go,” I tell her. “I’ll show you.”