CHAPTER SEVENTEEN #2
I was right about people noticing us because as soon as we’re out of the truck and on the sidewalk, almost everyone does a double take.
But mostly, it’s to stare at the man beside me and not his intimidating stature but his scar.
To his credit, if he notices people openly gawking at him, he doesn’t let it show.
His hand on the small of my back—that he put there the second he helped me climb out of the truck—doesn’t waver at all.
It stays in place as he guides me to wherever our destination is.
As if he’s used to it by now, and he is, isn’t he?
After sixteen years of people treating him like a monster, like a zoo animal, of course he’s gotten used to it.
I’m not, though. I’m angry and I keep getting angrier as the time passes.
So at one point, I let go of my dress that I was clutching in a death grip and grab his side.
I fist his shirt and press close, almost resting my head on his ribs.
At this, his hand does twitch and his smooth steps falter a bit.
But I don’t make a big deal out of it. I keep my eyes forward and my grip on him tight.
I also don’t want to analyze what I’m doing because I know I won’t be doing it for long. Just like that singing thing.
Our first stop is the clothing store. Where he lets me pick out whatever I want for the both of us while he keeps an eye on me and the surroundings.
He’s doing it like he really expects a hidden threat to jump out of a corner and attack me.
And I realize maybe I should be scared of that.
I got shot at less than twenty-four hours ago, but on the heels of that first realization comes the second, more important one: The reason I’m not scared or even thinking about getting attacked is because he’d never let anything happen to me.
And not only because he took a bullet for me—God, I still can’t believe he did that—but because he never had any intention of letting anything happen to me.
This is another thing I can’t get over. I mean, instead of leaving me there and going to get his sister, the one he hasn’t seen in sixteen years, the one whose life my father destroyed, he stayed with me.
He stayed twenty feet away just so no harm could befall me.
I know he said he knew they were playing games, but it was still a huge risk to take and he did it.
Just so they wouldn’t hurt me. So no, I’m not afraid. Not for my life, at least.
When I’m done with my shopping, he escorts me to the counter to pay.
The girl takes several seconds to first stare at Radisson and then several more to get her computer going because, apparently, she’s too flustered.
It makes me so mad that I do the same thing I did on the street: I grab his arm and press close to him.
Then I look up at him, only to find he’s staring down at me, at my hand around his massive biceps and my body plastered against his.
Swallowing, I say, “I got you a ton of purples and deep reds. Corals too. You know, earthy shades.” He stays silent, continuing to stare down at me, and I clutch his arm tighter.
“Because of your eyes. They’re green, and all those colors…
They’ll bring your eyes out. N-not that you need it.
Your eyes are the most stunning eyes I’ve ever seen.
You’re the most stunning man I’ve ever seen.
” His body tenses, but I keep going, “In fact, the first time I saw you, really saw you, I didn’t even think you were real.
I thought you looked like an angel. And this was despite you tying me to a tree, so you can bet your ass I meant it. I mean it.”
Those green eyes of his flash and my breaths stutter.
I probably shouldn’t have said that; maybe it was too girly or sentimental.
But I had to. I wanted the girl—and everyone else including him, for that matter—to know that I think he’s beautiful, and he is.
Both inside and out. And nothing and no one can change my mind about that.
The girl at the counter clears her throat and breaks the moment.
She tells us our total and Radisson hands her the cash with torn knuckles that she also stares at with big eyes.
Then he guides me to the changing rooms in the back and tells me to put on a fresh dress.
And since he’s paranoid, he stands right outside the door.
When I come out wearing my new dress, a light blue summer dress with spaghetti sleeves and embroidery, I find that he’s also changed but only his shirt.
He probably did it out here, and I was right about the colors.
The deep purple, almost black, plaid shirt I got him does bring out his eyes.
I go to tell him that, but all my words go poof when I find those gorgeous eyes that look even shinier now running down the length of my body.
My skin breaks out in goose bumps, and suddenly shy, I tuck my hair behind my ear and duck my head.
He grabs my elbow and tugs me to his hard body. “You did that for me.”
My breaths hiccup and I look up at him, knowing what he’s referring to. “That girl was being mean. Everyone is being so mean.”
At my words something softens in his features, but I don’t understand it. I don’t understand why he isn’t as angry as I am. Yes, he’s had a lot of time to get used to it, but I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how people treat him.
“I’m fine,” he says.
“Well, don’t be,” I shoot back. “You shouldn’t be. You should be beating everyone up who looks at you the wrong way. Hell, I’m fucking ready to beat everyone up. I—”
He tugs me even closer, pressing my body to his as he speaks over me. “Told you not to sully your pretty mouth for me, yeah?” Then, pulling me even closer, “And if you don’t wanna be mine, then stop being so goddamn fuckin’ sweet and givin’ me a toothache.”
Speechless, I swallow, and he watches me for a long moment.
Then, without a word, he ushers me out of the store and we go to our next stop.
The hardware store, followed by the bank where he withdraws cash out of his account.
The same thing happens: People stare at him and his scar, and I sidle as close to him as possible, telling them all with my gestures that I’m proud to be at this man’s side.