Page 81 of Debt of My Soul

We continue shopping, each of us putting items in the cart, and I can’t help but enjoy the semblance of normal. Because I’m sure when we get back to the compound, life will be anything but.

Chapter 32

Liam

The hat on Fleur is driving me wild.

I didn’t have the heart to tell her it was mine. That the older cap with the town’s name, Ruin, MS, embroidered overtop a magnolia leaf was mine from years ago. I hadn’t seen it in forever, so I was shocked when she had it tucked over her perfectly shaped head. Come to think of it, the last time I remember having it was in my truck. Probably got mixed with the thrift store bags when we brought them in.

If it keeps her wearing it, I’ll let her think otherwise.

I push the empty cart back to the return, the groceries piled high in the back seat of my truck. I have never once been shopping with a woman before. Admittedly, I’ve never found myself in this situation. I’ve always lived alone, never sharing space with a member of the opposite sex. Here I’ve found myself married and living with a woman for the first time all in the same week.

The cabin already smells better. Her scent reminds me of pistachio and salted caramel drizzle on an ice cream sundae.

What the hell? I’m probably hungry.

I climb into the truck and twist the key. While the engine roars to life, I chance a glimpse at the girl distorting my life as I know it—because I’ll never be the same after this.

She’s in her own world, contemplating the saturated clouds that are blowing in quickly. Fleur chews at her lip, folding it over her bottom teeth. Does she know how alluring she is when she does that?

We make it onto the main road before the patter of rain starts on the windshield. Sun blocked out in the sky, the last light of the day gives way to early darkness, and my phone call with Darrin eats away at me for the night to come. He’s demanded I come to his latest establishment, which means I’ll need to bring Fleur.

I swerve to miss another truck I didn’t see, and Fleur’s eyes widen.

I hate I snapped at her this afternoon, but the samples I stole from the warehouse along with the intel I need to pass along to my handler can’t have any evidence of her.

Selfishly, I want to tell her. Maybe she’d hate me less. But I can’t toss her in the middle of this investigation and undercover mission. No one can know. My grandfather is the only one who knows my involvement and that’s not without its risks.

She’s already handling this better than I would’ve expected. Any additional measure of comfort on her part would be met with suspicion.

A part of me thinks it would help solidify what I’m doing. But the other part thinks I’d be putting her in danger. Even more so if I’m found out.

No. The less she knows, the better.

I need her to act disgusted with me. As much as tugging out her smile heats my blood, I can’t be seen as anything other than what I am portraying. That way, Fleur can genuinely say she didn’t know.

The rain tapers off to a drizzle.

Sluggishly, I exit the shower, having spent too much time in there putting off the inevitable, I suppose. With my towel wrapped securely around my waist, I swipe the steam settled on the medicine cabinet mirror and open it to grab my toothbrush. I pause, taking in the array of feminine products piled on the narrow glass shelves before I slam the door shut, trying to shove the torrent of Fleur thoughts from my mind. It’s been a week, and already I can’t shake her presence.

Having forgotten my clothes in the bedroom, I throw open the door to find Fleur reading on the couch. Her knees are up, toes tucked under her, while she flips the pages of aSouthern Homemagazine that isn’t mine. At the sound of the door, her gaze casually lifts, then widens into shock before she ducks into the pages of the issue.

I’m covered below the waist, but the red settling in on the tips of her ears makes me smirk. With a snort, I turn on my heels to pull on my jeans and a ribbed long-sleeve. After wrestling with the bottom drawer to pull out a pair of hidden socks, I finally wrangle my hair up. Lingering in the bedroom, I stare at the bed. I’d prefer to be in it, rather than being summoned to Darrin’s latest conquest. It’s unfortunate. Even more so because I need to tow Fleur with me.

I move back through the hall and into the living room.

Fleur, who hadn’t bothered to change, slaps closed her reading material in favor of standing. Immediately, my attentionbounces to her toned legs. I trace every tantalizing curve, my focus dipping to her rumpled shirt drifting above her hip bone.

She reaches for her tattered braid. Pulling out the hair tie holding it together, she weaves her hand through it, letting the style unwind. The long waves of her hair make me pause.

A flash of blond cascading down around my face, wrapped in the plaid of my bed sheets, has me taking a few steps back.

I reach for the bike helmet and, without meeting Fleur’s eyes, hand it to her.

“What’s this for?” she asks.

“To wear.”

---