Page 16 of A Very Killer Christmas
His mouth widens in a grin, and he comes up, stopping one narrow stair below me. He’s still taller like this. For a moment, I think he’ll say something, but he only smiles wider, wrapping his hands around my waist, and lifts me.
I gasp from shock when Rowley turns in the narrow space, my body held closely against his to fit. He puts me down by the stairs, just out of the way, and goes up again for the other boxes.
“See the blazing Yule before us…” he sings, and I stare after him, my skin prickling where he held me.
Chapter 7
Prudence
“These are beautiful,” Rowley says. I turn to see him holding one of my grandma’s angels, the white figurine so small and intricate in his large palm.
“Oh, the crochet angels! My grandma made four every year, two for her and grandpa, one for my mother even though she never came, and one for me. I always hung them on the Christmas tree.”
“And this?”
He pulls out the salt dough reindeer I made when I was sixteen. The paint has chipped in places, but it still looks good. I smile and take it from his hand.
“I made a lot of stuff from salt dough over the years,” I explain, turning the heavy figurine in my hands. “See? It’s mine.”
My name, Prudy, is scratched into the reindeer’s belly. Rowley leans in to see, and a shiver races down my back, because he’s so close, again. I don’t think I’ve ever been aware of another person’s proximity like this. It’s as if I can instinctively tell the distance between us at all times. It’s weird.
“Prudy?” he asks with a wide grin. “That’s so cute.”
I shrug, a bit pleased, a bit sad. “Yeah, well, my grandparents called me that. To anyone else, I was simply Prudence. Not popular or notorious enough to get a nickname.”
He looks up from the reindeer without moving away, and I have to swallow a sudden gasp as my stomach fills with a fluttery sensation. It’s not very pleasant, yet I can’t move away.
“Can I call you Prudy?”
I nod before I have a chance to think it through. The question seems odd, and I take a moment to analyze why as I turn away from him, my mind getting clearer when I’m not drowning in his warm eyes.
Why would he care what he calls me? Whatever happens between us, it will end come morning. He’ll disappear as soon as it’s safe to go back to his criminal ways, and I… I’ll survive. Somehow.
“Why do you care?” I ask, pretending to be engrossed in unraveling a long strand of Christmas lights. “What to call me?”
He laughs, and I risk a glance.God.Why is this man so beautiful? Even worse, why does he seem to get more and more attractive with every passing minute?
“Of course I care, silly,” he says with a fond shake of his head. “It’s your name. It’s important.”
Something melts in my chest, and I look away as if burned, not liking the wave of vulnerability that surges inside me at his words.
Important.Truth be told, I never thought of myself this way. Wherever I went, I was just a part of the background, insignificant, often invisible. The world never cared whether I existed or not. I was probably important to my grandparents, but with them gone… I lost my significance.
And now he, a killer, gives it back to me like it’s no big deal. I’m scared to accept his gift, so I just shrug and head to the kitchen.
“Want some tea?” I ask without looking at him.
“Yes.”
When his confident steps follow me, I bite my lip and turn to face him. Tea was just an excuse to get away.
“Why are you following me?”
He cocks his head to the side, folding his arms. The muscles shift and bulge under his tight sleeves in an absurdly distracting way.I am so unused to being around men, he strikes me dumb with the smallest things, and it’s annoying.
“Because I like being around you,” he says, a hint of a smile playing in the corner of his mouth. “Show me how you like your tea. I’m very curious.”
This is too much. I stomp my foot, wincing when my heel explodes with pain. The effect is underwhelming with no shoes on.
