“Medium, why?”
He stops at an ugly navy sweatshirt that readsI Heart Harley Cove. He slides it off the hanger and hands it to me. “Put this on.”
I back away a step. “Why?”
Up goes one infuriating brow. “Because you’re cold.”
If it weren’t such a wonderfully thoughtful gesture, I’d take exception to his saying it like he’s speaking to a child. A slow, wide smile stretches across my face as I accept the sweatshirt. He even helps me pull it on, lifting my hair from the neck hole before fluffing my brown curls.
“Better?”
Nodding, I say, “Much, thank you.”
God, that tongue when it peeks out to wet those plush lips. It’s criminal. “I’m glad.”
And his gruff voice… It has a direct line from my ears to my vagina.
Speaking of voices… I cringe when Nancy O’Dell sidles beside me, her customary smirk in place. The baby-blue retro swing dress is lovely. The cream cashmere sweater draped around her slender shoulders makes her look like she stepped out ofMad Men. “Andwhoisthis, Charly?”
Newly divorced, she’s devouring Rhys with her eyes, and I don’t like it, not one bit. I have no right to be jealous, but here I am, practically bursting at the seams with possessiveness.
Rhys, however, glares at her like a roach that crawled across his boot. Before I answer, he wraps his big hand around mine and tugs me close to his side. “Hers.”
Well, now.
He’s summoned a storm of gossip that will rip its way through Harley Cove. Not that I give a shit. I’ve spent my life with my head down and my lips sealed. The girl who behaved. Who colored inside the lines and kept quiet when Jason fucked around. What I should have done rather than pretend I was the problem in our marriage was speak up for myself. Never allow the Wembleys to control my narrative. I should have been loud. Told people the truth, how Jason was relieved that I lost the baby, and how he’d built a whole life with Lisa behind my back. I should have told the truth about Harley Cove’s golden boy, that he’s nothing more than tarnished goods from a shitty family.
And that’s why, barely holding in laughter, I say, “What he said.” I point to Rhys. “He’s mine.”
Rhys yanks me away from Nancy to pull me down aisle five, forcing me to walk double speed to keep up with his quick strides thanks to his incredibly long legs. Finally releasing my laughter, I will never unsee Nancy’s shocked expression.
Priceless.
Let them talk about me. Let them gossip. Let Nancy tell people how a gorgeous stranger arrogantly claimed he was mine—I dare her.
I glance behind me and laugh harder and louder when I see Nancy still by the rack of novelty shirts, gripping her cart, gaping at us as we walk away. Eventually, Rhys stops to grab a can of vegetables, examining it like he’s readingWar and Peace.
“Uh, Rhys.” I tap him on the arm. He answers with a grunt. “While I appreciate your loyalty, and it was awesome to see Nancy stunned stupid, truly, you can’t go around acting all caveman. We don’t do that here.”
Without taking his gaze off the can, he says, “Caveman would be tossing you over my shoulder and carrying you back to your house, stripping you out of that pretty dress, tossing you on the bed, and fucking you until you can’t walk. That’s caveman, Charlotte. Announcing that I’m yours is simply stating a fact.”
Pardon me while I pick my jaw up off the floor. The most delectable vision of this gorgeous man, who oozes sex from every pore of his flawless body, hovering over me, fills my mind. For a second, I can’t see anything else. Only him, doing exactly what he said. Tearing off my dress. Sliding off his black jeans and tank top. His hands roaming my body. Me exploring his tattooed, sun-kissed flesh. His pierced?—
“Carrots or corn?”
“Porn?” I choke out, swinging around to see if anyone in our immediate vicinity heard him. “Why would you ask me if I want porn?”
“Corn, Charlotte.” The can looks tiny in Rhys’s tattooed hand when he holds it up to my flushed face. “Corn, with ac.”
“Oh, carrots, please,” I mutter like a complete idiot.
“Both it is,” he announces with a smirk.
He takes off down the aisle, selecting items from the shelf, carefree abandon, and when we arrive at the meat section, I cringe because I can practically hear the call of the wild echo around him. Now, look, I may be frugal, but not with food. We all gotta eat, but goddamn, the prices have gone up to the point of crippling. I’m not hurting for money anymore, but I’ll always be the little girl everyone made fun of for wearing rags to school and who survived on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for lunch.
Rhys, however, has no concept of money. He grabs one of every package of red meat in the case. I’m right there to put most of them back. He can shove that scowl right up his perfect ass because there’s no way I’m buying grass-fed Kobe beef, a prime rib big enough to feed an entire family. The man is out of his ever-loving mind.
“Nope, absolutely not, no,” I insist, shaking my head.
