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 somehowalso 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 onourlobby 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’mreal 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 asimmer. 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.
