I mutter something under my breath that sounds like a curse in at least three languages, then begrudgingly take the jumper from her hands. “Fine. But you're trying one on too.”
Her bright smile lights up the entire store, and I feel that dangerous warmth in my chest again.
“Deal.”
She finds herself a red jumper covered in icing-topped Christmas puddings doing the can-can while wearing miniature Santa hats—the hats are sequined,obviously—before we make our way to the fitting rooms at the back of the shop.
She catches my eye, her expression thoroughly amused at the predicament I've found myself in. I give her a look that blatantly says,I'm only doing this for you, which only makes her grin wider, and as I close the curtain behind me, I realise with startling clarity that I'd probably do a lot more than this for her.
That I want to be the kind of man who does ridiculous things just to see her smile.
The Christmas music playing overhead shifts to “All I Want for Christmas Is You,” and I hear her singing along merrily through the thin wall separating our changing rooms.
“This is ridiculous,” I call out from my cubicle.
“Fashion is pain, Hotshot!” The glee in her tone should be insulting.
“Fashion is supposed to be aesthetically pleasing, not a violation on the eyes!”
“You having regrets over there?”
“Not at all,” I deadpan as I shuck my shirt and reach for the knitted atrocity awaiting me. “Merely questioning the life choices that led me to this moment.”
Her tinkling laughter carries over the partition, and despite the idiocy of what I'm doing, I find myself smiling.
Christ, Reed and Jace would have a field day if they could see me now, standing in a fitting room, wearing a jumper with a gingerbread man and bells on it, all because a woman I met yesterday—yesterday,for fuck's sake—looked at me with those pleading blue eyes.
The same eyes that watched me with wonder last night when I made her come apart. The same eyes that saw through every wall I've built and decided I was worth the risk anyway.
Maybe I could be worth the risk…for her.
When I finally manage to get the damn thing on—bells jingling with every movement—I step out to find Rory already waiting.
Oh shit.
Oh shit!
The ugly-as-sin red jumper hugs her curves in a way that makes my mouth go dry. My jaw tics involuntarily. The colour makes her skin glow while bringing out the blue in her eyes, andwhen she bites her lip nervously, then quickly tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, my gaze drops to her mouth.
Focus, Adams.
Her eyes are fixed on me, those kissable lips slightly parted, as I raise my arms to adjust the jumper's collar, feeling uncomfortable with the jingling bells. The movement makes the hem ride up, exposing a strip of my stomach, and I watch her eyes follow the trail of dark hair that disappears beneath my waistband.
The same trail she traced with her tongue last night while I fisted my hands in her hair and tried not to lose my mind.
“This is the most undignified thing I've done in—” I slam to a stop when I notice she's blatantly staring.
I know I'm in decent shape—Jace's brutal workout sessions make sure of that—but the way she's looking at me makes me acutely aware of every defined muscle. Wanting to needle a reaction, I arch an eyebrow. “See something you like, Sweetheart?”
“Nothing,” she murmurs too quickly with a shake of her head, and I watch delightedly as heat floods her cheeks. “Just...the— Er…the sweater—I mean, thejumper. It's very...um…festive. Yeah, it's totally just the jumper.”
My eyes narrow, but there's something deeply satisfying about catching her off guard. About knowing she wants me as much as I want her. “You're a terrible liar.”
“I don't know what you're talking about.” She tries to look anywhere other than in my general direction, but her eyes betray her, flicking back to my exposed stomach. To the skin she knows intimately.
I stifle a chuckle before stepping closer, watching her pupils dilate as I drawl. “You were staring.”
“Was not.” She tucks her hair behind her ear again, a nervous gesture that I'm beginning to recognise.
