Page 118 of Never Fall for an Angel

“Well, if you need anything, my name’s Callie, and I’dloveto assist you.”

Okay, that’s too far. I mean, I’m right here. I literally had his dick in my mouth three days ago.

Callie, who just has to be one of the most beautiful brunettes I’ve ever seen, senses my displeasure and backs off, heading to the counter to do whatever homewreckers do.

Christian, on the other hand, just chuckles, shaking his head and tugging me along to the first aisle.

“I must say, I like this new side of you, little devil,” Christian says, stopping at the T-shirts.

“She was totally hitting on you. I’m supposed to be your wife,” I whisper, sticking close behind him while he looks at shirts.

Christian only smirks.

“Luckily for you, I prefer little blonde brats.”

My next retort is lost on the tip of my tongue. That’s not what I expected him to say.

Eat a bag of dicks, Callie.

He chuckles, motioning to the wall of clothing in front of me.

“Pick your poison. What do you like?”

“We established that I like your clothes.”

He shoots me another look. I’m getting a lot of those lately.

“We’ll start with shirts. Then jeans. And then whatever else you want.”

“You don’t need to buy me clothes, Christian.” It feels weird because I know there is no way in hell I’ll be paying for any of it. I had six dollars and a Chuckee Cheese token to my name when he “spontaneously relocated” me in the middle of the night.

“As I’ve said before, you are my responsibility to clothe, to feed—”

“And to protect,” I grumble, crossing my arms over my chest. “I know.”

Cocking a brow, he steps towards me. Then he does it again until I’m backed into the racks of shirts.

Leaning down, he lowers his lips right to my ear. “Don’t make me take you to the dressing room and spank your ass, little devil. I’m fully committed to finding you something you’ll feel comfortable in while we’re here.” Leaning back, he tucks my hair behind my ear, his gaze hot on my already burning cheeks. “I want you to see yourself the way I do.”

“What? Damaged goods?”

Anger flashes across his gaze before it’s quickly masked by a look of indifference.

Uh-oh. I shouldn’t have said that.

“I want ten of everything. Ten pairs of jeans. Ten T-shirts. Ten frilly shirts. Some shoes. Dresses. Whatever the fuck you need, I want ten of it.”

And then he steps back to peruse the aisle.

I leave Christian to quietly sulk in the T-shirt aisle and head off to find the “frilly shirts”, as he likes to call them. I managed to find a few and then a few pairs of jeans in my size. I pick out a new pair of sneakers, adding it all to the shopping basket I find along the way before I make my way back over to where he stands in the back of the store, a few T-shirts in his hand that he must have picked out for me.

“I don’t need a dress,” I tell him, hoping he’s not still pissed off at me for what I said.

When he doesn’t respond, I know he is.

Fuck.

“I’m . . . sorry. For being rude,” I murmur. His shoulders stiffen, but he doesn’t turn around. I hate that I drove that wedge between us. Sometimes, when it all gets to be too much, I just . . . lash out. “I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, and I just—”

---