Page 34 of On a Fault Line

His smile is one of mirth. “Absolutely.”

Despite this arrangement being temporary, Collins decided to move all my clothes to his master closet to be adjacent to his. He also thought that I needed an abundance of options—despite not really leaving his bedroom—and provided for every type of weather and every type of color trend.

So when I put on a flowing sea-glass-green skirt and a white tank top, it feels special, like he had some say in the selection.

My fingers smooth out the soft fabric, enjoying how it stretches to look flattering on every curve of my body.

It’s shocking how well this outfit fits me. Just knowing that Collins was the one who chose it for me makes me feel pretty empowered as I walk past him sitting on the bed just for him to stand up at my presence and rake his eyes down every inch of my body in slow motion.

“You can’t wear that.”

My eyes narrow. “Why not? Did you buy it for someone else?”

“No, Penelope.”

“Then why?”

“Because I’m not walking around with another hard-on most of the day while visiting with your brothers.”

Turning my back, I walk away. “Sounds like a boy problem and not a man prob?—”

Suddenly I am upside down with my ass high in the air on Collins’s shoulder. He is so fast that my legs catch the breeze.

“Hey! Put me down!”

He stalks into the closet, using his hand to push through items on hangers. “I’m serious.”

“So am I. I love this outfit. I’m not changing.”

Growing unsatisfied by the available options, which are probably all too sexy for his own liking, he growls. “I’m buying you a bulky jumpsuit.”

“Oh, that will look great on me for summer,” I bite out sarcastically. “Make sure it is five layers of fleece sewn together just for added measure, you brute. Better also ensure it has one of those flaps so I can pee easily.”

Collins places me on my feet and takes a step back to examine what I chose. “Pull the hem of your shirt down more.”

“No. This is all your fault, and I refuse to take responsibility for your inability to plan ahead. Also, this is not in our contract and has nothing to do with my safety.”

“It most definitely has to do with your safety when I’m street fighting men who look at you like they want you.”

“Just as long as I can street fight some bitches that want to have their eyes linger on you a tad bit too long.” I gesture toward his body. “That real estate is all mine.”

Staring at each other, we finally agree with a silent truce that I will wear my outfit and Collins will accept this one concession on my independence.

Before walking out, I blow a kiss to my other outfits in the closet.

“What was that for?” he demands.

“Oh, it was just in case you go on a rampage and burn all items in a massiveBurn the Bracampaign.”

“Humph,” he grunts. “I’m not that dramatic.”

“Yeah, you kinda are.”

We exit into the hallway, careful not to touch or show any interest in each other, which just causes me to smirk. Well, until I realize how rigid and serious Collins is taking this all.

Sheesh.

Is he mad at me?

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