Page 159 of Branded
Straps that would crisscross over my foot, wrap around my ankle and calf.
No.
I couldn’t even wear them right now, wouldn’t be able to for months, not with the low blood pressure and my belly growing.
“Sugarpie.”
Right. No more shoes. No more shopping.
A hand on my jaw, cupping lightly, those bags rustling and crinkling. “Beth, honey. Go try on the shoes.”
“I won’t be able to wear them, not for months,” I whispered.
“Go try on the shoes,” he repeated.
My nostrils flared, drawing in a deep breath. “I already bought enough for today.”
“Can you afford the shoes?”
Considering I could go on a shopping spree every day for the rest of my days (and not at the outlets) and still not make a dent in the trust fund my mom had left me, yeah, I could afford the shoes.
“Beth?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
A sparkle in his bright blue eyes. “Then, sugarpie, go try on the shoes.”
I took a step toward the entrance, mostly because he let his hand fall to my lower back and nudged me forward.
Then I stopped. “You’ve been patient.”
His big body shifted so that he was at my front, and I looked up, way up into his eyes. “Yeah.”
“You’re carrying my bags.”
One brown brow lifted. “Yeah, honey.”
“And you’re not complaining.”
A pause. “No, sugarpie.”
Warmth in my belly and for a minute, the pounding at the doors in the basement quieted. Which set me spinning, had me pressing my teeth into my bottom lip, and meant that I said something that had nothing to do with our conversation and everything to do with the way this man made me feel. “I’ve never actually heard anyone call another person sugarpie.”
His smile flashed, and that wasn’t a calming warmth. It was a battering ram to my gates, a call to fling wide those doors and let the demons loose.
He’d lift his sword.
Slay them with one fell swoop.
And I was reading too many fantasy romances.
I didn’t live in a world where men swept in on horses or wings that sprouted from their back, diving down, and rescuing me.
My world was…
Well, it wasn’t that.
His fingers on my spine flexed, and years of instinct had me going still, but there wasn’t a bite of pain. There weren’t nails digging in, harsh words in my ear, promising pain later.
