Page 67 of Monster Among the Roses (Fairy Tale Quartet 1)

“I told you—”

“Yeah, yeah. You wanted to stop that lady from deceiving anyone else, but that didn’t mean you had to keep the place once you bought it. You could spice it up, then turn around and sell it for a profit. Or put someone else in charge of running it, instead of making it some do-it-yourself project.”

She drew in a slow breath, before meeting my gaze and admitting, “You made me want more.”

“What?” I whispered.

“With the bookshelves,” she prompted, “and running every morning together, and just everything. I’ve felt more alive these past few weeks than I have in years, maybe in forever. And it’s made me feel cooped up in that big house. I suddenly felt this urge to get out and do something, to make a living, to just…live. I want to do this, Shaw, because…because I actually want to do something. Like you said once, I want to make a difference in the world and leave my mark. Even if it’s just to make people smile when they buy my flowers. That would be enough for me.”

My lips parted in awe. I wasn’t sure why, but in that moment, I couldn’t think of anyone else I admired more in the world. To watch her go from being the vulnerable, standoffish scarred woman in the rose garden only to bloom into the amazing creature before me was nothing short of a miracle.

I was mesmerized.

“Then I’ll help you,” I heard myself say. It didn’t matter what it took or how we’d convince her father to allow my assistance, I would help her. That I knew for sure.

She grinned as if I’d just pulled down the stars for her, then she threw her arms around my neck and opened her mouth to mine.

Our tongues met first, then our lips, our hands. But she was still too far away. I started to tug her over the cup holder and into my lap before a passing car honked. I had no idea if they were honking at us or something else, but it still cooled me off enough to let her go and pull away. Breathing hard, I wiped my mouth that still tasted of her.

“That’s probably as far as we should go in public,” I said, blushing, before I sent her a rueful glance of apology for nearly mauling her in front of anyone and everyone who bothered to look into the cab of my truck.

Isobel met my gaze, her blue eyes serious. “Then take me somewhere private.”

My stomach dipped with disappointment. “You want to go home?”

“No…” She shook her head and her kiss-stained lips curved into a smile. “Not yet.”

chapter

TWENTY-ONE

Oh, holy shit. Holy shit. Did that mean what I thought it meant?

I had no idea, but my libido certainly started assuming plenty. Instantly hard, I shifted in my seat to make more room in my pants before clearing my throat and tipping my head toward the flower shop. “Didn’t you want to go inside?”

Isobel glanced over her shoulder toward the store she’d purchased. Gaze disinterested, she turned back to me. “No.”

Air puffed from my lungs. “So, you…just…anywhere?” I asked.

When she nodded, I had to concentrate on exhaling again. “Okay,” I said. “Okay.”

I put the truck in drive and pulled back into traffic. We drove for about five more minutes as the day slid into dusk and my headlights came on. At first, it was aimless. I wasn’t sure where to take her that would be private. Mom was at my house, and well…that’s as far as my brain could travel. Until I remembered the closed and abandoned shoe factory I’d worked at for nearly ten years. The loading dock back in the shipping department had been pretty secluded, and with the place closed down, it’d be absolutely deserted now.

A chain-link fence surrounded the lot, but vandals and looters had long since broken the padlocked cable keeping the rickety entrance closed. The gate hung open limply by one hinge. As we drove through, Isobel sat forward with interest. It’d only been eight months since the factory had closed, but grass and weeds had already grown up between the cracks in the asphalt parking lot, making the place look as neglected as it was. I rolled the truck slowly over broken beer bottles and around the main building to the back. It seemed creepier now that no life or light shone from within. Cracked and shattered glass in the windows only helped along the desolate sensation.

“Damn,” I murmured, shaking my head. “I didn’t realize it’d feel so dead around here.”

Empathetic to my mood, Isobel quietly asked, “Where did you work?”

“Back here,” I answered, pulling into a tight squeeze between buildings to arrive at a courtyard where the loading dock still stood.

When I saw the work of Black Crimson on one wall, I sucked in a surprised breath. “Well, that’s new.”

The painting portrayed a woman pointing a flashlight into a dark corner only to illuminate a man who was holding up his hand to shield himself from her. The poor dude looked as if he had an abundance of hair, long mane, shaggy beard and all. Or maybe it was a bear, not a man. I wasn’t sure. But he definitely didn’t want her looking at him.

The quote next to the painting read:

Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.

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