Three Kinds of Trouble (Sons of Templar MC 9)

I didn’t know how a conversation about shopping led to me babbling in a semi-shrill voice while pointing aggressively at a dangerous man in a Sons of Templar cut. Then again, I had no idea how I got tangled up with the Sons of Templar in general, let alone had one living in my house.

I was breathing heavily by the end of my tirade, my face contorted into a frown I feared was not at all cute. Hades, for his part, looked calm and placid.

There wasn’t even a slight rise of his dark brow to communicate that he was starting to think I was fucking crazy.

He just stared.

I started to sweat, and my hands fisted at my sides.

The silence rang between us. It was a thick silence. A really fucking thick silence, full of tension, and extremely sexual. I couldn’t breathe beneath the weight of his stare, and my panties became drenched from the promise in his eyes. He was going to cross the distance between us. Grab me. Plaster his mouth to mine. He was going to taste like sex and man. Then he was going to tear off my clothes and fuck me hard, brutally.

I would’ve bet my life on it.

But instead, he opened his mouth and said something I never thought I’d hear him say.

“Let’s go shopping then.”

Chapter Twelve

“So?” I questioned, twirling. “What do you think?”

I felt oddly uncomfortable twirling in front of this man. Yes, I’d spent a huge chunk of my adult life twirling in front of men, but I was usually attached to a pole and half naked. I’d never flushed this much since ... ever.

I was modeling yet another sundress. This one was black. Halter neck. Backless. It clinched in at my waist, skimmed over my body and finished just below my knees. I was in bare feet, so I was twirling on my tiptoes to help with the effect. This was the first one I’d tried on, one of only a handful that was hanging in my dressing room.

It felt incredibly weird walking around Nordstrom—we’d had to drive thirty minutes to the next town, thirty minutes of near silence—with Hades beside me. With all the expensive shoes, the purses, the low playing elevator music ... he stood out, that was for sure. A large, menacing man wearing a biker cut in all black. Yeah, he stood out alright. Every woman—and a decent amount of men—we walked by had checked him out, big time. The salespeople had looked at him tentatively, as if they were expecting him to hold up the joint or something. I’d made sure to meet their eyes with an angry, judgmental stare, causing them to quickly avert their eyes. I was not unused to sales assistants at expensive stores giving me those kinds of looks, especially with the way I dressed. I dressed like a stripper. One who wore Jimmy Choos and carried around a Chanel purse, but a stripper, nonetheless.

I’d learned to let such looks bounce off my hard exterior despite the number of times I’d wished to have the Pretty Woman “big mistake, huge” moment. But I’d taken the high road. I barely noticed it anymore. Yet I felt strangely and weirdly protective over this man, who had been willing to walk into Nordstrom with me. Not that he needed me to protect him.

He’d taken to the experience like he took to everything, like this was something he did every day. No male shifting from foot to foot, no eyes darting toward the exit, looking for the closest escape.

Sure, he wasn’t picking out outfits for me or anything, but he was attentive. Staring. At me. I doubt he noticed a single woman—or man—who had checked him out since we’d arrived. Not one.

It was almost impossible to concentrate on shopping. Which was a big fucking statement for a girl like me. I’d grasped a handful of dresses, barely paying attention, then hightailed it for the dressing room.

He’d followed me. All the way in, down the row of doors, to the one I selected at the end where there were a bunch of mirrors and a seat, presumably for the husbands. There was no husband in the room I chose. There was no one in any of the dressing rooms, as far as I could tell. It was late morning on a Thursday, not exactly peak shopping hours. That was one of the best things about having a job like mine, daytime shopping without any of the crowds.

But right now, twirling in my dress in front of Hades, some crowds would’ve been welcome.

The dress was utter perfection. Surprising since I’d just snatched it off the rack, the first one I’d tried on. That never happened. Ever. It had to be Hades. Hades, the magical, badass, sexy man. His powers apparently extended to the women’s department at Nordstrom.