Darkest Sins (Perfectly Imperfect #9)

“Why are we here?” I ask, my eyes glued to her lips. A smile is something that’s rarely directed at me. Most of the time, when the situation requires me to be close to a person, they are either crying or screaming.

“This is a farmers’ market. I’m giving you a crash course on herbs and vegetables.” She takes my hand, ushering me forward.

Someone bumps my arm with an elbow. I ignore it completely, staring at our interlocked fingers as she drags me ahead, hurrying toward the closest stand. For months, I’ve been struggling with the urge to touch her each time we’ve met. Kissing a hand that nursed my wounds was the most intimate contact I allowed myself, aside from that one weakened moment when I could not resist touching her face. It nearly broke me. But, I’ve known that if I let myself go any further, there wouldn’t be a way to go back.

I rarely wish for things in life, because I know how seldom I get them. But when I do, the urge to keep them is a maniacal, visceral need. To never let go.

“Parsley first.” Nera halts by a table with an overhead sign for a local greenhouse above it and lifts a tied-up bunch of green leaves on thin stems with her free hand. “See this? It’s flat-leaved parsley. It’s a herb, but its tops resemble those of the root veggies you got me. Actually, there is a parsley root variety. The smell is more vibrant, though, and it looks like a white carrot.”

She starts pulling her other hand from mine. Not happening. I squeeze it, keeping my fingers tightly wrapped around hers.

“Um. I need that hand,” she mumbles, looking down at our hands.

“No, you don’t.”

Her perfect eyebrows rise in question. “Because?”

“Because you have two,” I growl.

This hand is mine. She offered it to me freely, and I’m not releasing it unless it’s absolutely necessary. One day, maybe she’ll allow me to touch more than just her hand, but for now, this has to be enough.

“All right.” The corners of her lips tilt upward. Slowly, she brings the bunch she’s holding up and brushes its leaves under my nose. “Parsley. Smell.”

The elderly man in a checked shirt minding the booth gives us a quizzical look as I sniff at the leaves.

“Good.” My cub replaces the parsley and picks up another bunch of green crap, but this one has the gnarly-looking ball at its base. “And this, this is celeriac. It’s a root vegetable, just like the parsnips you got for me. The root is big and round, not the long and skinny one that resembles a carrot. Now, smell.”

Another handful of leaves ends up in my face. I wrinkle my nose and sneeze. “That’s enough, I get the idea.”

“Are you two buying something?” the old-timer grumbles.

I pin him with my gaze, giving him a look usually reserved for my targets before I break their spines.

“We’re just browsing, if that’s okay?” Nera grins at the man, whose eyes are still glued to mine.

“Yes, yes of course. Absolutely.” He takes a step back. “Take all the time you need.”

My girl resumes perusing through the displayed veggies and herbs, lifting things she finds interesting, making me sniff or poke them. Fennel. Dill. Radishes. She keeps her right hand in mine the entire time. I pretend that I’m paying attention to the stuff she’s showing me, but really, I’m focused solely on her.

More people pass by, squeeze in next to us, so I take a step to the side, closer to my tiger cub, creating a barrier to keep away the pests. I didn’t know where she wanted to go today, so I came carrying two guns concealed in my shoulder holster, a knife strapped to my ankle like usual, and a garrote in my jacket pocket. It doesn’t seem like I’m going to need any of those onthis outing. Still, I watch our surroundings from the corner of my eye, making sure there are no unexpected threats anywhere near her.

It’s hard to focus on her words with the warmth of her at my side. I want to move away, afraid I may get addicted to touching more than just her hand, but at the same time, I want to invade her space, press myself against her. My mind is screaming to move back. My body doesn’t listen. I take another step, moving behind her and releasing her hand in the process. The moment is brief, just a split second, but it feels like hours without her touch. The instant I’m behind her, I entwine our right hands again and place my left on the table on her other side. Once I have her surrounded with my body, it’s easier to breathe.

She’s discussing plant fertilizers with the guy running the stand, who still looks a bit sick in the face, absolutely oblivious to the turmoil happening within me. I try remaining stoic but lose the battle soon enough and dip my head, inhaling the scent of her shampoo.

The vendor in front of me is speaking, and I nod, keeping up the appearance that I’m listening to whatever he’s rambling about. From the moment I felt my demon come to stand at my back, his body enveloping mine on almost every side, my mental capacity to process anything flew the proverbial coop. A fainttouch of his chin at my temple. Huge calloused fingers holding my own. His breath in my hair. His scent drowning me.

“You said you’re allergic to flowers.” A husky whisper right next to my ear. “And yet, you smell like one.”

There are dozens of people around us, so many voices and other sounds much louder than his words, and still, he’s the only one I hear.

“It’s the pollen I’m allergic to. Not the smell,” I choke out.

“Mm-hmm . . . good to know.”

His thumb brushes the back of my hand in small, tender strokes, and each one makes it harder to draw a breath.

“Thank you.”