Dirty Sexy Alphas (Twenty Book Box Set) - Hannah Ford Page 0,68

My gaze raked over his body, searching for any tension. Any… emotion.

“I changed my mind,” he said, turning to his dresser.

“Oh?”

“I’m going to the wake.”

“Oh.” I repeated, my voice betraying my surprise.

He glanced at me over his shoulder, taking in my expression. He crossed the room, leaning down to kiss me before returning to his dresser. His back was to me before he spoke again. “I want you to go with me.”

I couldn’t ignore the jolt of surprise. The hope that this, somehow, meant something. He wanted me there to support him. “Okay. I mean… of course I will.”

“Good,” he said, yanking on his pants. “Meet me here at three.”

“Where are you going?”

“I have some things to deal with at the office before I can focus on the wake. I have a board meeting later and I’m not prepared.” He flipped his wallet out, grabbing a few one-hundred dollar bills and setting them on the dresser. “This is for a black dress.”

“I have something I can—“

He turned to me, his expression making the words die on my lips. “Take my money, Taryn. Because whatever you wear, I don’t want to see it ever again. Burn it or donate it or throw it in the river, I don’t care. What you wear will remind me of him, and I refuse to think of him when I look at you. Ever.”

I swallowed. “Okay. Sure. I’ll run to the mall.”

“Good.” He yanked on a pair of dark grey slacks, then pulled on a deep blue button-down. “I’ll be at the office for a few hours at least. Be here dressed and ready to go at three.”

And then he disappeared out the door, leaving me alone in his bed, staring at three hundred dollars and wondering where I should go to find the perfect black dress.

Sitting beside Landon as he barreled across town, the tension radiating from him, felt surreal. I was in a simple black sheath dress, one that hugged my curves without being inappropriate.

Landon gripped the wheel way too tightly, his jaw clenched as he stared forward.

The morning clouds had turned dark, and rain sprinkled across the windshield. Landon didn’t bother turning on the wipers. He looked more like a statue, chiseled in marble, than the warm flesh and blood I’d fallen asleep against last night. I wanted to break the silence, but I didn’t know what to say, and then we were pulling up at the funeral home, parking in a stall near the front door. The engine died off but he didn’t move to get out.

“Thank you,” he finally said.

“For?”

“Dealing with me when I’m like this. Coming here. Being who you are.” He stared straight ahead, his expression dark and troubled. “I don’t deserve you in my life.”

“Hey,” I said, waiting for him to meet my eyes. But he didn’t move, just stared at some place across the lot. “Hey,” I repeated, nudging his arm.

He finally turned, met my gaze.

“I care about you. Nothing is ever going to change that. Not a few thousand miles, and not—“ I hesitated, my glance flashing to his ring finger. “Not a wife.”

When had that changed? When I had I decided Alexa wasn’t a threat?

He leaned over, brushing his lips against mine. I wanted to close my eyes and thread my fingers through his hair, deepen the kiss. But I resisted. This was not the time and place.

“Let’s get this over with,” he said.

I followed him out of the car, and he reached for my hand as we crossed the lot, flashing me a grim smile. Inside the entry, an enormous wreath of white orchids sat on a pedestal. Somehow, until that moment, it hadn’t felt real. But as I stared at the elaborate flowers—knowing without asking that Landon had paid for them, had paid for all of this—I recognized that the reality of a funeral hadn’t hit me. I’d been too focused on Landon’s reaction to think about my own.

Beyond the foyer, a group of people in appropriately dark colors milled about, their voices low.

Matt was standing at the end of a long table, studying a line of photos laid out on top of a white satin runner.

He glanced up as we approached, and he and Landon hugged. I tried not to stare, tried not to assess Matt’s health with one glance. Cancer didn’t work like that; I knew it firsthand. But I couldn’t help the urge. And I wasn’t supposed to know about his diagnosis.

So I turned to the table, my gaze