The Survivor - Cristin Harber Page 0,35
could destroy it—or fan an underlying flame of explosive heat.
The shopkeeper bustled in and stopped. He held a stack of skinny, dark purple boxes in his arms and cocked his head. “I didn’t hear you come in. Welcome.”
His date assessed the old man. Hagan complimented the store. The shopkeeper pointed to where he would be if they had questions, then he slipped away as quietly as he’d approached.
He wanted to ask if she was okay but instead, Hagan picked up a box and gave it a shake. “My sister’s pretty amazing when she’s not acting like a pain.” He shook the box again. “What is this? Sounds like BBs, but it doesn’t have any weight.”
“No idea.” She took it from his hand and put it on the shelf. “But your sister doesn’t want it.”
“You don’t know that.”
She reached for the most expensive-looking item within arm’s reach. “I think she wants this because she probably knows you keep calling her a pain.”
Hagan laughed, then nearly choked at the price tag. His date threatened to give it a shake, and Hagan took it from her and replaced it on the shelf. “Roxana gives as good as she takes.”
“Is it her birthday or something?”
Hagan shook his head. “No, I just like to surprise her with little gifts. She worries, and, hell, I don’t know. I figure sending her something nice will help.”
“How?”
He shrugged. “I want her to believe my life isn’t in danger. If I’m in a place that sells expensive crap that would brighten her day, she might believe that my job is safe.”
“That maybe one of the sweetest, most misguided things I’ve ever heard.” She patted his bicep. “But it’s cute that you try.”
Hagan laughed. “Cute, huh?”
“Very.”
Damn, he wanted to touch this woman. “Good to know.” He placed his hand on the small of her back again and guided them into another area. Spices hung heavier in the air. They stopped at a row of barrels and glass jars. “Your mom likes tea?”
“We both do.” She eyed the intricately designed labels handwritten in Arabic. “She bought new teapots for us on her last work trip.”
“Where did she go?” he asked.
She pinched her elbows to her side and concentrated too hard on what should’ve been an easy answer. “Overseas.”
He ignored the evasive answer. “Do you read Arabic?”
“No, but it’s beautiful.”
Hagan motioned to a placard. “Loose tea. Then it looks like…” He inspected the labels. “Local, grouped by spices.”
“You’re fluent?”
“Yeah. And over here.” Hagan took her hand. “This seems more like a global selection.”
The shopkeeper interrupted again, “Looking for anything particular?”
“A gift,” she said, and let go of his hand.
“This one.” He swept a satchel and scoop off a shelf, shoveled a sample into the bag then into Hagan’s hand. “A favorite.”
He didn’t know what the hell to do with one tea bag’s worth, but the shopkeeper stared at him as if there was something Hagan should do. He brought it close to his nose and sniffed. “Damn—” He choked as though he’d shoved cinnamon sticks into his nostrils. “I mean, that’s nice.” His eyes watered. “Potent.”
The shopkeeper beamed, agreeing. “Yes, yes.”
Whatever else the man said turned into white noise. The woman grabbed his forearm. The touch cleared his senses like she’d hosed off his face. She laughed and led them away even as he wiped at his eyes one last time. Once they reached fresh air, he knew he’d survive.
“Are you okay?” She giggled and peered at his face like he’d sustained a serious injury.
“My ego’s a little wounded.” Her infectious laughter tugged at his cheeks. “But yeah. I’ll make it.”
“Good. I’m not ready to end the night yet.”
Damn, he loved when her honesty surprised him. Hagan inched closer. Their eyes connected, and her laughter died. He wrapped an arm around her back and pulled their bodies together. Her smile reached her gaze, and with her in his arms, he felt more of a man than he ever had before. “What is your name?”
“Amanda,” she whispered.
Simple. Beautiful. Her name had made her fight and flee. Until now. She’d given it to him, and Hagan took that as a sign of trust. Nothing had made his blood race hotter than her belief that he could keep her safe.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“Amanda.” Hagan slid his hands up her sides, taking his time as if no one existed but them. “Thanks for trusting me.”
Revealing her name would have been anti-climactic. Except, Amanda had a front-row seat to the broadest, most genuine smile on Earth.
To be the center