Wife Number Seven (The Compound, #1)(34)

“I guess that’s a no.” Porter chuckled.

“You can take the oven mitts off,” I whispered.

His eyebrows drew together in a cautious scowl. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. I trust you.”

Slowly, he slid the bulky mitts from his hands, then interlocked his fingers and placed them on his chest. Despite my little kiss, Porter didn’t break his promise. We stared at the ceiling, listening to every song on that CD. When each song ended, I asked him to tell me about it—why he loved it, why he chose it. Porter didn’t hesitate, telling me all about the lyrics and what they meant to him, to us.

And as I lay there with him, staring at the stark white ceiling above us, I knew there was so much more to my feelings for this man than the electricity of his kiss, his touch, his passion. I was drawn to the softness of his voice when he was confessing his deepest feelings, the complexity in his expression when he was trying to explain a concept that he knew would be foreign to me, and to his vulnerability . . . the way he was able to admit his struggles, his failures, the most shameful parts of himself. Men in our community didn’t do that. Porter was showing me every part of himself; I just had to pay attention. I had to accept the good with the bad.

And before that CD came to an end, I knew that I could.

I was tired of fighting this.

I didn’t just want to kiss Porter Hammond.

I wanted to be with Porter Hammond.



Chapter 13

Resistance was getting easier.

“C’mon, I’ll walk you home,” Porter said. He reached out to smooth down the wrinkled sleeve of my dress, attempting to make my appearance less rumpled after several hours of lying in his bed.

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Someone could see you.”

“We’ll be careful, I promise. But I won’t take no for an answer, Brin. You shouldn’t be out on your own this late. Something could happen to you.”

“Oh,” I muttered under my breath. “Thank you.”

And then it hit me. The list in my pocket. Leandra would have my head.

“Oh no.” The happiness I’d felt just moments before was instantly replaced with dread. I slid down to the floor. “She’ll know. Oh no, oh no, oh no.”

“Whoa, slow down. What are you talking about?”

Withdrawing the paper from my pocket, I placed the list beside me with shaking hands. I’d been gone for hours. If I returned with absolutely nothing on Leandra’s list, she would know I’d been dishonest. She’d be certain that her misgivings about me were correct—that I couldn’t be trusted.

“This is a list . . . of stuff.”

“I was supposed to buy all of those things. Hours ago.”

Porter crouched down and lifted my chin with his fingertips. “Listen to me, okay? We’ve got this. C’mon, I go shopping all the time. I’ll help you.”

“You do?”

The idea of a man shopping seemed so silly to me, but then I remembered that Porter lived here in the outside world, where no one was going to take care of him but himself.

He nodded and reached for my hands, pulling me from the floor.

“C’mon. I told you, we got this.”

? ? ?

Our shopping trip was brief, but somehow Porter made it fun by cracking jokes about the different products lining the shelves. For just a moment, I allowed myself to imagine that we were a married couple running a simple errand together on a Wednesday evening.

That thought warmed me. It warmed me like no other thought had before it.

“What’s that for?” Porter asked when, without even thinking about it, I reached for Lehi’s favorite shade of crimson lipstick and placed it into our basket. “You can’t wear that.”

I didn’t reply but simply scratched it from the list, moving on to the mascara and eyeliner.

“What the f*ck, Brin?”

Porter’s voice was low but intense. He didn’t understand, and I didn’t have the heart to tell him what Lehi required in the bedroom. When I turned to face him, I begged him with my eyes. Begged him not to push me.

“Oh wow.” Porter raised both his arms above his head, locking them behind his neck as he walked several paces away from me. I could hear him inhale and exhale loudly as he walked. He turned and stormed back to stand just inches from me, his teeth clenched. He grabbed the lipstick and held it in front of him like it was somehow toxic. “Are you kidding me right now?”

I shook my head and stared at the floor. He gripped my chin and raised it so I was forced to look at him.

“Do you like wearing this stuff? For him?”

“No!” I yelled, then covered my mouth in shame. Several customers glanced our way and Porter took a few steps back, his hands held up in front of him in that universal gesture that said I’m not a threat.

An older woman with flaming red hair and brown tortoise-shell glasses narrowed her eyes at Porter, then focused her attention on me. “Are you okay, honey?”

I knew what she was thinking. Occasionally women of our faith were taunted by men when we came into town, which was why I’d avoided ever being out this late.

“I’m fine, yes. He’s my friend.”

“Are you sure?” She took a few steps toward me, eyeing Porter with suspicion.