Jonas’s hips and chest surged closer, flattening her even tighter to the wall, almost to the point of not being able to breathe. His restlessness and aggression called to something inside of Ginny. Intuition pervaded her, raw and honest and new. Unique to the two of them. “You need to feed,” she whispered.
Jonas made a broken sound and spun her around to face the wall, aligning his body tightly with hers. “Tell me again what we have,” he growled, gathering her hair in a fist. “Tell me, love.”
“Forever,” she breathed. “And when we go inside, I’ll tell him, too, if it makes you feel better.”
He paused with his lips on her neck. “I like that. Not as much as I like the idea of killing him, but I like it.”
“That’s a compromise,” she said, smiling back at him. “Was that so bad?”
For several seconds, he did nothing but stare at her, seeming almost mesmerized. “Nothing that makes you smile so beautifully could ever be bad.” With a final, longing look at her pulse, he let go of her hair and stepped away. “Let’s get you back inside. I won’t have your reputation damaged because I can’t control myself around you.”
Turning back around, Ginny breathed a laugh. “I wouldn’t mind a change to my reputation.”
His brows drew together. “What does that mean?”
Was it so much to ask that this man who seemed to believe she was wonderful continued to believe it? “They have me in the dusty corner by the radiator because I’m Death Girl. I’m just the outsider.” She lifted a shoulder and let it drop. “They think there’s something wrong with me for wanting to work with the dead. I’m used to it. Or maybe…I thought I was.”
Several more bricks popped out of the building across the alley. “Blind idiots,” he said, his temple visibly throbbing. “Inside, love. You’re about to to sell out.”
“Oh no.” She grabbed his arm before he could open the church basement door. “Jonas, you cannot compel people to bid on my dresses.”
His hand curled into a fist on the door. “Compromise, compromise,” he grumbled unhappily. “I will not compel anyone to bid, but I am going to…can we even the odds?”
The smile nearly leaped off her face. “Yes.”
Regarding her closely, his lips parted on a prayer. “People who are good and kind, inside and out, hold up mirrors to the malevolence around them. I’ve walked this earth for almost ninety years and I’ve never met anyone who exemplifies that truth more fully than you, Ginny. You are good in every sense of the word. And evil hates reminders of what they’re incapable of being.” He kissed her mouth softly. “Let them flail and sputter in their inferiority. You’re a goddess among fruit flies.”
He had to tug Ginny’s hand to get her moving.
When she did, she had the urge to picture herself as one of her movie stars to boost her confidence. But after standing up to Galina earlier, and now with Jonas’s words ringing in her head, she didn’t need those illusions. Not tonight.
Maybe never again.
She walked hand in hand with Jonas through the sea of curious faces, stopping when they reached Ruth.
Jonas looked down at her and winked.
“Ruth,” Ginny said, clearing her throat. “I’d like you to meet my boyfriend, Jonas.” She looked Gordon in the eye. “He is my boyfriend. Sorry.”
“She’s not sorry,” Jonas drawled, smiling at Ruth.
“No, I’m not,” Ginny hurried to continue, feeling the crowd closing in on them to hear better. “And anyway, I’m wondering, if it’s not too much trouble, if we could move my table into one of the more well-lit areas?”
Ruth didn’t answer. She was too busy staring a hole in Jonas.
Ginny did a quick check to make sure he wasn’t compelling her and relaxed when his eyes were their normal shade of seductive green.
“Mother,” Gordon prompted, exasperated by his mother’s shameless staring. “Seriously.”
The dress club founder jolted. “Oh, I’m sorry…I…yes, yes of course.” She fluttered a hand near her neckline, face turning a light shade of pink. “Gordon, would you help Ginny move the table—”
“That won’t be necessary,” Jonas cut in. “Thank you, Ruth. You’re obviously a fair and reasonable leader.”
Giggling, she fanned herself. “Well, I try my best.”
Jonas put an arm around Ginny and led her away. They’d only made it about five feet when Galina called out from her table where she was surrounded by her dress club posse. “Ginny!” Her smile was almost feral. “Aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend?”
“Boyfriend,” Jonas corrected Galina, tucking a strand of hair behind Ginny’s ear. “Of the eternal variety. If you’ll excuse us.” He guided her past the table, leaning down to mutter in her ear, “Fruit flies.”
Five minutes later, with the help of Roksana, Tucker and of course, Jonas, her table was not only in the light, it was in the dead center of the room.
Ginny shifted on her feet. “Can’t we scoot it toward the wall a little—”
Jonas quieted her with a kiss. “This is where you belong.” Next, he brushed his lips across her forehead, seeming fascinated by her widow’s peak. “Do you want my help?”
“You’ve done more than enough.” Her fingertips slid over his ribcage and he let out a low groan, stilling her hand in a tight grip. “I have to do the rest by myself.”
He seemed reluctant to let go of her hand, but eventually did. Keeping Ginny in his sights, he went around the back of her table and fell into a metal folding chair the way royalty falls into a throne, one ankle crossed over the opposite knee.
Ginny took a deep breath and faced the room, which she had to admit, was a heck of a lot easier with the addition of Jonas at her back. Half of the guests were still gaping at him…and yet, he gaped at her. Before Jonas, she’d had tiny little seeds of resourcefulness inside of her that couldn’t grow without sunlight. But they’d been there nonetheless. They were products of Ginny. Perhaps they just needed some encouragement to bloom.
She squared her shoulders and took a long breath, painfully aware of the people circling her table, scrutinizing her months of work and still not stopping.
Still not stopping.
Until someone did.
“Hi,” whispered the young woman with a starburst brooch, punch clutched between her fingerless gloves. “Everyone is talking about the Christmas dress and I love it. I do,” she assured Ginny in a scratchy Brooklyn accent. “But…I have my eye on the white silk. That faux fur collar is to die for. Can I bid?”
“Yes,” Ginny exhaled, stepping aside. “Please.”
As the woman crouched down at the table and scribbled her number on the white square of paper, Ginny turned and met Jonas’s eyes over her shoulder.
He winked and mouthed the words, “That’s my girl.”
She smiled, huger than she could ever remember doing. It reached all the way to her pounding heart—and she knew in that moment, she would never love anyone or anything more than Jonas Cantrell.