Chapter Twenty-three
My cock fucking aches.
Having her so close, a small taste of her on my lips and I’m about to blow right in my damn pants. Fuck she blushes so damn pretty and the way she pressed her thighs together, squirmed under my touch, it took everything in me not to strip her out of her clothes and fuck her right there in the car.
She hasn’t said a single word the whole drive, her hands held tightly together in her lap, knees pressed together, face turned to look out the window as the scenery bleeds from woods and open space to skyscrapers and heavy traffic.
My fingers twitch where I have one resting on my leg, itching to reach over and take her thigh in my grip, while my other hand controls the car.
I pull us into the lot close to the shopping district, turning off the engine after I’ve pulled into a space. Olivia gets out the moment the car is stopped and stands at the hood, not giving me a chance to open the door for her.
I take her hand in mine, ignoring how good she feels when she’s in my grip and I don’t give her a chance to pull away as I begin walking, forcing her to follow.
We come out on the main strip, people milling about all around us and paying us no attention. She stays close as I take her toward the mall, but she stops suddenly with a gasp.
I follow her eyes to a magazine stand and right there on the front page is the two of us on our wedding day.
Olivia Lauder, New CEO of Lauder Hotels and Resorts marries business tycoon, Malakai Farrow in a super-secret wedding at Silver Lake Estate.
“They wrote an article about us?” She picks up the magazine, flicking to the full article a few pages in.
“We’re high profile,” I tell her, “And there were press in attendance at the wedding.”
Her nose scrunches up as she reads the article and I glance over her shoulder.
Olivia Lauder, youngest daughter of the late Victor Lauder has done some questionable things in her short life, but marrying one of the most eligible and wealthiest men in the city has to be the topper.
Is it power? Status? Money?
Read on to find out how Olivia sunk her claws into one of the cities greatest men as a source close to the couple spills all.
I snatch the magazine from her hand and shove it back into the stands.
“They think I trapped you!?” She squeals.
“Let’s go, Olivia,” I start to drag her away.
“The fuck!” She growls, her steps quickening with her anger. It’s adorable that something so small can harbor so much fury. I still have her hand in mine when we enter the shop, instantly being greeted by the overly happy saleswoman.
“Good morning, how can we help you today?” She asks chirpily.
Olivia comes to an abrupt stop, her anger still radiating from her.
“My future ex-husband is looking for a new pair of shoes.”
I choke on air.
The woman’s eyes widen, and she opens her mouth and closes it, desperately trying to figure out what to say.
“Your future…” She stutters, “Husband. Shoes.”
I shake my head, clearing my shock as I give her hand a squeeze, “My wife has a sense of humor.” I tell her, “Just here for a pair of black Prada loafers.”
“I really don’t,” Olivia says, rolling her eyes like the brat she is. Fuck, it makes me hard.
She walks off before the assistant can guide her and I cock my head, watching her go, her steps sure and determined. Likely to get the fuck away from me.
“We can handle it,” I tell the woman before I follow Olivia, slipping further into the store. I find her down the men’s aisle, eyes scanning the row of boxes as she looks for the pair I’m after.
“Your future ex-husband,” I purr in her ear, watching as she stiffens with my proximity.
“I just figured I’d let you know now, wouldn’t want you to be surprised when I eventually leave you,” She smiles at me sweetly, pressing up onto her toes to reach a box on the top rack. “I guess a size eight?” She flutters her lashes.
I roll my lips together, not biting at her clear tease and reach above her, pressing my chest to her spine. “Twelve.”
“Weird flex,” She breathes, “But okay.”
I shake my head. Fuck, I feel on edge around her, like control is right there but out of reach. I thrive on control, live for organization and a clear outcome but she blurs all the lines. One minute the tension between us is thick enough to slice it with a knife, the next, she’s cold and distant, making it hard to believe she reacts to me at all.
But I can’t forget the way her breath stutters from her chest when I’m close, or how her eyes devour me. I can’t scrub the image of her pressing her thighs together, leaning closer to press our lips together only for me to take it away.
What a fool I was.
I try the shoe on before I take the box to the counter, Olivia hanging back.
“Let me take you to lunch,” I tell her.
She scrunches up her nose, “I’ll pass.”
“Okay,” I growl, “I’ll rephrase it. We are going for lunch.”
“Sorry, do you want me to bark too?” She snaps at me.
“No, but I wouldn’t mind you crawling.”
Color blooms on her cheeks, “Pig.” She spins and storms from the store and I let out a chuckle as I follow her.
I take her to a small hole in a wall pizza place downtown, away from the busy streets and heaving traffic central city is known for. She sits on the opposite side of the little round table, manicured fingers playing with the hem of the white tablecloth.
“Malakai!” Gina, the manager beams as she walks to the table, “Hi!”
“Hi, Gina,” I greet her. She’s been the manager here for years, too many to remember.
She shoves her hand toward Olivia, who hesitates only for a moment before she accepts it, “I’m Olivia,” she tells her politely.
Gina’s eyes go round, “Oh! The Olivia!”
My wife sinks down in her chair, cringing a little.
“Those damn magazines,” Gina continues as if she doesn’t see Olivia currently trying to sink under the table, “Anyway, what can I get you? The usual?”
Gina has no idea what I do, she doesn’t need to. I pay her wages and she runs my business, though this pizza place isn’t one on the Farrow books. This one is just mine. It’s one of the many clean businesses I own.
“Yes,” I give her a smile, “Olivia?”
She selects something from the menu and reaches for her water.
“I need to go back to the hotel,” she says eventually.
“Why?”
“It’s my hotel. It isn’t going to run itself.”
“You have a board. And staff. Of course, it’s going to run itself.”
“Is this something you’re going to take from me too?” She captures the inside of her cheek between her teeth as she glares at me from across the table.
“Go ahead, Olivia.” I lean back, “You want to work, work.”
Her brows drop into a frown, “That easy?”
“You’re not a prisoner. You’re my wife.”
“And the Winter Ball?” She asks, “Were you going to tell me about that? Or that my hotel is hosting it?”
I shrug, “Figured it would give you something to do.” I lie.
“Liar.” She calls me out immediately.
I chuckle, “I figured it would be a good event to use as our first official public appearance. At a hotel you own, where you’re known.”
“I guess so,” she says quietly.
The meal between us is done so silently, no conversation, no eye contact and it’s becoming harder to figure out how to win this woman over.
Despite the tension and the sexual chemistry, it’s pretty clear she hates me. You can want to fuck someone and still despise them.
And I am not completely opposed to a little hate fucking.