Chapter 8 Wen #2
“Yes. And by doing exactly what I tell you to do.” I forced myself to meet his eyes. To ignore the way my body was screaming at me to close the distance between us again and maybe climb him like a damn tree and outline his abs with my tongue. Stop it, brain. “Can you do that?”
His smirk widened. “I am yours to command, boss.”
The way he said “boss” should be illegal. Low and rough and filled with promises that definitely didn’t make my thighs clench together in a stupid attempt to avoid getting horny. Joke was on me, though. I was very horny.
“Good.” I grabbed my phone and opened my camera app. “Because we’re about to make Woods & Pages the most popular bookstore in a hundred-mile radius.”
“How?”
I looked at him. At the compression shirt molded to his chest. At the gray sweatpants that were absolutely criminal. At the messy hair and the intense eyes and the whole package that screamed “romance novel hero come to life.”
“By using you as bait,” I said. “Women are going to lose their minds when they see you. And when they come to look, they’ll stay for the books.”
Understanding dawned on his face. Then something that looked suspiciously like pride. “You wish to use my appearance to attract customers.”
“I wish to use basic marketing psychology. Pretty things sell. You’re pretty. Therefore, you’ll sell.”
“You think I am pretty?”
“I think you’re a marketing goldmine and I’d be an idiot not to use every resource at my disposal.”
He laughed. Actually laughed. The sound was warm and rich and did terrible things to my insides. “Very well, little mate. Use me however you wish. I am more than willing.”
The way he said that made it sound infinitely dirtier than it should have.
“Okay then.” I raised my phone. “First step: photos. I need content for social media. You’re going to pose with books.”
“Pose?”
“Stand around looking hot while holding things.”
“Looking hot?”
“You know what you look like. Don’t play dumb.”
His smirk returned. “I wish to hear you say it.”
“Fine. You’re attractive. You’re objectively damn gorgeous. You look like every woman’s fantasy. Happy?”
“Only if I’m in your fantasies.”
I choked with my own saliva.
“You’ll never know.” I coughed a lung out, “Now go grab a book from the romance section. Something with a shirtless guy on the cover. We’re leaning into the aesthetic.”
He obeyed, disappearing into the bookstore. Returned with a paranormal romance that had a werewolf on the cover. Of course.
“Perfect.” I gestured to the reading nook. “Sit in that chair. Look brooding.”
“Brooding?”
“Intense. Mysterious. Like you’re thinking deep thoughts about the book.”
He settled into the chair, book open in his hands. Looked up at me. “Like this?”
I almost dropped my phone.
He looked perfect. The morning light from the window caught his hair. The compression shirt showed off every muscle. His expression was focused, intense, as if the book actually had his full attention.
Women were going to riot.
“Yeah,” I said weakly. “Just like that.”
I took the photo. Then another. Then five more from different angles.
“Can I move now?”
“No. Try looking out the window. Thoughtful. Like you’re processing what you just read.”
He did. The bastard was surprisingly good at this.
I took more photos. Him standing by the shelves.
Him reaching for a book on a high shelf, inked arms stretched overhead, muscles bulging.
Him sitting on the floor with his back against the bookshelf, book in his lap.
Gods, that lap. I wanted to bounce on it so fucking badly.
Each photo was better than the last. Each one was going to destroy my comment section.
“Okay,” I said finally. “I think we’re good.”
“What happens now?”
“Now I post these and watch the internet lose its collective mind.” I was already editing the first photo. Adding a filter, writing a caption. “And tomorrow, you’re wearing the next outfit.”
“There are more outfits?”
“Four more. One for each day this week.” I looked up at him. “You good with that?”
He was watching me with that expression again. The one that made me feel hunted and cherished all at once. “I am good with anything that keeps me near you, little mate.”
My heart did that clenching thing again.
I looked back at my phone. Posted the photo along with pictures of our newest books. Wrote: New additions to the Woods & Pages catalogue! Come to the store and find the best-seller you’re looking for. #bookstagram #romancereads #bookboyfriend
“There,” I said. “Done.”
“And now?”
“Now we wait for the chaos to begin.”
My phone buzzed. Once. Twice. Then continuously.
Comments were flooding in. Likes were racking up. People were sharing the post.
OMG WHO IS THAT
I’m moving to Ryeville immediately
Please tell me he’s single
I need to know what book he’s reading for research purposes
Ma’am that’s not a man that’s a whole romance novel
I showed Malachar the screen. “See? Told you it would work.”
He read the comments, eyebrows rising. “These females wish to meet me?”
“They wish to do a lot more than meet you, but we’re keeping this PG-13.”
“What is PG-13?”
“Never mind.” I pocketed my phone. “Point is, by tomorrow morning, this bookstore is going to be packed. And you’re going to be here, looking exactly like this, so they stay and buy books.”
“You are quite devious, little mate.”
“I prefer the term ‘strategically brilliant.’”
“I prefer devious.” He stood, moving closer. “You wish to use me. To parade me in front of other females to make them jealous. To draw them here with the promise of seeing me. This is very alpha of you.”
“It’s marketing.”
“It is possessive. Because when those females come, they all will know I am yours.” His smile was satisfied, smug. “Even if you will not admit it yet.”
“I’m not - that’s not what this is-”
“Is it not?” He was right in front of me now. Close enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. “You dress me. You display me. You make sure others can look but not touch. That sounds very much like claiming to me, little mate.”
My brain was short-circuiting. “You’re reading too much into this.”
“Am I?” He reached out, tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. The touch was gentle. Reverent. “Or are you simply not ready to acknowledge what you are doing?”
“I’m running a business.”
“You are staking your claim.” His thumb brushed my cheekbone. “And I am more than willing to be claimed by you.”
I should step back, put distance between us. Should remind him that this was purely professional.
Instead, I stood there, frozen, as his face moved closer to mine.
“Tell me to stop,” he murmured. “Tell me you do not want this, and I will walk away.”
I opened my mouth. The word “stop” should have come out.
It didn’t.
My phone buzzed again. The sound broke through the moment.
I stepped back and cleared my throat, trying to breathe through the wave of arousal crashing through my body. Holy shit. How was it that he was able to make me so damn hot just by a few words? Maybe it was just that I was touch-starved. It probably didn’t have anything to do with him.
“We should get ready to open. People will be here soon.”
Disappointment flashed across his face. But he nodded, taking a deep breath and swallowing hard. “As you wish, boss.”
He moved past me, heading to the front door. I stayed in the back, still trying to catch my breath.
What was I doing?
I looked at my phone’s screen. Another comment:
I’m coming to this bookstore every single day until he notices me
Something twisted in my chest, hot and sharp and dangerously close to jealousy.
“Shit,” I whispered.