Chapter 23
The bookstore is calling my name.
Just Liliya—leave off the Lastro, thank you.
From now on, I’m going mononym.
Like Cher or Beyoncé.
Shockingly, Emilio kept our agreement of me signing my name on the dotted wife line and him taking me book shopping.
I’m all smiles while giving him directions to my favorite romance bookstore and coffee shop, Chapters and Coffee.
I shamelessly eye fuck him as he backs into a spot.
The way his strong arm flexes and his jaw is tense as he focuses on the task.
Something is so sexy about a man who can easily parallel park.
I parallel park like it’s my first day having hands.
Taylor Swift—another argument I won—plays in the background as he peers over at me.
“Pick me up in an hour.” I hold out my palm toward him. “A credit card or five hundred in cash, please.”
He ignores my hand, steps out as traffic speeds past him, and circles the SUV to my side. My door whips open, and he backtracks a few steps, giving me room to step out.
I frown and say, “I take it, this means you’re coming?” in annoyance.
He nods, circling his keys around his fingers.
“I prefer to shop for books in peace.”
“Either I come with you or you get your ass back in the vehicle.”
My runner rep is seriously messing with my freedom.
I throw my arms up in frustration and stomp toward the bookstore. When I reach the door, I loudly huff while opening it and try my hardest for it to slam in his face. He shoots his hand out, stopping it.
The bell above the door jingles as we enter the small bookshop.
There isn’t much room, and the selections are all limited to romance, but it’s the comfiest place I’ve ever set foot inside.
Delaney, the store owner who’s standing behind the counter, glances up from her book.
“Hi, Liliya!” She sticks a bookmark between the pages and sets down her book. When she notices Emilio behind me, she straightens her glasses, as if they could possibly be malfunctioning.
I normally only come here solo or with Dasha.
Rudely, I don’t bother introducing Emilio.
I don’t know how to.
Saying husband sounds too … weird.
She doesn’t look at Emilio in fear. The way she bites into her pierced lip says she’d consider scribbling her number on his receipt before he left.
My body relaxes at the smell of a lit vanilla candle, coffee, and fresh book pages wafting through the air. Heaven.
Emilio steps to my side, slipping his hands into his pockets, and scans our surroundings as if looking for an enemy.
As we walk side by side toward the counter that acts as both the barista bar and checkout area, the height difference between us screams. He’s almost as tall as the bookshelves.
A bookshelf I’d love to climb and—
I shake my head, trying to rid myself of lustful Emilio thoughts.
“Caramel macchiato,” I say, ordering my usual.
“Extra vanilla and soy milk,” Delaney adds.
I give her a thumbs-up before peering back at Emilio, raising a brow—a silent ask if he wants something. As soon as he steps in front of Delaney, her cheeks warm, and it takes her a few seconds to find the buttons on the screen.
“Coffee,” he says. “Black.”
I stick out my tongue, making a very immature, grossed-out face.
Emilio pays, and I smile at the generous tip he leaves.
Takes me to a bookstore and a good tipper?
Don’t threaten me with a good time, devil husband.
Delaney makes Emilio’s drink first since it’s clearly the most complicated. She slides it across the counter to him, but he doesn’t touch it. It just sits there, as if he’s waiting for mine to be ready as well.
I shuffle away from the counter and pretend to browse the shelves. Delaney’s curious stares are making me too antsy.
Emilio follows closely, like an unwanted shadow.
“I didn’t know you were a romance reader,” I say jokingly, needing some kind of conversation. “What’s your favorite genre?”
He says nothing.
I turn the corner, running my fingers along the spines. “If you say Mafia romance, I’m calling cliché.”
His face is unreadable, but somehow, I know he’s listening to my every word.
“Small town?” I tease. “Cowboy?” I pause, dramatically gasping and snapping my fingers. “I know. You’re a why-choose reader.”
He raises his brow.
Finally, a reaction.
“The fuck is that?” he asks.
I stop to slightly face him. “It’s a love triangle where the heroine gets all the guys.” I grin from ear to ear. “I’ve always dreamed that’s my future. Just little ole me and all the men.” I spin on my heel and walk away, not bothering to wait for his reaction to my taunting.
The moment I turn the corner, out of Delaney’s sight, Emilio crowds me. He wraps his hand around the back of my neck in a tight and possessive hold. I yelp as he yanks me back, pulling me flush against his chest.
His lip brushes my ear as he holds me in place. “I don’t share.”
I should pull away, fight him, and even scream, but I don’t. “How can you hate something you’ve never tried?” I mutter, my voice raspy.
He slides his fingers to the front of my throat, tightening his hold, as if wanting to feel my pulse heighten.
Stupidly, I keep pushing him like I’m begging for him to punish me. “You ever heard the phrase, Don’t knock it till you try it?”
Anger radiates off him.
His voice turns menacing. “I’m a territorial man, Liliya. What’s mine stays fucking mine.” He scrapes his fingers along my neck, adding pressure, as if wanting to mark me as his territory.
I pant out a breath. Heat zips through my stomach, straight between my legs. I squeeze my thighs together to keep from pushing him down and straddling him.
“My wife is my wife.” His free arm wraps around my waist, and as he shifts, I feel something hard against my ass and sweep my tongue along my lower lip. “If another man even thinks about touching you, there isn’t a single author twisted enough to write the kind of hell I’d unleash on him.”
Holy motherfucking shit.
The husband I hate isn’t supposed to turn me on like this.
“Caramel macchiato is ready, Liliya!”
Emilio slowly releases me, like he knows I need a second to remember how my legs work.
As bad as I want to glance down at his pants, to see if I felt what I thought I felt, I resist.
I rush toward the counter, my heartbeat thundering.
My hands tremble as I grab my drink, my fingers clinging to it like it’s hard to hold.
Emilio emerges from behind a bookshelf, all cool and composed, like he didn’t have me pinned against him and panting only seconds ago. He walks with confidence and no shame.
I lift the cup to my lips but quickly pull it away.
There’s no way I can drink a hot drink right now.
I need something to cool me off, pronto.
“I’m so sorry, Delaney,” I rasp, struggling to get the words out. “Can I swap this for an iced macchiato?”
“Of course,” she says brightly. Her gaze keeps darting between Emilio and me, full of curiosity.
Emilio walks to the counter to pay for my new drink without a word.
Again, he leaves her a good tip.
I retreat a few steps and relax against a wall to ease my pulse before I have a heart attack.
Emilio grabs his coffee, strolls toward me, and settles in a bright pink armchair.
“Go shop,” he says, taking a sip of his coffee.
I nod, unable to meet his eyes, and scramble toward the shelves. I grab every book that’s been on my Tbr list.
My arms are overflowing, and I’ve already dropped a few books as I make my way to the counter.
“Can I start a pile?” I ask Delaney.
“Pile away.” She grins and slides my iced macchiato toward me.
I take a quick drink and hand my cup to Emilio. He raises a brow, and without a word, I return to my shopping.
I don’t stop until I’ve cleared nearly half the shelves.
My arms and brain hurt.
It’s been a day, and I’m officially exhausted.
“I need to leave,” Emilio says, coming into the bedroom when we’re back home. “For the love of God, please keep your ass in this house.”
I’m spread across the bed, and I hold up the book I’m reading in response. My eyes feel so heavy that I doubt I’ll be able to make it through the second chapter—I read the first one on the drive back—let alone create and execute an escape plan.
“If she has enough books, she’ll behave,” he mutters, as if preaching to himself.
Or maybe she won’t kill you, is what I think in my head.