Millie
Strike didn’t speak during the hour’s drive. They passed road signs to towns like Kollmouth and St Gabrielous, but she didn’t recognise the names of any of the places.
Her mum couldn’t shame her for her love of books anymore.
She adored Strike, but that didn’t mean she had to stop loving toxic mafia men who did and said things she’d never want a real man to say. Strike was hers, and he was real. And maybe he’d let her role play mafia boss and wife one day, too. She chuckled to herself.
“What’s got you laughing?” He side-eyed her.
“Nothing.” He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles.
“Have I told you how beautiful you look tonight?” He pressed a kiss to her wrist, above the bracelet.
“Once or twice.” Her cheeks heated. “Although when I left my room, I loved that you couldn’t form sentences.”
He laughed. “You have a special glow.”
“I feel like a woman, not the girl my family has made me feel like.”
“You’re whoever you want to be. No one gets to tell you otherwise.”
“No one but you?”
His lips quirked. “Only when you let me. In those moments, I’m the one in control, but you’re the one with the power.”
She shivered at the memory of all the things they’d done in the shower that afternoon until she insisted they leave because her skin would be too puckered for their date. “You’re still not telling me where we’re going tonight?”
“We’re nearly there.” Strike glanced at her. She widened her thighs, and his gaze lingered where the gap in her dress revealed her upper thigh. She ran her fingers across the necklace and the V of her neckline, drawing his stare. He tongued his upper lip as he watched her.
“Eyes on the road,” she replied, and he blushed redder than the postbox they passed.
“You’re stunning tonight. Don’t get me wrong, you’re fucking sexy and beautiful in everything—”
“Even my joggers?”
“Especially those,” he growled. “They hang off your curvy hips. Sometimes when you bend, your top rides up, I see a glimpse of skin, and I make a mental note to run my tongue over that particular spot the next time you’re naked.”
He chuckled when her cheeks heated.
“You see it all, don’t you?”
“I like to think so,” he drawled as he pulled up outside a bookshop in a small beach town. “We’re here.”
He made visual checks of the street before striding to open her door and help her from her seat. As she slipped out of the car, his fingers threaded through hers.
She glanced at the swirling white lettering on the shop’s deep pink sign. Steamy Reads Bookshop. The books in the window displayed everything from illustrated covers to those featuring tattooed, bare-chested men.
“I know this place,” she mumbled. “Every month, they send books as part of their subscription service. I love that they send me a box containing a new free book every month, but I never signed up. It happened even when I moved. I’ve contacted them, but they said it’s no mistake.”
Strike choked. “I have another confession.”
“Seriously?” She stared at him. “It’s good to have secrets, but one of these days, I’m worried you’ll introduce me to the wife and thirty kids you’ve stashed somewhere.”
He laughed, but with his spare hand, he pulled on the back of his neck. He squidged his lips to one side and then the other.
“Strike?” Her voice wavered.
“You’re my family, Sunset. And this is my last confession. I promise.” She eyed him warily as he explained, “Your parents reluctantly gave my parents your addresses over the years so they could send you Christmas cards.”
“I looked forward to them every year, as they told me about their travels or activities. Sometimes, they mentioned you, too, although briefly.”
“Did you look forward to hearing about me?” He smirked.
She elbowed him. “Just tell me your secret.”
His face lit up. “You really missed me even though you hated me.”
She scrunched her nose and glared at him until he pecked her on the cheek. “Three years ago, when I found your social media account, I asked for your address. They said I could have it if I didn’t contact you.”
She raised her eyebrows suspiciously, but he wouldn’t meet her gaze. “They didn’t want you to talk to me?”
“Your address was precious, and they didn’t know if you wanted me to contact you.
But I arranged something instead.” He winced as he met her stare.
“I paid for you to be part of this shop’s monthly book subscription service.
I told them the sort of books you loved.
I wanted you to have something special. I gave them your new address when you moved, too.
I didn’t get involved in any other way.”
She held her palm to her mouth.
Strike stared at the ground. “In hindsight, it was creepy.”
Millie fisted his Henley and pulled it so his face was level with hers. “It wasn’t creepy to me. You didn’t do it for attention or glory. You did it because you cared about me.”
He nodded. “I do. You were the one.”
She pecked him on the lips and whispered, “There’s a lot of blowjobs coming your way.”
He laughed loudly before quickly covering his mouth. “I’m supposed to be protecting you.”
He pulled her in the direction of the bookshop while looking over his shoulder.
“Elsie said you’d run out of books, so I talked the shop into staying open tonight for us. We’ll be safe and private. You have an hour to enjoy the shop and choose as many books as you like. I’m paying for all of them.”
“Real men don’t do shit like this.”
“Pass the phone to me the next time your family has a go at you for your obsession with fictional men. I’ll let them know why women are right to love book boyfriends and that real life men need to try harder and do better.
” He’d overheard the call with her mum. He cleared his throat.
“If you want me to. You’re also fiercely strong enough to do it on your own. ”
She wrapped her arms around his neck, and he lifted her into the air. She kissed him hard.
“Let’s get inside before we draw more attention to ourselves, because it’s all I can do not to push you against the wall and fuck you right here.”
“Damn,” she whispered against his lips before sliding down him. As her feet touched the ground, she gripped his hand and danced into the shop.