Chapter Thirty-Six
Sebastian
“Give me a second,” Rosalia tells me.
She walks past with Paige and some guy who looks like an adult Draco to the bookstore’s front door.
She doesn’t have employees, so who is this asshole?
I grind my molars to keep my demands for answers inside.
Rosalia isn’t Tiffany. I refuse to spiral, well, not spiral any further, until I have answers.
Before exiting, the man glances over his shoulder at me. My glare is ice, and he flinches. Good.
“What’s wrong?” I ask when she returns.
“Long day,” she replies, looking everywhere but at me.
Does her avoidance have something to do with the man who’d left with Paige? “Who’s the guy? Did you hire him?” I try for casual, but it still comes out jealous.
“Why are you here?” she asks.
I’m trying not to push my baggage on her, my knee-jerk reaction that she’s cheating. Which is ridiculous, she isn’t even mine. Fuck. Why the hell won’t she answer my question?
“I wanted to see you. But it seems I’ve come at a bad time. Busy with your friends,” I couldn’t keep the acid from dripping on that last word.
She frowns. “Paige is my friend. The guy is her brother, Noah. He was helping me out so I could talk to his sister.”
Oh. Shit. I’m an asshole. “I apologize.”
She nods, but something about it seems defeated. I look closer. And it’s not merely that her eyes and cheeks are red and splotchy like she’s been crying, but her usually vibrant energy is diminished. The other man vanishes from my mind, overshadowed by concern. “Will you tell me what’s wrong?”
Her gaze finds mine, and it’s raw and desperate. “Please,” I say softly.
She scans the bookstore. Only two customers are browsing the shelves, both appear absorbed in their selections. She pulls out a small sign: “Back in 5 minutes” and puts it on the counter.
“Come with me.” She slides her hand with mine, holding tight.
Her fingers are warm in mine as she leads me through the store to a doorway at the back of the bookstore. We enter a small storage room lined with boxes of novels and bookish supplies.
The moment the door closes behind us, she turns to me, presses against me, and her lips find mine with urgency.
I’m caught off guard, but recover quickly, my hands moving to her waist. She tastes like coffee and cinnamon, and the soft whimper she makes when I pull her closer awakens a hunger I’ve been denying since I was last inside her.
Desire floods through me until even my fingertips ache with wanting her .
“What—”
“Don’t talk,” she whispers against my mouth. “I just need…”
And I understand. We all have moments when we need to forget, to feel something else, to escape. And right now, she needs me.
For the first time in days, the constant carousel of worst-case scenarios in my head goes quiet.
My thoughts narrow to her skin beneath my palms, her breath catching when I touch her, the weight of her body against mine.
The anxiety that’s been my constant companion fades to background noise, replaced with something baser.
Her hands press against my chest, backing me into a shelving unit loaded with inventory.
A few tote bags with the Novel Idea logo slip from their hook as she moves against me, and I willingly allow her smaller body to pin me against the metal scaffolding.
The cold edges of the shelves dig into my back, a sharp contrast to the heat of her mouth on mine.
Her fingers tangle in my hair as she rises on tiptoe, each touch, each breath between us building on the one before, becoming hungrier, more desperate.
The brush of her fingertips tracing my collarbone sends fire coursing through me.
When my lips find the sensitive spot below her ear, she gasps, her body pressing harder against mine, and I groan against her neck.
“Sebastian,” she breathes, and I swear my name has never sounded better.
We’re both breathing hard. Her eyes are half-closed, lips parted, cheeks flushed. She takes my hand and deliberately places it under the hem of her blouse, guiding me to the soft skin of her lower back. Her eyes hold mine as she reaches for my belt, her intentions unmistakable.
A loud crash from behind me shatters the moment. I spin us both so she’s behind me, shielded from the door. My heart hammers as I brace for someone walking in. But when I look, it’s just a box that’s fallen from the overhead shelf, the cardboard split at one corner.
“Books,” I say, relieved but still breathing hard.
“Damn books,” she mutters, peering around me. “Always demanding attention. ”
Romance novels lie scattered across the floor around our feet, which is fitting for the moment they’ve interrupted. “I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.” Rosalia says from behind me.
I silence her with another kiss. “Don’t apologize. Not for this.”
She smiles against my lips. Her fingers trail down my chest, and she hooks one finger in my belt loop, tugging slightly before releasing it.
“If we continue…” Her voice drops to a whisper, the words catching in her throat as she swallows.
“You’re calling the shots,” I tell her.
“Not like this,” she whispers. “Not with customers waiting and…” She gestures at the fallen books with a small laugh. “Not surrounded by fictional couples who’d judge our technique.”
I press my forehead against hers. “They’d be jealous.”
She leans against me once more, her head resting on my chest. I hold her, her heartbeat gradually slowing against mine.
“Do you want to talk about what upset you?” I ask softly. “Or was that enough distraction?”
She sighs, her breath warm against my neck. “My mom’s latest stunt is really too much,” she grumbles. In a voice tight with frustration, she tells me about the job hunting her mother is doing for her.
I shouldn’t feel this selfishly glad about her unwillingness to even consider the jobs, but the thought of her disappearing to Michigan twists something sharp inside me. I want her here, in my arms.
Shit. I’m doing exactly what her helicopter mother’s doing. I’m worse. At least she’s being honest about trying to control Rosalia’s life. I’m manipulating her life from the shadows, deciding what’s best for her without giving her a choice.
And that’s exactly why I need to tell her. She deserves to know what she’s up against and to make her own decision about her shop and us.
“Rosalia, there’s something important I need to tell you about.”
The store phone rings shrilly, the sound penetrating even through the storage room door. The tension leaves her shoulders as she pulls away, which is strange. “ I have to get that,” she says, smoothing her shirt. “That could be a supplier I’ve been waiting to hear from.”
“Okay,” I say.
She touches my face gently, and I swear that a flash of what might be guilt crosses her features. Then she’s slipping out of the storage room.
I take a moment to collect myself, adjusting my clothes and trying to cool the heat still coursing through my veins. By the time I leave, she’s already at the counter, phone pressed to her ear.
“What do you mean by ‘unable to process’? The payment cleared from my account last week.” She listens intently, her brows furrowing deeper. “You can’t be serious. That order has to arrive by Thursday for the event.”
She grabs a pen and jots something down. “Give me your supervisor’s direct line. No, I need to speak with them today.” She hangs up and looks at me, distress evident on her face.
“What happened?” I ask.
“This distributor is claiming they never received payment for my derby weekend shipment, despite the money already being taken from my account. If I don’t sort this out immediately, I won’t have books for my biggest sales weekend of the year.”
I take in how her shoulders are tense, and how the stress lines around her eyes have deepened in the few minutes since the call. My confession about the bet can wait.
“Do what you need to do,” I tell her, though relief floods through me and I despise myself for it.
She sighs, tugging at her ponytail. “I swear, it’s always something. First, my mother’s email, now this distributor mess.”
“Can I help with anything?” I offer, more than willing to push aside my inner turmoil.
The tight lines around her eyes relax slightly, and a genuine smile replaces her grimace. “Thanks, but this will require some rather assertive phone calls and possibly contacting my bank. Not that they’ll call me back,” she mutters .
“Why wouldn’t they?”
She shrugs. “No idea. But they and others haven’t been helpful lately.”
I swear to God, if this is Thorne’s doing, I will kill him. No, I’ll make him wish he were dead.
Her thumb brushes lightly over my knuckles, pulling me from my very, very dark thoughts. “I appreciate you listening about my mom. It helped to vent.” She dips her chin and looks at me through her lashes. “The distraction in the storage room also helped.”
I grin. “Anytime.”
She comes from around the counter and hugs me. How in the world does she always smell so damn amazing? My phone vibrates in my jacket pocket. I pull it out and see five missed calls from Hanna and three from my office manager. “I’d better head back to the distillery.”
Stepping back, she runs her hands through her hair, exhaling shakily. “Yeah, and I need to find out about my missing funds. But let me walk you to the door.”
Halfway to the exit, she says, “Cheer me up one last time before you leave.”
I take her hand, tugging her playfully in the direction of the storage room. “Fine,” I groan with exaggeration.
She laughs and looks around at the busier aisles since I first arrived. “I wish,” she sighs. “How about you say something sexy and swoony like one of my book boyfriends?”
“What’s a book boyfriend?” I scoff, though I’m still grinning like a fool.
“You know, the men in romance books.”
“Damn, that’s a high bar.”
“True. But I’m confident you can reach it.”
“Thanks for your belief in me. Having a huge crush on a sexy bookworm probably helps,” I flirt. And the delighted blush on her pretty cheeks makes my day.
At the door, I kiss her lightly on the lips. Someone in the store wolf-whistles, making us laugh. Rosalia looks to where it came from and shakes her head. “You are incorrigible, Mrs. Abernathy. ”
I wave bye to them both. Once outside, my earlier worries resurface.
The light, playful atmosphere between us had temporarily pushed aside my concerns about the bet with Thorne, but now they’re back.
I had my chance to come clean and I let it slip away.
My relief at the interruption sickens me, but the fear of losing her entirely terrifies me more.
The spring air does little to calm my plummeting thoughts. The Bentley pulls up next to me, but before Tom gets out, I open my door and slide inside. Sinking into the leather seat, I can't shake the feeling that my silence is a ticking time bomb.
Tom pulls away from the curb. I drift back to Rosalia in that storage room, to the desperation in her kiss and the way she clung to me like I was an anchor in a storm. She turned to me for comfort.
I’ll find another moment to tell her about the bet before it’s too late.
But even as I think it, I know it’s bullshit. The bet ends in less than twenty-four hours. I’ve run out of chances. I’ve placed my bet on secrets and silence. Tomorrow I’ll learn if I’ve gambled away everything that matters.