Chapter Four #2
The December sun had begun its descent, painting the sky in shades of coral and gold. The park had emptied almost entirely, leaving only Andromeda and an elderly man walking a arthritic beagle along the far path.
She finally rose from her bench—a different bench now, closer to the playground, where she’d been sitting since her conversation with the mothers ended—and gathered her things.
Finally.
Finally, she was heading home. Finally, she would realize she needed to contact him. Finally—
She walked right past the park exit that led to Tranquil Acres.
What the hell?
Paul watched in disbelief as she continued down the main path, crossed the street at the corner, and headed toward the row of shops that lined the opposite block. A dry cleaner. A nail salon. And at the end, its windows glowing warm in the gathering dusk—
The Tranquil Acres Reading Hall.
A members-only facility, according to the brass plaque beside its door. The kind of private library that gated communities built to give their residents somewhere to feel cultured without having to mingle with the general public.
She went straight to the members-only library...and stayed there past sunset.
The December darkness came early, draping the streets in shadow by six o’clock. Christmas lights blinked to life along the storefronts—white lights on the dry cleaner, colored ones on the nail salon, an elaborate display of icicle lights dripping from the library’s eaves.
Inside those windows, he could see her moving between shelves. Trailing her fingers along spines. Pulling books out to examine them before sliding them back into place.
She looked like a child in a candy store.
She looked like someone who’d forgotten entirely that the outside world existed.
Damn her.
He had spent six hours following this girl like an obsessed fool. Six hours watching her do absolutely nothing of consequence. Six hours waiting for her to seek him out, to come to him, to prove that last night had meant something.
And she had spent those same six hours eating sandwiches and watching ducks and reading books as if he didn’t exist.
He was Paul Mitropoulos.
He did not chase.
He did not wait.
He did not spend entire days stalking women who clearly did not want to be stalked.
And yet here he was.
Doing all three.
Enough.
The word cracked through his mind like a whip.
He didn’t know what game she was playing. Didn’t know if this was strategy or stupidity or something else entirely. But he was done waiting to find out.
He got out of the car.
The air hit him like a slap—crisp and cold, carrying the scent of woodsmoke from somewhere nearby and the faint sweetness of the pine garlands wrapped around the library’s entrance columns.
His breath misted white as he crossed the street, his expensive shoes clicking against pavement dusted with the first suggestion of frost.
The library doors opened with a soft chime.
Warmth enveloped him immediately, along with the particular smell of books—paper and binding glue and something older, mustier, like accumulated wisdom given scent.
The interior was smaller than he’d expected, but beautifully appointed.
Dark wood shelves stretched toward a vaulted ceiling.
Reading nooks tucked into corners, each with its own leather armchair and brass lamp.
A gas fireplace crackled softly against the far wall, casting dancing shadows across the oriental rugs.
A woman behind the circulation desk looked up as he entered, her eyes widening in recognition, but Paul simply walked past her.
The other patrons also turned to stare, their whispered speculations following him like a wake as he moved deeper into the stacks.
But he ignored them as well.
Only one person mattered, and his steps only slowed to a halt when he found her examing a shelf stocked full of special-editions titles. Even with her back was to him, he could feel her reverence as she stared at the books and occasionally cradled them in her hands like a newborn baby.
Her fingers hovered over a particularly ornate spine—something in deep burgundy with gold lettering—and even from behind, he could see the longing in her posture. The way she touched the book without quite taking it from the shelf, like she was afraid to want something she couldn’t have.
The more he watched her, the more he realized one thing.
“I’m starting to dislike the way you keep surprising me.”
Andromeda spun around, her expression cycling through shock, recognition, and something that looked almost like...
No.
Don’t go there, Mitropoulos.
She might be different...but not that different.
And it was critical he never allowed himself to forget that.
His gaze swung back to her, and his jaw clenched at how innocent she looked in her jeans and cream-colored sweater. Nothing expensive by the looks of them, and not even new. And yet...why did the sight of her always hit him like a ton of bricks?
Why, dammit?
Why did just one look at this girl have his entire body rigid with need, and his heart feeling like it was about to twist itself into pieces?
She stared at him, her face an open book, and in her eyes he saw everything that was good in this world.
And that was why...
Instead of walking away like a good man would do—
A devil like him chose to take great pleasure in taunting her.
Discomfiting her.
He said and did whatever it would take...just to make sure that he was all she would think about.
It was his only choice.
The writing was on the wall, the truth in all its excruciating glory shining in her bright blue eyes.
This girl would be impossible to corrupt with fame or fortune.
And so...
If there was no way to deceive her into thinking good things about him—
Paul was fine with her hating him instead. And it was very, very easy to have her play right into his hands. He could feel her annoyance growing. But it wasn’t enough.
“You’re still like all other women where it matters.”
He wanted her to hurt to the point that her heart would break.
To wound her heart so damn badly...that she would never forget him in her pain.
But this plan of his completely backfired when they got to the car, and she immediately turned to him, blue eyes flashing and chest heaving in defiance.
“Don’t think you’ve won this round!”
It was her first time to talk to him like this, and it didn’t turn him on.
Because frankly, he had been hard for her from the moment her gaze had clashed with his in the library.
What this did instead...was break his control.
Unleash his hunger.
To the point that the distance between them was unbearable.
And so he had her on his lap in a blink.
His mouth on hers in another.
All he wanted was a taste, but instead he found himself wanting more, his need for her turning insatiable, and fuck, fuck, fuck!
What should’ve just been a kiss deepened into something else. Something uncontrollable. For both of them.
Every unconscious move of her hips drove him out of his mind, and the look on her face...
Such sweet innocence.
Such purity.
All of it, he wanted to defile. Devour. Ruin.
Even if it meant destroying himself in the process.
Her whimpers had him gritting his teeth against the urge to rip her clothes off and sink his length inside of her.
Even without her saying a word, he knew that everything he was doing to her was completely new to her.
And that was how it would stay.
All of her firsts...would be his.
All of her.
Mine.
He would never let her go.
Never.
And that was why—
“Whatever Joyce promised you...”
Paul found himself breaking all of his rules as he made his offer.
“I’ll pay ten times more.”
Just this once, he would let himself take a risk.
“But in return...”
His heart pounded against his chest.
“For as long as she’s away—”
Every instinct he possessed told him he was setting himself up for defeat—
“I want you to be with me like you’re in love with me.”
But it was just too late.
The words were out, the chink in his armor exposed, and he might as well have given her the keys to hurt him for good.
What the hell did I just do?
Paul could feel her staring at him still, and a muscle started ticking in his jaw.
Should he take it back?
Tell her that it was just a joke even though they both knew it wasn’t?
The limo cruised to a stop, and any moment now, Butch would be opening the door—
“I...I h-have two conditions.”
His gaze snapped to her. He hadn’t expected her to answer this fast, and he didn’t fucking know how to feel about it.
“Name it.”
“I don’t need you to pay ten times what Joyce offered. I just need fifty-five thousand dollars, that’s it.”
“It’s yours.” A part of him wanted to ask what it was for...but when the words refused to leave his lips, it was at that moment Paul was forced to acknowledge just how much this girl mattered to him in so short a time.
Because her answer...
It could make or break him, and that was why he would rather not ask...for now.
In the corner of his eye, he saw Butch approaching as he spoke, and he didn’t hesitate.
Click.
The door was locked by the time the other man tried the handle.
His new driver tried to open it again.
Waited.
Then turned around and clasped his hands behind his back like security awaiting his next set of instructions.
Smart man.
Paul turned his attention back to Andromeda, who was looking at him like she couldn’t believe he had said ‘yes’ so easily. “I...I need it right away.”
“Do you want it in cash?”
“I...I...no, but...”
He handed her his phone. “Type your bank details. I’ll send it to my assistant.”
He noticed her fingers shaking as she did as asked. She returned his phone, he forwarded the message to his secretary with a curt set of instructions. A moment later, Andromeda’s phone buzzed, and her sharp intake of breath was confirmation enough.
“Anything else?”
She started gnawing on her lip, and just staring at her like this tore him apart, with his heart still at war with his mind.
Part of him wanted to chain her to him forever. The other part of him wanted to get rid of her for good.
“I need you to answer something. Truthfully.”
“Go on.”
“Is this...is this something you do regularly?” Her words came out stilted. Like she was forcing herself to speak when she could barely breathe. “Do you...do you ask all the women you date to act like they—”
“No.” Paul’s tone was clipped. “You’re the first one. The only one.”