“Why are you lying to me?” Her voice is high-pitched and playful.
I chuckle, and she does the same as I head back to the front.
“I know what’s going on, so you might as well tell me.”
I saunter past her, pretending not to be bothered by her presence.
“And what’s going on, Greer?” I step behind the counter, dragging my palm across the worn surface. My finger gets stuck on a sticky piece of paper, and I quickly wipe them on my pants with a frown.
“I was there, you know. You both were all bent out of shape over something that was easy to fix.”
I dart my gaze to her, my brows pulling tightly together as I recall my first encounter with him. I was bent out of shape and so was he, but it had nothing to do with me. He was busy doing shit I probably don’t want to know about. I shake my head when I realize I’d been a witness from the very beginning. He said Iman’s name then, when he wasn’t aware I was behind him.
“You two couldn’t keep your eyes off each other. The sexual tension was thick, I was sure you’d get pregnant just from staring. Next thing you know, you’re getting big-ass gift boxes, not to mention you left here early for the first time in like—ever.”
I press my lips together, breathe through my nose, and snatch the receipts from the counter to busy myself.
“You forget I was right here with you the entire signing. All the longing gazes, staring at each other from across the room.”
Her words register, and I realize we’re not thinking about the same person.
“Tatum asked you out and sent you that dress. Probably invited you to some award ceremony which is why you had me stay later for you. You had a date with Tatum LaRose. Best-selling two-times New York Times and Wall Street Journal, Tatum LaRose. Mr. King of Mafia Romance himself, and you’re lying to me about it. Which is not fair because I strictly remember some sort of reader’s pact about sticking together and sharing the love of all of the sexy male authors.”
No sooner than the words leave her mouth, the bell above the door rattles when it’s yanked open. The wind from outside sweeps across the space and sending a chill down to my toes. We look to the door, both taken aback by the aggression on Easton’s face.
All the air in my lungs leaves me in a rush, and I gulp at the sight of him. If I’m being honest, I’m not surprised he’s standing in the entryway of my shop, but at the same time, I don’t expect to see him here.
There was something about the way he left me the other night. Something in his eyes that told me there’s much more beneath the surface, much more than what he’s let on. And standing here now, with his face twisted into a half frown, his hair a mess atop his head, deep lines in his forehead, and his gaze burnt into mine, I get the same vibe.
I notice Greer from the corner of my eye, her head snapping between him and me. And the exact moment that her breathing changes and she gasps in a deep breath, I know she’s finally put two and two together.
“Let’s go,” Easton orders from across the room.
I clear my throat and let my eyes roam his body—even his clothes are off-kilter. I frown but fix my face almost instantly. Greer doesn’t know about Easton, we haven’t even spoken about him since the day I confronted him about my parking space. But after today, she’ll be demanding all the details.
When I don’t move, he strolls over to me, his presence seeming larger than life. But this is the Easton I know, dark and impatient. I turn, so my back is to my colleague, and crane my neck to look up at him.
“Arloe,” he states once he’s in front of me.
I inhale and try to ignore how good he smells. “Easton,” I respond.
“Grab your things, we need to leave.”
The words are stern, and for whatever reason send a chill down my spine. It could be the fact that my mind instantly returns to his brother’s office, the touch of his hands between my legs feeling like much more than a memory.
“I have work, Easton. You can come back when I’m closed.” I shuffle on the heels of my feet and cross my arms over my chest.
I expect him to counter, to disapprove of my answer, but instead, he steps closer until his pelvis rests against my stomach, reminding me of the stark height difference. Easton looks over my head to Greer and brings the back of his fingers to my arm, trailing the length of my forearm with his nails.
He stares down at me for a moment, neither of us saying a word, only the subtle sound of our breaths. The tension is so intense, I can hear Greer breathe as well. I blink, but Easton doesn’t back down, but I can see the wheels turning in his head, and it’s almost like he is fighting with himself over my response.
I realize I’m doing what he told me I’m not allowed to do—I’m disobeying him, denying him whatever it is he wants. But I expected more of what I saw in the club when I tried to leave him. Aggression, desire—lust. That’s not what I see now, though, his eyes are more tortured, devastatingly uncertain.
“Fine,” he snipes.
I shiver when he leans down to speak into my ear, the hairs of his low-cut beard scratching my cheek.
“And, amore.” He pauses, and I swear he sniffs me. “I want your hair up.”
Easton backs away, turning before I can object and out of my shop just as quickly.
“Oh. My. God. Arloe Harway…spill,” Greer exaggerates once he’s out of sight.
I glance at her, holding a hand out to silently tell her to drop it. Greer whines and sucks her teeth at me, and eventually she leaves it alone for the time being.
The next few hours move by at a snail’s pace, and I find myself watching the clock on the wall to the right of the register. Greer left thirty minutes ago while I stayed behind to close up. And now that I’ve reached the end of the night, my nerves are all over the place.
But I inhale a gust of imaginary confidence, shut down the computer systems, lock the deposit into the safe in the back office, and exit my store. It’s a little nippy out tonight, and I shiver as the breeze penetrates my body. My back is to the street while I lock up and tuck my keys into my person.
“Your hair’s not up, amore,” Easton says before I turn around.
I meet his gaze. He’s leaning against my car, his hands in his pocket and that cocky grin he had the first day we met lingering from his lips. I drop my head, realizing I forgot all about his request. I glance up again, and he’s holding a palm out to me.
“What?” I question.
“Keys to your car,” he states.
With my brows pulled tight, I drop the key fob into his grasp. “Where are we going, and where is your car?”
“My place, and I had my brother drop me at the shop. Now get in.” He turns, unlocking the doors at the same time, and takes his seat before I can move from my spot.
It’s not until he closes the door that I move, slowly inching to the other side of the vehicle, confusion and curiosity taking hold. The moment I’m safely inside the car, he pulls off, my tires screeching from the abrupt acceleration.
Chapter Ten
Arloe
Easton whips my tiny car into the space next to his Bugatti in the driveway and is out of the vehicle before we’re fully parked. The ride over was awkward and quiet, mainly with me watching my surroundings, trying to gather my bearings. If he was going to kill me, he would have done so already, but it’s always good to know where you are. You never know when that information may come in handy.