He’s wearing another sleek black suit—no tie, the collar loose, and a few buttons undone. His thick hair is messy, a single strand falling over his right eye.
“I’m only reading.” I hold up the book to partially shield my face. “I’m not hurting anything. Geesh.”
“Stand the fuck up, Liliya.”
I sigh, dropping the book beside me to show I mean business. “Last night, you said this wasmyhome. And in my home, I’d like to read in peace, without being bossed around.”
I settle back, grabbing my book with a dramatic huff and opening it like a fan. I still peek over the top to watch his reaction.
He pushes himself off the doorframe and walks toward me.
Don’t be stupid, Liliya.
Drop the book and get up. Don’t provoke him.
Easier said than done.
When he reaches the sofa, he looms over me like a high-rise.
I pretend he’s not there and start reading the book aloud.
He snatches it from my hands and flings it across the room. Before I can react, he clamps his hand around my wrist.
I attempt to break free, but his grip is too tight.
He yanks me upright, and I hate that I whimper as pain shoots through my injured foot.
Surprisingly, his hold loosens, and he steadies me. His touch suddenly has a sense of gentleness.
My new husband, so hot and cold.
So brutal yet tender.
It’s like the villain and hero are waging a war inside him.
His handsome yet stoic face is only inches from mine.
Whiskey-colored eyes with irises so dark that I can almost see my reflection in them. Olive skin with not one flaw. His face, carved with sharp lines and perfect symmetry‚ like something you’d see in an ancient Greek god sculpture. Days-old stubble dusts his jaw and cheeks, adding to his raw masculinity.
Emilio is built like a man created to make chaos.
Molded into a world with no moral compass.
“Stay out of this room.” He backs me up against the wall and releases me.
My body collides with an oil-painted family portrait. “Why?”
“This room is evil.”
I blink at him. “What does that even mean?”
“Don’t come in here again.” He grabs my wrist and drags me out of the library.
I wave goodbye to the books, mouthing to them that I’ll be back.
We go straight down the hallway and toward the kitchen. When we walk in, a petite woman with silver hair framing her wrinkled face shuts a cabinet door and stares up at us. She smiles, and then her gaze drops to Emilio’s grip on my arm.
She shoots him a hard look, and he releases me.
