Chapter 3: Liars Like Us: Chapter 3

For a few moments, my mind is blank.

If he asked me my name, I wouldn’t be able to remember it. Sex hormones scream through my veins at lightning speed, vibrating all my sub-atomic particles at such high frequency, I’m probably glowing like a neon sign.

Then all the gears in my head start up again, and I laugh. “Very funny. Good joke. Who put you up to this? Sabine?”

He looks like her type. The beautiful people always stick together, those selfish bastards.

“It wasn’t a joke.”

He says it with irritation, as if I’ve insulted him. He gazes at me in tense silence, a muscle flexing in his jaw.

I cross my arms over my chest and say sarcastically, “Sure. And next you’ll tell me you’re a billionaire book lover who wants to help save my store.”

“That’s correct.”

We stare at each other as I try to decide if I should play along with this ridiculous farce or tell him to get lost. But if he leaves, I won’t be able to drink in all that overpowering sex appeal dressed up in an expensive suit.

Maybe I’ll indulge him for a minute or two. If only for the sake of my poor, neglected vagina.

“I see. Well, if we’re going to be married, I suppose I should know your name.”

“So you’re accepting my proposal.”

His unblinking intensity is intimidating. I can’t decide if this hot supermodel has a side gig as an assassin or if he just has no personality other than a good staring game.

“Just tell me your name, please.”

“Callum McCord.”

“Great to meet you, Cal. And should I call the police now to report a criminally bad comedian, or are you leaving?”

That muscle flexes in his jaw again. “It’s Callum,” he says in a low voice, holding me captive in that dark, powerful gaze. “And you’re not going to call the police.”

There’s something unusual about the intensity of his stare. Something unsettling. The faintest stirring of fear tightens my stomach.

When I glance nervously at the front door, he says, “You’re not in danger.”

Unnerved that he can read me so easily, I look him in the eye and lift my chin. “I don’t know what kind of game this is, but I don’t want to play. Unless you’re here to buy a book, I’d like you to leave now.”

“I’m not here to buy a book. I’m here to offer you a deal. Marry me and I’ll make sure your bookstore stays open, no matter what.”

Stunned and trying to process what’s happening, I take a step back. “What do you mean? Why would you want to marry me? And how could you possibly keep my store open?”

“I have the means to make it happen. As for why I want to marry you…” A wolflike hunger flickers in his gaze. “Let’s just say I find you interesting.”

If my vagina could detach from my body and fling itself right onto his face, it would.

Despite the absolute ludicrousness of the conversation and the distinct possibility that this guy is out of his mind, I feel like a lit stick of dynamite with a short fuse.

But I still have my dignity. I won’t drop to my knees and latch on to his dick like a lamprey, no matter what my vagina has to say about it.

“Interesting? You don’t know me. We’ve never met before.”

“But I know your situation. And I know you’d do anything to solve it. I believe your exact words were ‘I’d literally cut off my own arm if it would help.’ Sound familiar?”

I gasp in horror and humiliation. This bastard eavesdropped on me at the restaurant yesterday! “That was a private conversation. You had no right to listen in on it.”

“I was seated at the table behind you. I couldn’t help but overhear. And you should seriously consider me as an alternative to amputation.”

“This is crazy.”

“No, this is a solution to a problem. For us both.”

“Oh, really? What kinds of problems does a guy like you have?”

His gaze sharpens. “A guy like me? Meaning?”

I’m starting to get really annoyed now. I’m all for playful banter, but this is getting ridiculous.

“If you need an ego stroke, you came to the wrong place. But I’m sure ValUBooks has a large selection of novels on narcissism that might be helpful to you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to work.”

I turn away and start to walk back to my office, but then Callum calls out, “I’ll give you ten million dollars,” and I stop dead in my tracks.

My heart starts to pound. My hands start to shake.

This crazy son of a bitch actually sounds serious.

In a daze, I turn slowly and squint at him. “I’m sorry, did you just say…?”

“Yes. Ten million dollars.”

“To…save my store.”

“Yes.”

“And…marry you.”

“Yes.”

A long, tense pause follows, during which I blink rapidly and he burns holes into my head with his eyes. Finally, I say, “Pardon my manners, but are you fucking nuts?”

He answers without hesitation. “Depends on your definition. But I am serious about my offer. Why don’t I tell you more over lunch?”

He gestures toward the window.

Idling outside at the curb in front of the shop is a black luxury sedan, something sleek and futuristic-looking. Standing at attention beside the rear passenger door is a man in a black suit wearing dark sunglasses that hide his eyes.

“Is that your car?”

“It is.”

“You have a driver?”

“I do.”

I glance away from the window and focus on Callum. He stands motionless under my scrutiny, still and calm, but I get the strange sense that under his outward control, he’s waging an internal war with himself.

If I’m being honest, it freaks me out. He freaks me out.

Who is this guy?

“I’m not getting into a car with a complete stranger.”

“Afraid of being kidnapped?”

How irritating that he nailed it. It’s like he’s inside my head. I say, “Don’t mock me.”

He says mildly, “I wouldn’t dare.”

“Now I know you’re mocking me.”

His left brow drifts upward into a sardonic arch, as if he’s thinking my sense of self-preservation is childish and overly dramatic, but when he speaks, his voice is still mild.

“Why don’t you take a picture of the license plate and send it to a friend? That way if your dismembered body is discovered in a dumpster tomorrow morning, the police will know where to start looking for your murderer.”

“You could change the plates after you dump my body.”

“Hmm. Good point.”

“FYI, that was pretty much exactly the wrong thing to say. I’m not getting in the car.”

When he doesn’t respond and only stands there looking at me with an inscrutable expression, I grow self-conscious. “What?”

“It’s just that people don’t often say no to me.”

“Meaning never.”

“Exactly.”

I say flippantly, “If I’m going to be your wife, you’d better get used to it.”

His dark eyes burn. He says softly, “Is that a yes?”

I throw my hands in the air. “Of course not! I met you ten seconds ago!”

“Just let me take you to lunch. Let me explain everything. Then, if you’re still not interested, I’ll return you here and you’ve lost nothing but an hour of time.” His gaze grows even more penetrating. “Or did you have something more important on your schedule?”

Yes, the man is all sorts of hot, but I can already tell he’ll be getting on my last nerve regularly.

Not that I’ll be seeing him regularly. Because his proposal is crazy, and so, most likely, is he.

But lunch can’t hurt. And I am hungry. And broke. And I don’t have anything more important to do…

Decision made, I say, “Bring me the registration from the car. I’ll need your driver’s license, too, so I can text pictures of both to my girlfriend. And grab that glass of water on the counter. Make sure to get your fingerprints all over it.”

When he lifts both brows, I smile. “If my body shows up in a dumpster somewhere, Mr. McCord, you’ll spend the rest of your life in prison.”

The drive to the restaurant is spent in awkward silence. I stare straight ahead while Callum stares at my profile. At every stoplight, I consider jumping out of the car and running away screaming. It’s only my overpowering curiosity that keeps me in my seat.

“I want you to marry me.”

He actually said that.

I can’t wait to tell my best friend, Dani. She’ll die.

“You’re tense.”

Startled, I jump and turn to look at Callum. He sits beside me in the back of the sedan with his long legs spread open and a predatory expression on his face, as if he’s about to lunge at me.

My eyes widen. My pulse flutters. A flash of heat burns between my thighs.

Dammit, pull yourself together!

I clear my throat, then say tartly, “If the large and intimidating stranger who walked into your bookstore and proposed marriage were looking at you as if you were his next meal, you might be tense too.”

A note of darkness creeps into his voice. “If I were looking at you like you were my next meal, you’d already be eaten.”

Wow. This guy is something else. Vagina, settle down and stop moaning.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

Instead of answering my question, he asks his own. “Intimidating?”

I give him a sour look. “There you go fishing for an ego stroke again. I already told you, Cal, you came to the wrong place for that.”

His gaze drops to my mouth. That muscle in his jaw flexes again. “And I already told you, it’s Callum. Don’t call me anything else.”

I know it’s only my imagination that adds an unspoken threat that if I do, I’ll be punished.

Or it could be that look in his eyes, the shiver-inducing dark disapproval.

Fighting to maintain my composure, I gaze at him coolly. “I realize you don’t often hear the word no, but I don’t take orders. If you want me to do something, you’ll have to say please.”

He gazes at me in weighted silence for a moment. Then in a low, stroking voice, he murmurs, “Please.”

My panties erupt into flames. My nipples harden, and my lungs stop working. I gape at him, helpless to respond coherently.

How am I’m going to get through an entire lunch with this man without having a spontaneous orgasm?

It’s impossible. I might have multiple orgasms just sitting next to him. His sexual magnetism is astonishing.

Holding my gaze, he says, “Why are you looking at me like that?”

I’d rather die than admit my panties are on fire, so I deflect. “It’s just that you have something between your front teeth. It’s green. Could be spinach.”

“You’re funny. How unexpected.”

“No, I’m serious. It’s a big clump of green stuff. You should find a toothpick before we get to the restaurant and everyone starts laughing at you.”

“And you should find a cold compress. Your face is bright red.”

I lift a hand to my cheek. Sure enough, it’s burning. Embarrassed, I blurt, “I’m still trying to get over that plague I caught last month.”

His expression remains the same, but his eyes sparkle with amusement. “Plague? Sounds serious.”

“It was. It is, I mean. I’m highly infectious. You could break out in boils any minute.”

I have no idea what the hell I’m saying, but one thing is clear: my brain has melted under Callum’s scorching-hot proximity. If I don’t get away from him soon, my entire body will liquefy into a pile of goo and ruin the upholstery.

The car slows to a stop at the curb. A valet in a red vest opens the door for me. Breathless and disoriented, I climb out of the car. In a moment, Callum comes to stand beside me.

Taking me by the elbow, he gazes down into my eyes.

He says, “It’s only lunch. There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

It’s chilling how strongly I suspect both those statements will turn out to be lies.