Page 71 of Stolen Hearts
“To him? Or to you?”
I need to get out of this enclosed space with her. Before I grab her, kiss her so hard it fucking bruises her lips, andruin herfor any other man.
“I’ll ask again. What’s wrong with my clothes, Castle?”
“Nothing.But, if we’re talking about image here, and our whole fuckingruse, then, yeah, damned straight I have a problem with you going out dressed like that.”
“Why?” she snaps.
“Because you’re my wife!” I hiss back. “Because there are eyes on us. Lots and lots of eyes. And fake or not, Callie, when all this is over, you get to fuck off to whatever the hell it is you’re going to do—open a bar, go on permanent spring break, sip wine coolers in Dimitra’s yard for the next twenty years. But me? I’ve got a fucking empire to run. I have an image I have to uphold—”
“Well if you’re image isasshole, you’re doing fucking fantastic, for what that’s worth!” She smiles sarcastically, giving me a “ok” sign with her fingers.
“The image I’m going for,” I roar back, my voice rising to a crescendo, “isnotone of a man whose fucking wife is out drinking at dive bars with other men in the early afternoon, braless and in a skirt so short it might as well be a belt!!”
She gasps in surprise, then her face darkens a little bit as those big blues lock with mine and her dark lashes bat slowly.
“Fine,” she finally mutters. “Okay, fine.”
“Thank you,” I growl.
“But, to be clear…”
I scrub my face as I turn away from her. She’s literallyincapableof not getting the last word.
“Yes?”
I glance back at her. Callie is leaning against the doorframe, tapping her chin. “When I go out, I’ll be more aware of how I dress and act, okay? But at home, can I just wear what I want?”
I shrug. “Fine, yes. Sure.”
“Great!” She beams at me, then nods at the drink in my hand. “I’m going to go change. Would you pour me one of those?”
She skips out of the room before I can say anything. I turn to glare out the window and blow out a breath.
A year. I have to play this game with Callie for ayear. But then, it could be worse. It could bemuchworse. And I know I’d still do it no matter how bad it actually was. Because this family—the Kildare family—has given me everything. More than they even know.
And I’ll die before I let them down.
“Where’s mine, hubby?”
I turn and start to roll my eyes. But they don’t make it all the way around. Not when they turn to stone, stabbing into her as my jaw grinds tightly.
Fuck. Me.
Callie’s grinning at me like the cat who’s caught the canary, standing in the doorway to the library in a tiny, tight, cutoff t-shirt that falls basically three inches below her tits, and little lace panties.
Oh, and white tube socks up to her knees.
That’s it.
Blood hums just beneath the surface of my skin. And God help me, my dick turns to steel in my pants as she grins impishly at me.
“What? We’re at home, right? Weren’t the rules that here, I can wear—”
“What the fuck are you doing?”
She lifts her shoulders. “Getting a drink.”