Page 183 of Hateful Games

His head tilts. “You know that won’t stop me from learning everything. I’d rather hear it from you.”

My heart beats faster. My palms sweat as I hold the desk behind me. While the urge to run away consumes me. I haven’t talked to anyone about this, not even my best friends, and he wants me to bare it all to him. I’m a mixed bag of emotions. Nervous, shy, and mad. Strangely, not awkward like I usually feel when someone asks what I do for work.

Does he genuinely want to know or is it his need for control?

“I published my first book when I was nineteen.”

“By yourself?”

“I borrowed money from Mom, but yeah, the rest I figured out on my own,” I answer. “I was a part of various publishing and author groups. So, I wasn’t completely clueless.”

Utter shock spreads across his face and he looks lost for words.

Have I made the mighty Nova D’Cruz speechless?

“That’s an amazing accomplishment, Rose,” he proudly says, a genuine smile curving his lips. A perplexed frown replaces it as he asks, “But why are you keeping it a secret?”

Now, I’m at a loss for words. Because how do I explain it to a man who wears arrogance and confidence like a second skin? I’ve witnessed firsthand the way he conducts his business when I used to be his assistant. He’s so imposing and arresting.

“I’m not ready,” I lie.

I wait for him to scoff and confront me, but he amazes me by instead asking, “Does this mean I’m the only one you’ve told?”

“You spied on me,” I sharply accuse.

“And you chose my nickname for you as the penname.” His tone is so smug. Like the cat who ate the canary. “I’d like to think I helped.”

I roll my eyes. “Of course you would.”

“I’m kidding.” He chuckles in a husky note. Then cups my face, staring deeply into my eyes. “It’s all you, and you should be proud. As for why you’re hiding it, I’m going to make you tell me the truth. No matter how long it takes. And the reason better not be related to your asshole father.”

Before I have a chance to react, he steals a close-mouthed kiss. Pulling back, he murmurs against my lips, “My wife is so talented and I didn’t even know.”

My traitorous heart reacts by softening at his husky words. When he says stuff like this, my defenses crumble and I almost believe he likes me.

Only to remember he’s the world biggest manipulator and a liar.

Making my happiness deflate like a popped balloon. I toughen my walls and keep my face impassive. When he steps back, I reach for my book and I glare when he pulls it out of reach again.

Tapping his fingers on the front cover, he says, “I’ll be reading this tomorrow.”

Leaving my mouth gaping, he hightails it out of the room. I’m left staring at his naked back, rippling with muscles. Then it hits me like a freight train.

He’s going to read my book!

Not a stranger.

My husband.

***

I got zero sleep last night.

My word count for yesterday was less than a thousand. The lowest ever for when I’m deep in my writing cave. All because I was distracted and a nervous wreck about Nova having his hands on my latest release. The first book in a standalone series.

Writing has always been personal to me.

I leave a part of myself in each book.

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