Page 59 of Married with Mayhem

No one would accuse Monte Castelli of being hesitant. If he wants to toss you over his shoulder and bodily haul you up two flights of stairs then that’s exactly what he’ll do. Unapologetic alpha energy. I wouldn’t want him to be any other way.

But he’s always refused to overstep any limits with me. There were times when I kind of wished he would and yet felt comforted by the fact that he could be counted on to maintain a safe distance.

The last few days of being on the run after the New York catastrophe have taken a serious toll. We’re getting too close too fast. More than friends, less than lovers. Combine that with a blistering mutual physical attraction that’s now been confirmed, it was only a matter of time before one of us broke.

“You’ll stay here?” Monte asks after I get settled in a corner booth with a latte and snacks.

I haul my laptop out of my backpack. “Yes. My plan is just to work all day.”

He nods with obvious relief that I’m speaking to him as if everything is normal. His eyes are a little bleary but otherwise he looks insanely good. Only Monte could strut around in old jeans with a faded blue tee and somehow look like he belongs on a Times Square billboard.

Women stare at him all the time. The girl working behind the counter is staring at him right now. She fills a customer’s cup, flicks her eyes in Monte’s direction yet again, and ends up so distracted that she spills hot coffee on her hand and yelps.

“What are you going to do now?” I ask him.

He shrugs and scans the surroundings with a cautious eye. This is his constant routine, to appraise the threat level everywhere he goes.

“I’ll keep busy somehow,” he says and hooks his right thumb over a belt loop.

Our eyes meet.

I won’t say a word about last night’s drama if he won’t. I’d be far too mortified to admit that my shock and fury at his mocking confession were joined by an illicit thrill.

If Monte had touched me,reallytouched me, what would I have done?

I might have begged him not to stop.

Or I might have run away.

But that’s the core of this wild contradiction. I desperately want Monte to touch me. And I’m terrified of what would happen if he ever did. This has nothing to do with him. My hang-ups are my own problem.

Monte cracks a grin that’s half boyish, half bashful. For better or for worse, that smile has staked a claim on every centimeter of my heart.

“Don’t get into any trouble,” I say to him.

He lifts an eyebrow. “Yeah, you either.”

I make an X sign over my chest. “Cross my heart.”

He doesn’t have the discipline to stop his gaze from wandering over my breasts. He’s quick, but I see it. And now I recognize the intense flare of hunger in his eyes. The same one I saw last night.

And yes, I might have intentionally chosen my tightest shirt to wear today. The one that strains to contain my oversized boobs and has enough of a scooped neck to show off just a little cleavage.

Why not? I can wear whatever the hell I want.

The door swings open and a man breezes in. He’s sweaty, dressed for jogging. He’s probably in his mid-twenties and he’s not bad looking but he’s nothing next to Monte.

The guy collects his order of some odious looking green drink that’s probably made of pureed spinach. He smiles at the cashier and is clearly harmless but that doesn’t keep him from the crosshairs of Monte’s suspicious glare. He doesn’t even look our way as he hurries outside, cradling his spinach drink.

Monte only relaxes when he’s out of sight and then he withdraws his wallet. He pulls out a handful of twenties andthrows them down on the table. “Here. This should be enough for you to keep the coffee and croissants coming all day.”

“Thanks, but my bank access has been restored, remember?”

“Take it anyway.”

“As hush money?”

Usually, he would catch my teasing tone and fire back with sarcasm.

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