Page 16 of Masked Hearts

“Yes, it actually does. Want to try it?” I extend my hand with the pickle covered in peanut butter.

“Maybe next time,” he says, his face contorting in disgust as he looks down at the other items on the desk.

“So…what did you do?” I turn the question back to him, since he seems to be avoiding all my other advances to find out why he is in the study right now.

“You don’t know?” He folds his arms across his broad chest, putting his biceps on display. I bring my can of soda to my mouth in the hopes of covering my staring.

“Not a clue, just got thrown in the deep end.” I shrug.

He stays silent for a while, and for a second, I think he’ll tell me, but instead, he asks, “Can you swim?”

“I should be asking you that. Do you know what you’re getting yourself into?”

“With you or your father?”

“Both.” I shrug.

“Well, you’re eating pickles and peanut butter, so I’m somehow more worried about you.” The slightest trace of a smirk plays on his lips.

“Good, you should be,” I say.

“So you like cowboy romances?” He picks up my book.

“No, what makes you say that?” I ask, feeling slightly flustered. I reach to grab the book from him, but he’s faster and holds it above his head.

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the shirtless man on the cover wearing a cowboy hat or the title beingWhiskey Kisses,” he says, not even hiding his chuckle as I practically try to climb the man in front of me in the hopes of retrieving my shamelessly spicy book.

This is why I prefer discreet covers.

“Does your father know you sneak down to his office in the middle of the night to read your dirty little romance books?” His eyes meet mine, and a grin pulls on his lips. It only fuels my attempts to retrieve the book. “Oh, it must bereallynaughty if you’re this desperate to get it back.” He laughs.

The sound is so strange, so deep, so alluring that I completely freeze mid-attempt. Then, it suddenly dawns on me just how close we are. I’m pressed firmly against his chest, my arm holding onto his shoulder for support as I reach up to grab the book.

He must realise it as well, because his laugh stops, the smile on his lip drops completely. He’s so close I can feel his breath fan my face, his scent invading my nose. It’s clean and crisp, like someone who just took a shower. Fresh and almost minty with a hint of jasmine and lavender, meaning his earlier lie of looking for the bathroom was even stupider since it’s very evident he just took a shower.

I move away from him quickly, flopping back into the seat and pulling my blanket over me again. He observes the book again and briefly opens it to where my bookmark is. I fight every instinct in me to not reach for it again.

“Hmm…” He smirks before putting it down in front of me. “So if you don’t like cowboy romances—as you claim—what do you like?” He raises a brow, his eyes pouring into mine again.

I’m not used to men holding eye contact with me. I learnt at a very early age that boys, even men, feared my father to such an extent that they would rather look at the floor than even dare meet my eyes, but here he stands. Fearless, as if looking into my eyes is the easiest thing in the world for him.

“Uhm…” My words stall as I try to think about what exactly my favourite sub-genre of romance would be. The words never form because suddenly, I realize the common denominator of my five star romances.

Billionaires.

Can’t tell one of the youngest billionaires in Europe that. Especially not when this one is supposed to be my husband in less than a few days.

“Probably mafia, it feels the most realistic,” I say instead, and the smirk returns to his lips. Then he simply turns and starts walking towards the door.

“Where are you going?” I all but jump to ask, but quickly settle back into the chair, hoping I didn’t seem too eager with my question.

“To take a cold shower. I told you I was looking for the bathroom.”

“You’re a psychopath. Who takes cold showers?”

“Someone who’s hot.” The dual meaning of his words settles over me, and my mouth falls agape slightly. “Besides, you shouldn’t be worried about my shower temperature unless you plan to join me.”

“In your dreams.” I pick up and open my book again. “But don’t worry, your horrible sense of direction is safe with me.”

---