Page 25 of Stitched Up in You
“We’re getting married,” I scream, throwing my arms above my head as Frank grips my thighs, for all intents and purposes ensuring that the photos will look the picture-perfect pose of a couple in love.
He is so going to kill me.
Excitement and an indescribable wave of happiness crashes through me with the realization that I’ve had my retribution, and my heart races as my limbs tremble with adrenaline.
He is really, really, going to want to before this is all over with. Frank Stein signed up for his very own nightmare when he thought to take me.
I move to hug him to me again, sensing he’s still in mortified shock with how stiff his arms are around me, as if he can’t quite believe what is happening.
I lean in to whisper into his ear, “You can’t kill me now.”
A giggle breaks free from me as I lay it on thick for the tabloids, like a truly infatuated women would, enamored with her new fiancée. I want my face plastered on every fucking tabloid from here to Antarctica, all over the world. I press myself closer to him, actually letting myself enjoy for a second how big he is, and how good it feels to press my body against his massive one. God, I love big boys.
I can see the headlines now: Frank Stein, bad boy billionaire, who has never once been spotted or photographed with a woman is about to tie the knot—or me in knots.
Either way. Checkmate, bitch.
I pull back enough to dart my gaze over his face, and he could totally double as a statue at the moment with how still he’s being as the cameras continue to explode with flashes.
A laugh breaks free at how ridiculous the media is and with my arms still wrapped around his neck, I thrust my fingers into his hair and kiss him again, this time slipping my tongue between his lips. Peppermint explodes in my mouth, and I moan, which seems to break him out of his stupor.
I swear he kisses me back for a split second before he gives me a look that says ‘I am so dead.’
I smirk in return, biting my bottom lip and batting my lashes at him in response, unsure on whether it’s him or the whole charade I just played out that’s making my heart beat so hard.
He scowls even harder and tugs me off of him, his hand biting into the soft flesh of my arm. If anyone happened to look in that moment, they would see a couple making their way to the car and not notice how my body is off the ground, my feet an inch from the pavement as he pulls me toward the waiting limo. I beam a smile and wave to the crowds, setting off the cameras again. Someone whistles loudly, and I blow kisses to the camera, giving one cute reporter a wink over my shoulder.
A throat clears and my gaze clashes with Frank. My eyes widen, my brows tugging toward my hairline as warmth spreads across my cheeks, because for the first time, his face is no longer devoid of emotion—not even a little bit.
Frank Stein is fucking pissed.
Chapter 10
FRANK N. STEIN
My nostrils flare wildly as rage rolls like a maelstrom within me. I fight to keep the orange haze from bleeding into my gaze as my jaw grinds in my skull.
Power and magic fluctuations go haywire in my sternum causing the hair to raise on my body as I try to breathe through the sensations.
What the fuck did she just do to me?
The harridan at least has the intelligence to position herself at the far end of the limousine, but her smirk makes me want to let go of my restraint, testing my composure. A millisecond, that’s all it would take to snuff the light from her eyes, to make them go dim and remove the insulting expression from her face.
A sharp pain lances in my forehead at the thought, and my hands clench to keep the ever-increasing power in my body at a neutral level inside of me.
“Oh my gosh you should’ve seen your face,” she says, chuckling.
I glance at her, and my temperature spikes. “I’m sure you think you’re very clever, but your little stunt changes nothing.”
The red-headed woman’s gaze rolls to the back of her head as she adjusts herself, crossing one leg over the other, leading me to notice her lack of shoes. Such cute dainty feet.
Damn my wayward thoughts.
“It got me some insurance,” she says.
My brow raises as I watch her cross her arms over her chest and wiggle into the soft leather of the limo.
Insurance?
