Page 5 of Love to Hate You

Her ability to see the romance in everyday life was another of her superpowers. She lived her life like that quote from the movieLove Actually: “Love is actually all around us.”

Summer believed that, with all her being. Just look at her family. They were crazy and loud and intrusive, but they loved as fiercely as they nosed into each other’s business. It was the kind of love and passion her parents had that Summer was craving in a partner.

“One more trope down, a hundred to go,” she said, dropping her dress to the floor.

“You know,” someone said from behind her, “if you’d gone at him in those, you’d have probably gotten a kiss. Maybe even some two-legged action.”

A scream stuck in Summer’s throat as she grabbed her work shirt and hugged it against her chest. In the mirror, she could see a tall, broad, axe-murdering shadow.

Never a fan of the damsels in distress, Summer tapped into her best heroine-saves-herself confidence and grabbed the heaviest thing within reach—a signed first edition ofAnna Kareninathat her nonna had hand-carried from Italy. It weighed as much as a concrete slab and had edges as sharp as a fileting knife.

On instinct, she spun around and launched the literary grenade at her intruder. Only, Summer had never been the most coordinated twin—that title went to Autumn—and so the book flew into left field, crashing into a shelf housing Bigfoot erotica.

“Should I call foul, love?” the clipped and precise British voice said from the buttery leather couch in the reading area that he’d completely overtaken.

She’d know that pompous, entitled voice anywhere. The evenly stressed syllables, the slight trill on the r’s making the words almost musical—not in a good way like Prince Harry, but in an entitled way that grated on her every nerve. To think she’d once found him a bit dashing and charming.

A slow smile spread across his face as he leaned over to pick up the book and lazily thumbed through it. She growled in frustration. Of all the people to witness her botched date, why did it have to be the all-around book snob and corporate raider who gobbled up mom-and-pop shops for breakfast? Not to mention that he was dead set on putting Summer out of business.

Evil incarnate—Wes Kingston.

Chapter 2

the chemical equation

“Who said I wanted a kiss?” Summer snapped—and, man, was she ticked.

Wes’s gaze dropped from her bra to her stilettoes, admiring the complete package that was Summer Russo, and grinned. “Those peek-a-boo panties you have on.”

Her cheeks went red, but he didn’t think it was from embarrassment. Unlike a moment ago with Dr. Dildo, there wasn’t a trace of sweet or nice; she was all fire and brimstone.

She looked him square in the eyes. “Maybe I wore them for me.”

“Then, by all means, you do you.” He let his gaze lazily catalog her every inch. The way the pastel pink looked against her olive skin, the way the strap of those cheeky-cuts hugged her generous curves. If she weren’t such a pain in his ass, he’d take the time to appreciate that ass.

But after weeks of her being a burr in his side, for example starting a petition to close his bookstore down, he shrugged as if unimpressed.

He heard her mumble “Dick” under her breath. For some reason, that made him smile.

“I can’t now that you’ve invaded my personal space, not to mention broken into the shop.” She circled her finger. “Do you mind?”

He turned around. “I’ll give you some privacy.”

“It’s PRI-vuh-see not PRIV-uh-see.”

“Since my country was essentially the birthplace for your language, it’s PRIV-uh-see.”

“Formy language? It’s the birthplaceofmy language.”

“Do you like to argue for argument’s sake?”

“Only with you.”

He could hear the rustling of fabric, the sound of a zipper echoing throughout the bookshop.

“Then I shall count myself lucky.” When she didn’t answer, he asked, “So I guess you won’t be seeing Dog Boy again.” He didn’t know why he cared, but on some sick level he did.

“He’s a doctor.”

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