Page 68 of Stolen Hearts

That might be why I was initially annoyed. But I know damn well that’s not why I’m fuckinglividnow.

That honor goes to the fact that when I walked into this dump, the very first thing I spotted was that little motherfucker holding her hand.

The fact that his eyes were glued to her nipples, braless and hard against the thin tank top she’s wearing together with a skirt showingwaytoo much leg.

I know this is fake. Iknowwe’re not really a couple.

So why the fuck do I feel like I just walked in on myactual wifewith another fucking man?

I ignore the way she squirms against my shoulder. I pretend I don’t feel the way her ass muscles clench under my hand or the way her body grinds against me as she tries to wriggle out of my grip.

That’s not going to happen. Callie trying to physically overpower me is like a bunny rabbit trying to wrestle a grizzly bear. It’d almost be funny if it wasn’t turning me on so much.

And it is.

Ilikehow tiny she is in my arms, more than I have any right to like. I like how she looks up into my eyes, even when she’s fussing and fighting and trying to make a stink about something. I like that I know I could wrap my hands around her waist, or just one around her throat, and my fingers would probably touch. That her petite frame is virtually weightless in my arms.

Visions of bouncing Callie against the wall impaled on my cock like my own personal fuck-toy chase through my head like wildfire. Lewd images of the sheer size difference between us—of how fucking tight her little cunt would be stretched around my thick cock…

I grit my teeth as I storm across the parking lot to the waiting Range Rover.

Get it together, man.

My jaw grinds as I swallow back the black thoughts and burning desire roaring through my veins.

She’s a mission; that’s all. This isn’t some “Penthouse Letters” column. She’s not, and can’t be, a sexual object for my lust.

But try telling that to my dick right now as she squirms against my shoulder in that too-short skirt and thin top.

Callie squirms and hits my chest with her fists as I swing her down and set her on her feet against the passenger side of the Range Rover. I yank the door open next to her.

“Get. In.”

“Why.”

“Thatmouth,” I mutter darkly. Callie’s cheeks burn as her eyes glint with something dangerous and excited. Her bottom lip disappears between her teeth.

Fuck me. She really, really needs to stop doing that lip thing.

“Get in, Callie.”

“How was your meeting,dear,” she coos in a sarcastic voice. “When we get home, I’ll have the roast and your drink ready for you lickety-split,dear!”

I glare at her. “The meeting went fine. Actually, really well.”

Her brow falters, and she drops the attitude.

“Do I… I mean, do we still need to be worried?” she says quietly. “About Massimo trying to get revenge for the wedding?”

My face softens. I step back so as not to crowd her quite so tightly against the side of the car. She’s so fierce and outgoing and wild all the damn time, it’s like the sun disappearing behind a cloud when she crumples in on herself like this. I don’t like it.

“I think we’re okay, actually,” I say gently, trying to put her at ease. I smile reassuringly at her. “My sources…and I think they’re reliable…say the threats and rumors were posturing and bravado, nothing more. We’re safe.”

She grins widely. “Seriously? That’s great! So there’s no threat?!”

I smile. “No, there’s—”

“So,” her grin fades again and she squints at me. “Whatexactlyis your goddamn problem with me getting drinks with a friend, then?”

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