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Once we are, I can’t contain my awe anymore.
“I know you are one for grand gestures, but I didn’t think irony was your forte. Your other women wish for shopping sprees and fun. You bring me to a library.”
“A bookstore,” he clarifies with an unsettling laugh. “We are here to source items for your new library, Lupe. After that, we can call ourselves, as they say, ‘even.’”
“Even,” I croak.
Who could have guessed that a narco’s idea of making up for a mistake would be to source his lover a private library? A part of me still expects a catch to come. Some caveat to add a dangerous twist to the request.
As Jaguar leads me through a grand, elegant lower level and up a flight of stairs, I think I’ve found it. Once inside an upper room, it becomes clear that Jaguar didn’t intend for me to have free rein of the entire store. He had a selection curated and arranged in a room that must be reserved for book signings or other gatherings.
An impressive arrangement of leatherbound books with golden filigree titles is arranged on a large oak table. I finger one and try my damn hardest to contain my reaction. Still, I’m sure my voice breaks as I read aloud, “The Complete works of Shakespeare. Impressive, Jaguar. I didn’t take you as a collector.”
Especially when he seems to treat women and allies like disposable commodities as easily switched out as a pair of shoes.
“They aren’t mine,” he says. “Yours, if they suit that haughty little taste of yours. Pick what you want. Price is no option.”
I swallow hard, both thrilled and terrified by the prospect.
I turn away and eye the books on the shelves in this room. Something tells me that his directive extends beyond it, to the entire store.
And, damn it, any shred of a grudge I’ve fought to maintain shrivels and crumbles away. I’m not stupid, though. I know that a man like him is dangerous to trust. Lethal to underestimate. If I let my guard down around him too much, I won’t ever see the knife he decides to embed in my back.
“And what if I said that I wanted them all?” I laugh, amused by my own boast.
But he doesn’t join in. Suddenly stern, he approaches me and captures my chin against his palm. “I would say… Don’t wish for things you don’t truly want. My woman asks, and she receives. I told you that before. So, if you want the whole damn store, say that you want the whole damn store. Don’t play coy with me.”
I suck in a breath, caught off guard by the intensity in his voice. When his fingers flex impatiently against my skin, I choke out, “I don’t. I just want… I want you to read to me. Like I wanted before. Do you remember?”
His lips twist into a devastating smile. “Oh, I remember, chica. In fact, I picked out a book already I could read to you. Care to hear?”
I approach the desk and run my fingers along the polished surface, desperate to hide how they shake. “Oh?”
True to his word, he must have planned out his moment in his head, down to exactly what I’d ask for. He slides the text in question from the desk, angling the cover so that I can’t see it, and moves to sit in a leather armchair. Patting his knee, he cocks his head in my direction. “Sit.”
My belly flips over as I inch toward him on trembling legs. When I come close enough, he wrenches me down and settles one of his hands over my waist while flipping the book open with the other. With his lips near my ear, he begins to read.
And with every word, a chilling mixture of shock and excitement run down my spine.
He upheld my request from days ago when I begged him to read his favorite quotes to me. He does so while wrapped within the original text, leaving only the raspiness of his baritone to tell which words mean the most to him.
“…In the end, it is impossible not to become what others believe you are.”
I lean against him, mulling over those words and the guttural way in which he said them. They weren’t an idle quote, picked at random from the playJulius Caesar. Much like the first time he quoted this particular work to me, I sense there is a riddle laced within every word.
The world claims that he is a monster, and I think he is more than capable of living up to that descriptor and more. He isn’t ashamed of the role he’s had to take on. If anything, he seems to excel at playing the part perfectly.
So yes, his quote means far more than it appears to on the surface. He isn’t referring to himself.
“Tell me, what am I, Julian?” I ask him outright, contorting my neck to better see his face.
Those eyes gleam, pleased I solved his riddle—or perhaps pleased that I forged yet another pathway of intimacy between us. “You, Lupita…” He slides his hand toward my inner thigh. “You are an interesting woman to decipher. Bold one minute. Shattered the next. Cunning. Too damn smart for your own good. The woman who prizes loyalty and honesty above all. Yet, she constantly lies.”
I stiffen. “About what?”
“The man who has you,” he says, catching me off guard. “You’ve claimed that it could be me, but I don’t know if I believe you, Lupe. I think I need to hear you say it.”
I run my tongue over my suddenly dry lips. “Say?”
