Liars Like Us

36

“Ow!”

“You can complain all you want later,” he says darkly, keeping my hand in a death grip when I try to pull away. He turns to Andrew and snaps his fingers. “Let’s do this.”

After that, everything happens so fast, it’s a blur. Andrew says some words. Callum and I repeat “I do” when necessary. Another document is shoved in front of me—the marriage license, I think—and Callum jabs his finger on the line where I’m supposed to sign.

Then it’s over, and we’re married.

“Congratulations, Mrs. McCord!” says Andrew. “How do you feel?”

Dazed, I say, “Like I just got run over by a truck.”

Callum growls, “Give it a few minutes, it’ll get worse,” and grabs me. This time, instead of shoving fine jewelry on my hand, he swings me up into his arms.

Yelping in surprise, I try to wriggle away and escape, but he holds me tight against his body as he strides toward the door.

“What are you doing?” I cry, panicking.

“Taking my wife home.”

He makes it sound as if a dungeon and a pair of shackles are in my immediate future.

“William! Andrew! Help me!”

They stare after me with matching expressions of apprehension as Callum somehow manages to unlock the front door while carrying a squirming woman in his arms. Then we’re out in the heat of the summer day, moving toward his sleek black sedan, which is pulling up at the curb.

The driver jumps out and opens the door for us as we reach it. Callum stuffs me inside the car and follows, slamming the door shut behind us.

He turns to me, smiling that lethal smile of his, every inch of him predatory.

Holding up a hand, I say, “Stop!”

It works like one of those harsh commands a professional dog trainer shouts at a Doberman. Callum freezes in place, bristling.

My heart pounds so hard, I can’t catch my breath. I’m disoriented and shaky, and will probably be diagnosed with PTSD after that clusterfuck of a wedding I just endured. And now I’m trapped in the back of a car with the crazy billionaire who wifed me and who seems as if he’s about to gobble me up like the wolf that ate Red Riding Hood’s grandma.

On the best of days, my brain works at about ten percent capacity. Today, that wimp quit for good and left anxiety in charge.

The car pulls away from the curb as my new husband and I sit in the back seat, staring at each other in crackling silence.

I manage to say, “What’s happening?”

“We’re going home.”

“Your home?”

“Our home.”

“But…I’m working.”

“Not anymore, you’re not.”

His breathing is irregular. His eyes are burning. Every atom of his energy is focused on me.

I swallow nervously. “Why are you acting so weird?”

His smile is beautiful and terrifying. “Because your favorite word in the English language is no. But I just got you to say yes.”

“Oh, I get it. You think you won, huh?”

“Whose ring is that on your finger?”

“Don’t be smug. You know I absolutely hate it when you’re smug.”

“And I hate it when you pretend you don’t want me, so we’re even.”

“I don’t want you. You’re the worst!”

Low and utterly pleased, his chuckle sends tingles up my spine. He drawls, “Darling wife, you have no idea.”

Then he sits back in his seat, smooths his hands over his hair, and chuckles again, as if he’s enjoying some delicious secret.

It freaks me the f**k out.

“Callum?”

Without glancing my way, he says, “Yes?”

“Am I going to regret this?”

“If you do, I’m sure you can console yourself with your bank balance.”

“That’s not funny.”

He chuckles again. “I thought it was.”

I shoot a nervous glance toward the driver. He’s got his damn black sunglasses on again, so I can’t see his eyes. I can’t tell if he knows I’m about to be thrown into a gator pit that Callum has in his backyard or if he knows Callum’s idea of fun is terrifying broke bookstore owners.

Except, wait. I’m not broke anymore.

I’m rich.

I just married a billionaire, which makes me a billionaire too.

My imagination marinates in that bizarre new reality until Callum says, “Wait until you see the house. You’ll feel even better then.”

I huff out a breath, lean back against the seat, fold my arms over my chest, and mutter, “It would be great if you could stop reading my mind.”

“But then how would I know what you’re thinking? Considering half of what comes out of your mouth are lies, I need some way of getting the truth.”

“I’m not lying.”

Another chuckle, this one scarier than the others. He turns his head and pins me in a heated stare. “The next time you lie to me, there will be consequences.”

I narrow my eyes at him and pretend I’m more angry than nervous. “Yeah? Like what?”

His voice throaty, he says, “Try me and find out.”

My cheeks flush with heat. “Is that a threat?”

He holds my gaze and merely smiles.

I’m beginning to think I might have jumped out of the frying pan right into the fire. Did I just legally promise myself to a psychopath? Oh God, what have I done?

“It’s not as bad as all that,” Callum says, turning away. After a beat, he chuckles again. “Actually, it is.”