Total pages in book: 129
Estimated words: 120165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120165 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
He gave the bookstore another suspicious glare. Then he tugged the bottom of his waistcoat to straighten it and joined the line of people waiting to be served.
A guy in his twenties backed towards the door, staring fearfully at the man, and slipped out. Then an old guy did the same. It wasn’t just that the man looked so scowly and intimidating, it was like they recognized him. Who is this guy?
He definitely had money: his overcoat looked like cashmere. So why was he here, in a neighborhood realtors optimistically called up-and-coming, instead of at one of the fancy bookstores downtown? He was still scowling and whenever the line stopped, he’d start tapping the toe of one polished leather shoe, like he had somewhere else to be. Busy. Powerful. Someone who never normally stood in line for anything.
I scanned and packed up a stack of romances for Melissa, one of my regulars, then stole another glance at the guy. There was something about the way he stood, the way he carried himself. Most people mess with their phones while they’re waiting, they sort of turn inward. But he had his head up and was glancing around, taking everything in. It was more than just confidence. It was deeper than that, stronger than that. The whole store seemed to echo with his presence: it felt like everyone was too scared to make eye contact with him. I was scared. But I couldn’t stop myself from sneaking peeks at him.
The next customer in line had pre-ordered a new fantasy novel the month before. I ducked down and grabbed it from under the counter, rang it up and handed it to him with a big smile. Now the scary mystery guy was next-but-one in line. And as the line shuffled forward, he looked at me for the first time.
I went stock-still. His eyes were the pale gray of a winter sky, so breathtakingly cold that looking into them made my chest hurt. There was no kindness there, no trace of caring, and the way he scowled down at me made my stomach drop. I almost looked away. But there’s a part of me, way down deep, that’s always been stubborn, or stupid. My grandmother called it our Welsh ancestor’s fighting spirit. It made me keep looking.
And something happened.
For a second, his eyes narrowed. Then I saw the tiniest hint of warmth creep in, like faint sunshine breaking through frozen trees in a forest, and it was heart-stoppingly beautiful.
Then the warmth expanded, accelerating outward, and the cold gray turned scorching, blistering hot. His eyes flicked down my body, back up, and locked with mine again. They glittered, molten diamonds. He’d seen something he wanted. He was going to take it.
I swallowed, my face going hot. A deeper, darker heat raced down my body and detonated in my groin. I’d never felt so...wanted. Men don’t look at me that way, especially not men like him. I’m not all tanned and toned and blonde haired. My skin’s the sort of milky white that makes me fry if I step outdoors after May, I’m all boobs and ass and my hair is red. And I don’t mean a delicate strawberry-blonde or a sophisticated auburn, I mean long waves of bright, coppery red: with my curves, I look like a farmer’s daughter, like I should be fetching water from the well or guiding a plow.
And yet he was looking at me, the heat so intense it was like a physical touch. His gaze traced along the line of my jaw, over my lips, down the soft, sensitive skin of my neck…
“Um…” said the woman standing in front of me.
I snapped out of it, red-faced, and quickly served her. I kept my eyes on the books she was buying, on the numbers on the register, on her credit card...anywhere but on his face. Did that just happen? Did he just look at me like he wanted to bend me over this counter and—
I bagged the woman’s books, thanked her, and she left. And he stepped forward.
I kept my eyes on the counter, but I could feel him looming over me. I was flustered and breathless, my skin was throbbing under my clothes and deep in my core there was a slow pulse of heat I couldn’t control. It wasn’t just the look he’d given me. It was the way I was reacting to it, the way I was reacting to him. He was big and intimidating and scary as fuck, but he was also gorgeous and...different, in a way I couldn’t describe. Dangerous. It pulsed from him, a vibration I could feel. Like I and everyone else in the bookstore were deer and he was a wolf.
That should have made me run. But that vibration strummed through my body and some deep, dark place inside me sang like a tuning fork.