Page 28 of Angel Eyes

“Yes, really. Let me see it, Chandler.”

In a heartbeat, her face lit up, and she ducked her head behind her computer to hide the smile spreading across her lips. Those lips. It was hard to look at them without imagining them involved in a whole range of activities, all of them glorious and none of them the least bit friendly.

I had known I was in trouble where Juliet was concerned after our trip to the Louvre. Though, if I was being honest, I had known long before that. But it wasn’t until Sunday that I realized just how strong my attraction to her had become.

For one fleeting moment, I’d thought maybe the attraction wasn’t one-sided, that there was something behind the way she looked at me during that too-brief moment when I held her in my arms. But she had absolved me of that delusion when she ran off to call her boyfriend.

So, what was I doing here?

“Okay.” She turned her laptop toward me before hiding her face.

“Seriously? Are you going to hide behind your hands while I read your work?”

“Yes. I’m shielding myself in case you don’t like it.”

On impulse, I took one of her hands in mine, ignoring the sparks racing across my skin from the point of contact. “Don’t hide, Juliet. Art is about honesty. You can’t be afraid of people’s reactions, no matter what they are. As long as you bring your most authentic self to the page, that’s all that matters.” I set her hand down on the table, drawing mine back with more than a little effort. “Besides, I’m sure I’ll like it.”

She chewed on her lip in a most distracting way. “How do you know?”

“Because I like you.”

Stop. Fucking. Talking.

Without waiting to gauge her reaction, I scanned the open document. It was a lot longer than I’d expected it to be, well over fifty pages. Had she really written this in just a week? I scrolled to the halfway point, deciding to start in the middle.

And …

“What was that look?”

“Hmm?” I said, my eyes still glued to the page I was reading. “What look?”

“Just a second ago. Your eyes got all big, and you covered your mouth like you wanted to hide your reaction.”

“It was nothing.” I scratched my eyebrow. “I don’t think I should say.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Tell me.”

“Well, I was just wondering how Colton and Harley managed to, um … I mean, that tool shed seems pretty cramped, not to mention all the dangerous objects in there. But I guess Harley’s pretty flexible so—”

“What?” Juliet snatched the computer. “Oh, fuck my life.”

Her face metamorphosed through a parade of emotions, all while I fought like hell to keep my face straight. “Is that not what you wanted me to read?”

“No,” she whined, burying her face in her hands. “This is my romance novella.”

Do. Not. Laugh. “Well, I liked it. It was very … illuminating.”

“Yeah, about as illuminating as a tour of my underwear drawer.”

I slid a hand over my mouth, losing the battle to a laugh as she peered at me from between her fingers. Her lips curved. “It’s not funny.”

“Nope, not funny in the slightest.” I ran a thumb along my bottom lip. “So, what was that you were saying about a tour of your underwear drawer?”

She swatted me on the shoulder just as the door to the library swung open and a group of students entered, the hum of their conversation like a swarm of bees filling the quiet space. A dark-haired woman at the front of the horde drew up short, blinking at me before shifting her gaze to the left.

“Juliet.” The woman crossed the room, her high heels clicking. “Hey, chica, I thought that was you.” She planted a hand on her hip, her red fingernails hooking over the hint of bronze skin peeking out from beneath her lacy top.

“Marlena,” Juliet said, her smile oddly tight. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

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