Page 7 of The First Spark

Twenty minutes later, I stroll into One More Page, halfexpecting a bomb to go off the second my boots hit the hardwood floor.

Maybe I’ll get lucky, and Lydia will be done and raring to go.

But I release a strangled grunt when I fix my eyes on her leather clad ass. Not only is she still browsing, but she’s also chatting with the devil herself.

Oriana Thorne.

“Fucking hell,” I mutter, dragging a hand through my hair.

So much for best laid plans. Here goes nothing.

I shove my hands into my jean pockets and walk over to the corner reading nook where the two ladies sit ensconced, a coffee-table book open between them.

“Ready to go?” I ask, careful to maintain a neutral tone in my voice.

Both women glance up. A smile cuts across one face. A dour frown crosses the other.

Bet you can figure out which is which.

“You finally made it,” Lydia says, reaching up to thread her fingers through my belt loop. “Oriana and I were talking about France.”

Personally, I don’t care what they were discussing. I just want to leave. Now.

I nod, careful to avoid the petite bookshop owner’s glare, which is currently cutting holes into me. “Is that right?”

“Have you been to France, Ash?” Lydia inquires, oblivious to the imaginary daggers being pitched my way by Oriana.

“Can’t say that I have.”

“We should go one day. Wouldn’t that be fun?”

At this point, I’d agree to visit Mars with the woman, so long as it gets her ass moving from the store.

Lydia turns to Oriana, a smile splitting her face. “Your store is magical. You’re a most amazing addition to Sparkwood.”

In my defense, I didn’t mean for the scoff to fly out of my mouth. It just happened.

Oriana’s expression shifts into overdrive as she turns the full force of her glare on me. “You have something to add, Mr. Hammond?”

So many things, Ms. Thorne. How much time do you have?

I bite back the smirk, but it’s no use. “Nope.”

Oriana stands up and walks toward me until she’s less than a foot from my side. Then she pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose, plants her hands on her hips, and glowers up at me.

God, you do not play fair. I pray my poker face kicks in, because Oriana’s stern pose is not garnering the reaction she hopes for.

Sorry to break it to you, sweetheart, but you’re hardly intimidating.

In truth, if she wasn’t such a frosty bitch, her aggressive stance would be wickedly adorable right now—like an angry Chihuahua taking on a Rottweiler. Thankfully, I manage to keepthatthought safely within the confines of my brain.

“Really, because your expression says otherwise.” Oriana clicks her tongue against her teeth, her eyes never wavering from my face.

Daring me to say what I’m thinking out loud.

I can do one of two things: engage with her anger or tease her. I’m pretty sure which one will piss her off more, and of course, that’s the option I choose.

No, it’s not the wiser move, but one might say Oriana brings it out of me.

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