Page 32 of The Hellkeeper

“And? Trust me, Amelia, it’s not just about the covers. What’s inside is even better.”

Curiosity gets the better of me, so I follow Ruby to the register, wondering what exactly I’ve just gotten myself into.

***

Walking back to the restaurant with those books feels like a walk of shame. I’m a mess of nerves by the time I reach my room. I drop onto my bed, clutching the book in my hands. The second I flip open the first page, I’m sucked in. My eyes widen at every detail.

People do those things?

When I think about it objectively, it’s crude. Gross, even. But when I think of doing these things with Damien… I melt. Something must be wrong with me.

And that’s exactly when the door suddenly bursts open. I jolt upright, the book nearly flying from my hands.

“You are getting way too comfortable with breaking and entering,” I sigh. Is it even breaking and entering at this point if I expect him to come and am excited for it?

He shoves his hands in his pockets like this is the most casual thing in the world. “Stop pretending you don’t like it.”

I roll my eyes. “The stalking?”

“What about it?”

I open my mouth to retort, but his gaze flicks downward to the book I’m reading. A book with a shirtless man on the cover, his muscles glistening.

Damien goes completely still. “What the fuck is that?”

“What does it look like, Damien? It’s a novel.”

His nostrils flare. “A novel,” he repeats. “That’s what they’re calling this filth now?”

“It’s not filth.”

(It is, but a little white lie never hurt anyone.)

“Then tell me, little flower, what exactly are you learning from this?”

I refuse to answer.

In two strides, he’s on me, yanking the book from my hands and flipping through the pages.

“Sit down.”

“Damien—”

“Sit,” he commands, his voice as hard as stone.

Something in me obeys before my mind can catch up. God, my body responds to this man before my mind does.

“Let’s see what’s got you so red in the face.”

“His mouth worshiped every inch of her, savoring the taste of her—”

“Oh my God, stop!” I practically throw myself forward to snatch the book from his grasp. He catches me midair like some hulk and pulls me against him.

He tosses the book onto the bed. “You’d rather learn from some pathetic fiction than from me?”

I gape at him. This man is mentally unwell. So am I, because I’m attracted to him.

“It’s just a book.”

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