Page 43 of Embers in Autumn
She opened the package carefully. Inside was a candle shaped like a book, a neat thank-you note in looping handwriting, and two tickets to a symphonic concert at the beginning of next month.
I let out a low whistle. “Look at that.Book girl’s making a good impression on everyone in town.”
She tilted her head, hazel eyes catching mine with a glint of mischief. “So, what do you say? Care to take thebook girlto a classical music concert?”
I leaned in, pressing my mouth to hers, savoring the way her lips softened instantly against mine. When I pulled back, I murmured, “Guess I need to buy a decent shirt, don’t I?”
Her laugh was soft and bright, the kind of sound that made the drizzle outside seem a little less gray. Amber slipped behind the counter, careful as she tucked the tickets and the little book-shaped candle onto a shelf. Her fingers lingered there, neat and precise, before she straightened and smoothed her dress.
“With this rain, no one’s coming in this morning,” she murmured. “It’s been dead quiet.”
I sipped my coffee, watching the drizzle bead against the glass, then set the mug down. “Well, let’s not risk it.”
Her brows knit as I moved for the door. I flipped the sign toclosed, slid the bolt into place, and turned back.
“What are you doing?” she asked, half startled, half amused.
I took a slow step toward her, then another. “Now… about that firefighter romance novel you were reading the other night when I texted you.”
Her cheeks went pink instantly, heat blooming up to her temples. “Oh…” she stammered. “That turned out to be a lottamerthan I expected.”
Another step, deliberate. I felt the tension coil in the air between us, sharp and sweet. “That’s too bad,” I said, my voice lower now. “I would have loved to reproduce certain parts of that book with you.”
Her lips parted, hazel eyes bright with nerves and something darker. “You’re not going to do another dramatic reading, are you?”
I shook my head slowly, closing the distance until I could see every flutter of her lashes.Christ, she’s beautiful. That dress, those boots—fuck, it’s like she walked out of my fantasies and into this little shop.
“No,” I murmured. “No reading.”
I reached across the counter, cupped her face, and kissed her. She melted into it, lips soft, eager, the taste of coffee and something sweet clinging to her mouth. I slid my hands to her hips, lifted her, and settled her on the counter with a groan of wood beneath us.
“This time,” I said against her lips, my breath ragged, “I’m giving you a live performance.”
Her laugh hitched into a gasp as I kissed her again, deeper this time, and the world outside the rain-streaked windows disappeared. Her back arched into me as my mouth claimed hers, lips parting in a rush of heat. The counter creaked beneath her, but she didn’t care, and neither did I. My hands slid up her thighs, the soft fabric of her dress bunching under my palms as I pushed it higher.
Amber gasped into my kiss, clutching the front of my sweater like she needed it to breathe. I pulled back just enough to look at her, hazel eyes dark with want, lips swollen, chest rising fast under the layered black shirt and dress.
“Dean,” she whispered, half plea, half warning.
“Yeah, baby,” I murmured, pushing the hem of her dress further, my thumb tracing the inside of her knee. “You want this?”
Her nod was sharp, desperate, her cheeks flushed.
“Say it.”
“I want this,” she breathed, her voice trembling but strong enough to make my cock twitch against the seam of my jeans.
That was all I needed.
I kissed down her jaw, her throat, tugging her scarf loose until it fell in a crumpled heap on the counter. My teeth grazed her pulse point and she shivered hard, her legs spreading instinctively as I pressed closer.
“God, you taste so good,” I muttered, sliding my hand higher until my fingers brushed the thin barrier of her panties. She washot, wet, and when I pressed, she gasped, hips rocking forward.
“Dean—”
Her voice broke, and I swallowed the sound with another kiss, sliding the damp fabric aside. My fingers found her, slick and ready, and I stroked slow, deliberate, teasing. She clung to my shoulders, nails digging through the knit as her breath went ragged.
“You’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you?” I growled against her lips. “Ever since those texts. Touching yourself, pretending it was me.”
