Page 53 of Midnights
“My pleasure,Your Highness,” I murmur, letting the teasing edge curl through my voice.
Raven bursts out laughing.
I lean in just enough for her to feel the shift. My hand hovers near the shelf and I'm so damn close that if I moved even an inch, I’d brush against her shoulder.
I watch as her breath catches for the briefest second, but it’s enough to make my pulse kick up a notch.
“You’re dangerous in a bookstore,” I murmur, keeping my voice low so no one else hears us.
She tilts her head up, and I can see the heat she tries to hide.
“If you’re thinking this is the part where I rip your clothes off between the romance and folklore section—” she pauses, and her lips twitch. “It’s not.”
I blink, caught between surprise and amusement.
Then, slowly, I grin taking a deliberate step back. It's just enough to give her space, but not enough to erase the heat between us.
“Good to know,” I say smoothly. “I’d hate for us to traumatize the customers.”
Her eyes flash with something unreadable, but a slow smile tugs at her lips.
This woman is going to be the death of me.
She rolls her eyes and brushes past me. Her shoulder grazes mine and it’s the lightest touch, but fuck.
She hugs the book to her chest like a shield and throws a jab over her shoulder. “Just keeping things realistic.”
“Realistic? That’s what we’re calling it?”
I step close enough to let my breath tease against the shell of her ear and she tenses slightly.“That’s interesting, because the way you reacted just now didn’t seem like it was nothing.”
She exhales sharply but recovers fast. She spins on her heel, meeting my gaze head-on.
“Oh please,” she draws it out, tilting her chin like I don't rattle her. “Not everyone wants you, Kane. Maybe I just have a thing for bookshelves.”
I arch a brow, enjoying this far too much. “Is that so? Because if you’re into wood and leather bindings, I could think of a few things that might interest you.”
Her mouth parts slightly, but she clamps it shut.
She narrows her eyes, and I can see the fight to suppress whatever is on the tip of her tongue. “You’re annoying.”
“And yet,” I say, leaning against the shelf beside her, “you’re still standing here, looking at me like you’re two seconds away from proving me wrong.”
She huffs a laugh, shaking her head as if trying to rid herself of whateverthisis between us. But she doesn’t walk away.
Instead, she plucks a book off the shelf, flipping it open with forced nonchalance. Her breathing is heavy, and she’s pretending like the book in her hands is the most interesting thing she’s seen all day.
“For the record, the only thing I’d do between these bookshelves is read.”
“Pity.”
Her head snaps up, eyes locking onto mine. And before I can push her further, she flips to a new page and her expression shifts.
“You know,” she begins tracing the edges of the worn pages. “I actually love books. Growing up, it wasn’t always thecoolthing to love, but my grandmother used to read to me every night. She would tell me stories about magic, curses, witches, shadows, and angry kings.” Her eyes shimmer as she chuckles softly. “I would always ask her how I could find these places so I could run away there.”
I lean against the shelf, watching her. “And what did she say?”
She smiles, and something warm flickers across her expression.
