Page 101 of Devotion: Isn't What It Seems (Love Isn't What It Seems 1)

She urged them on with her hand to ask their question.

“Eve, my dear,” Margaret spoke for the group. “When is the next book coming out?”

“Soon, I promise,” I told her. “Very soon.”

Ugh, I was going to miss them all when I leave this country. I frowned not wanting to think about that right now. It wasn’t the time nor the place.

A few more questions about this and that, and my speaker was ready to wrap it up as we both stood up. I was so ready to bolt from this crowded place.

“I have a question,” I whipped my head toward the voice that I had been dreaming and missing for the past few months. The room instantly quieted down as if they understood the significance of him. The only sound in the room was the wild beating of my heart, although it was heard only by me.

Lachlan stood in the left corner of the room, casually leaning against the window, his hands in his pockets. His grey eyes were drilling into me, watching me, waiting. Although I wasn’t sure what for.

How long had he been there?

God, he looked even better than in my dreams. My body craved him and I had to force myself not to move. I wanted to go over to him and wrap my arms around him, feel his warmth against me.

The silence stretched on and I heard a whisper. “This guy looks just like the man in her book.”

The speaker ended up asking. “What is your question?”

“Who is the male character in your book based on?” he asked casually.

I pressed my lips together. I would not answer that question. Our gazes locked, it seemed we both were waiting for something.

There was no way in hell I would ever admit to him he was the man in my book. He would probably be the man in all my books. Because I was utterly, totally, completely in love with him.

“Eve,” the speaker reminded me. “The gentleman wants to know who is your male character based on?”

“It’s made up,” I answered. Theoretically, it was a half truth. The male character was based on the Lachlan McLaren that would love me till death do us part.

“My dear wife, you are not a good liar.” The endearment in his deep, sexy voice made my heart skip a beat and thighs throb as I pressed them together.

“I think I’m pretty good, my dear husband,” I replied, using his words back, my chin lifted in the challenge. There were few gasps that followed but nobody mattered but him.

He looked at the audience and addressed them. “Hello ladies, do you mind if I steal my wife for the rest of the evening?”

Most of them shook their heads and few of them mumbled their answers.

“Wonderful, thank you,” he threw them all a smile. God that smile was dazzling enough to loosen panties.

I refused to move from my spot but he seemed unfazed as he strolled towards me in his powerful stride. He came to a stop right in front of me, reaching out his hand for me to take. He knew he was forcing my hand. Unless I wanted to cause a scene, I had to play along. I laid my fingers into his hand and he wrapped them in his warm palm.

“C’mon, my love,” he murmured and I felt a pang in my heart. I wanted to hear him say that since he left but now I felt robbed. It was a pretense.

“You lovebirds be good,” Margaret blurted out and winked at me.

What was that supposed to mean?

As we exited the bookstore, the chilly, Scotland winter air hit me and a shiver ran through my body. I left my jacket inside. My teeth started chattering from the cold.

“This way,” he wrapped me in his arms, gently squeezed my hand, pointing to the vehicle. It was his Land Rover, sitting in front of the bookstore with the engine running.

“You are lucky someone didn’t steal your car,” I muttered, teeth chattering, as he opened the door and I sat in it, heat immediately slipping into my bones.

He quickly came around and got behind the wheel.

Without another word, he put the vehicle in drive and sped down the road. My body behaved treacherously wanting to scoot closer to him, just for a fleeting touch of his body. I behaved like a recovering drug addict, I wanted one more hit. Just one more taste, one more high.

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