Page 180 of Merciless Desires

I closed the book and placed it on my knees which I’d glued together to stop them from trembling. I shouldn’t have felt intimidated by a boy who couldn’t have been more than a few years older than me, but good Lord I was. No one who looked that jaw-droppingly hot ever deigned to look at me, let alone speak to me. He peered down from the bookshelf, his dark-lashed lids lowered making him look obscenely sexy. His strong, square jaw ground lightly as though he was considering a joke and it was totally on me. But I had never before seen this boy and was unlikely to ever see him again so I felt uncharacteristically emboldened.

“Enlighten me,” I said.

He folded his arms around the book he’d pulled from the shelf and assessed me with a gaze that felt like warm honey.

“Well, for a start, he’s a hypocrite.”

My brows hiked. “I’m not sure I buy that but go on.”

“He talks a lot about how preservation has contributed to a kind of collective amnesia, and that we’ve transformed historic areas into tourist hubs while conveniently ignoring buildings that represent parts of our past that make us uncomfortable.”

I sat back in my chair and tilted my head to one side. “What’s hypocritical about that?”

He pushed the book back on the shelf then fed large hands into his pockets as he regarded me with an arrogance I found weirdly, obsessively attractive.

“Because in the next breath he criticises people for not embracing change.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Aren’t they two separate arguments?”

His jaw ground as he considered my question. “No. How can you accuse people of transforming historic areas – regardless of what they are transformed to – but then claim they don’t like change?”

I chewed my lip nervously as I conceded, in silence, that he had a point.

“Plus, he’s egotistical. Goes in for every award instead of letting his art speak for itself.” His gaze roamed the bookshelves to my right, as though our conversation was boring him.

“Maybe he finds that creating work for competitions instead of clients is freeing.”

His eyes darted back to mine in a beat and it was then I noticed how black they were.

“You don’t need a competition to create work that is freeing.”

His gaze held mine in some strange unspoken battle of wills, then he surprised me by stepping forward and holding out another book. “Now this is an artist you should listen to.”

For the first time in my life, I felt heat flood my chest. It spread like wildfire to my face. He held up In Praise of Shadows, by Junichiro Tanizaki. It was a book I’d been intending to read for months but hadn’t got around to it. To be honest, I’d found Tanizaki’s work almost as intimidating as this boy standing in front of me. My gaze flickered between the dark book and the even darker figure holding it out to me. His t-shirt was a steel grey which accentuated his hooded eyes. For a casual garment the cut was as sharp as his jaw, the cotton as smooth as his lips.

“Have you read it?”

His question made me jump. My already burning face became a blistering furnace. I’d been staring at his mouth for at least several seconds.

“Um, no. Not that one. It’s on my list though.”

I reached out to take the book but he held it for a few beats, staring into my eyes with unnerving intensity before releasing it.

“Once you’ve read that book, everything else will disappoint you.”

He perched on the arm of the chair adjacent to mine.

“Then why would I do that to myself?”

He answered with another question. One that stunned me.

“Don’t you want to be astounded?”

“I-I don’t know.” I could have kicked my leg off with that inane response but I had something of an image to uphold so I pretended I wasn’t a total imbecile and continued. “I mean, yes. I do want to be astounded. Doesn’t anyone?”

He scratched at the scruff appearing on his chin. “You’d be surprised.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way but you don’t seem to like… people.”

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