Warmth enveloped him immediately, along with the particular smell of books—paper and binding glue and something older, mustier, like accumulated wisdom given scent. The interior was smaller than he’d expected, but beautifully appointed. Dark wood shelves stretched toward a vaulted ceiling. Reading nooks tucked into corners, each with its own leather armchair andbrass lamp. A gas fireplace crackled softly against the far wall, casting dancing shadows across the oriental rugs.
A woman behind the circulation desk looked up as he entered, her eyes widening in recognition, but Paul simply walked past her.
The other patrons also turned to stare, their whispered speculations following him like a wake as he moved deeper into the stacks.
But he ignored them as well.
Only one person mattered, and his steps only slowed to a halt when he found her examing a shelf stocked full of special-editions titles. Even with her back was to him, he could feel her reverence as she stared at the books and occasionally cradled them in her hands like a newborn baby.
Her fingers hovered over a particularly ornate spine—something in deep burgundy with gold lettering—and even from behind, he could see the longing in her posture. The way she touched the book without quite taking it from the shelf, like she was afraid to want something she couldn’t have.
The more he watched her, the more he realized one thing.
“I’m starting to dislike the way you keep surprising me.”
Andromeda spun around, her expression cycling through shock, recognition, and something that looked almost like...
No.
Don’t go there, Mitropoulos.
She might be different...but not that different.
And it was critical he never allowed himself to forget that.
His gaze swung back to her, and his jaw clenched at how innocent she looked in her jeans and cream-colored sweater. Nothing expensive by the looks of them, and not even new. And yet...why did the sight of her always hit him like a ton of bricks?
Why, dammit?
Why did just one look at this girl have his entire body rigid with need, and his heart feeling like it was about to twist itself into pieces?
She stared at him, her face an open book, and in her eyes he saw everything that was good in this world.
And that was why...
Instead of walking away like a good man would do—
A devil like him chose to take great pleasure in taunting her.
Discomfiting her.
He said and did whatever it would take...just to make sure that he was all she would think about.
It was his only choice.
The writing was on the wall, the truth in all its excruciating glory shining in her bright blue eyes.
This girl would be impossible to corrupt with fame or fortune.
And so...
If there was no way to deceive her into thinking good things about him—
Paul was fine with her hating him instead. And it was very, very easy to have her play right into his hands. He could feel her annoyance growing. But it wasn’t enough.
“You’re still like all other women where it matters.”
He wanted her to hurt to the point that her heart would break.
