"But my huge dick?" I asked, waving toward him. "You'd choke onthat?"
"Like it's my job." Owen advanced on me, swallowing up the sidewalk in two long strides, and snatched my hand. "Let's get this over with. You'll get your inquisitionlater."
I followed him into the small shop, a bell tinkling overhead as we entered. I zeroed in on Annette as I crossed the threshold. She was behind the counter, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders, making her white dress appear strapless. It was the sexy angel look, and she was nailingit.
A customer stood on the other side of the counter, nodding while she spoke and held up each item in his pile, turned it over, opened the jacket, then patted the front cover. It appeared that she was telling him the secrets behind every book, offering up the special details only a bookseller wouldknow.
If I wasn't busy stewing in jealousy over her baseless stake on my man, I'd want to get to know her. The lady was high octane, and I liked that. I respected it. I also had the distinct impression she had dirt on everyone in this small town, and I respected that,too.
"We'll just wait," Owen said, glancing at Annette before turning away. "I'm sure it will be only aminute."
"She talks with her hands," I said under my breath. "Five bucks says it will not be aminute."
"Shut up," hewhispered.
The space was flooded with sunlight and books, paperbacks and hardcovers overflowing from every surface. A quick scan of the covers told me I wasn't the subject of any of these books, and that was a relief. Cheerfully painted terra cotta pots and baskets marked the new release section. Hand-drawn signs announced sections for every subgenre. Maine was well represented. There was local history, local cookbooks, local fiction, local nonfiction, local photography, even localromance.
"See anything you like?" Owen asked, squeezing my hand. "Oh—right. You don't read realbooks."
"That kind of incendiary language is unnecessary," I replied, smirking. "Since you know all the best reads around here, pick something out for me. You know what Ilike."
His answering smile was dark, almost feral. "Yeah, I do." He inclined his head toward the opposite side of the shop, tugging my hand. "Let's see what we can find for you, littleprince."
We crossed the small sales floor toward a section cheerfully labeled with a hand-lettered pennant banner as mystery and suspense. Owen stood behind me, one hand on my waist while he skimmed his free hand over the book spines. His breath was warm on my neck and the scruffy tickle of his beard sent a shiver through myshoulders.
"This is going to be good," I said. "We'll have a little book club situation going. Can we have wine and cheese with our literaryconversations?"
He tugged a paperback from the shelf, ignoring me. "This might work," he said, almost to himself. "Cybercrimes. International intrigue. A bit of a lovestory."
"That's what I like?" I asked, arching back to press my ass to his crotch. "Tech stuff and spy games? Sounds like my dayjob."
"You forgot the part about the love story," he replied, his words rougher than they were a momentago.
I laughed. "None of that in my dayjob."
Owen's arm curled around my torso, his fingers sliding barely beneath my shorts. He pressed his lips to my neck. "Good," he said. "You should save that part for your summervacation."
I almost replied, telling him that Ihadsaved the love story for this summer vacation, and that he was playing a starringrole.
But Annette called, "It's my favorite fishermen!" and the words dried on mytongue.
With a sigh, I dropped my head back to Owen's chest. He pulled his fingers from beneath the waistband of my shorts but I clamped my hand over his, stopping him. "Where do you think you'regoing?"
"I'm not going to molest you in public," hesnapped.
Annette rounded the counter, her perky smile melting into a confused grimace as sheapproached.
"You've done it before." I hooked my hand around the back of his neck, pulling his face closer. "Kiss me," I ordered. "Rightnow."
Owen didn't hesitate. His lips met mine with a kiss that started sweet and turned molten in seconds. But neither of us forgot we were in this shop, not more than a few feet from the woman who'd been crushing on my man for ages. With one last peck and a hungry growl, he brokeaway.
"Hey, Annette," Owensaid.
His pinky finger was still in my shorts, and in some small, strange way, that was a victory forus.
Annette hugged a hardcover book to her chest and she blinked at us. Repeatedly. Her gaze followed Owen's hold on my body, each blink growing longer and more exaggerated. It was as though she was trying to erase the image in front of her by closing her eyes and wishing itaway.
A fraction of me felt badly for her. I didn't need to have a long balance sheet of heartbreak behind me to know she was watching a relationship end. Even if that relationship was one-sided andnonexistent.
