I turn the page gently.
A thin pencil line runs along a passage. My eyes snag on the words.
Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.
Like whoever underlined it hated how true it was.
My mouth goes dry. I trace the line with my fingertip, skin prickling.
“Of course,” I huff. “This is the passage that would be underlined.”
A floorboard creaks behind me, and my whole body stiffens. The book is still in my hands when I turn.
Lorenzo stands in the doorway. His expression is blank, but his eyes latch onto the book immediately, and something sharp flickers there. Recognition.
I don’t move, and neither does he.
The silence stretches, thick and uncomfortable.
“How do you always sneak up on me?” I clutch the book tighter. “Is this a talent of yours?”
Lorenzo eases the door shut behind him, and the soft click echoes through the space.
As he strolls over to me, his gaze doesn’t leave the book. Something about the look in his eyes seems predatory. Dangerous.
“Natural talent . . .” He stops a few feet away. His eyes drag up from the book to my face. “But you’re the one who looks guilty.”
I blink. “Guilty? For what? Reading? I think you’re projecting.”
His mouth curves, but only barely. A hint of amusement plays on his lips. “For touching my things.”
I hold up the book, fingers splayed around the worn leather. “It’s a book, Lorenzo. Not a gun.”
He takes a step closer, and I flash to the open book. His eyes dip to the underlined words, and something changes in his face so quickly I almost miss it.
A micro-flinch. A crack. Then his expression smooths again.
“Sometimes books are worse.” His voice is low enough to make me shiver.
And man, does my pulse do something stupid.
I hate my pulse.
I shift my grip, forcing myself to focus on the object instead of the man. “This is a first edition.”
His shoulders rise in a careless shrug as he drifts toward the nearest chair, lowering himself into it. One ankle rests over his knee.
“You’re observant,” he drawls.
My laugh comes out sharp. “That’s one way to phrase it. The other way would be . . . why do you have this just sitting here like it’s a paperback you found in a little free library?”
His gaze lifts again, slow and lazy. “Because I can.”
“Of course.” I flip the book closed and then reopen it, unable to stop myself. “Of course, the answer is because you can.”
Lorenzo’s eyes track every movement of my hands. “You’re looking at it like you’re planning on stealing it.”
“Not a bad idea. You need security,” I shoot back.
