The ceilings here were as high as the rest of the house, and the massive expanse of walls had been covered by floor-to-ceiling bookcases. A couple of sofas and tables made up a large reading nook in one corner. Her heavy desk and home office setup were arranged nearby.
There was a separate study, but she preferred this area. The scent of the books helped her think. Some of the shelves were empty, but the majority were crammed tight with titles.
Jacob took a few more steps inside and craned his neck up, treating the sight of this room with the kind of reverence most people displayed in her impressive foyer. “This is insane. This is all yours?”
“Well. I inherited about a fifth of the titles from the previous owners, after donating the boring ones I didn’t want. The rest, yes. The rest are mine.
“What?” she asked, when he continued to look at her. “Some rich people collect art. I collect books.”
“You never told me that.”
“I didn’t think it was relevant.”
“I’m an author. You didn’t think I’d find it relevant you have a library the size of a football field?”
“Hardly a football field. Maybe a couple of basketball courts.” She couldn’t help but savor some satisfaction. Jacob didn’t impress easily.
He walked to the closest bookcase and ran his finger along the shelf. “You’ve had someone alphabetize these?”
“Funny enough, I am capable of putting books in alphabetical order without relying on my serfs.”
He shot her an incredulous glance. “When do you sleep?”
She glanced deliberately at her watch. “Sometime between fucking and ruling the world.”
The words were a test, and he passed. No flinch or expression of horror at her frank talk, but a snort of laughter that made her want to smile.
She controlled her facial muscles. Really, she was too easily swayed by this man.
She stiffened when he came to an abrupt halt, his shoulders rigid. Abruptly recalling what was in that section, Akira took a quick step toward him, but it was too late.
Fiction. The C’s.
He turned and studied her. “You have every one of my books.”
She kept her face impassive, though she couldn’t help that her fingers had tightened into a fist, her body bracing for a blow.Never let them see what you like, what you want.“So?”
“So…why do you have my books?”
Her shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I don’t know.” Her heartbeat accelerated, a tell that annoyed her, even if he would be unaware of it.
Well, you see, I couldn’t stand not having at least the barest connection with you.
She couldn’t talk to him. She couldn’t bed him. She couldn’t befriend him. But for all these years, she could read him.
She tensed, prepared for an interrogation or mocking, and was surprised when he tapped his fingers against the shelf and cocked his head. “Do you want my autograph?”
Her muscles relaxed in a rush, making her legs shaky. Her lips quivered at the corner. “Sure.” She strolled closer. Mischief and another, darker emotion had her reaching past him to pull a paperback off the shelf. This book had been released in hardcover later on, she was sure of it, once Jacob became popular, but she still had the original first edition. Her fingers brushed his when she handed it to him. “Here. Do this one.”
They both looked down at the glossy cover ofShield of Sorrows. Unflinching, he met her gaze. “It wasn’t you.”
Heat rushed through her, but it wasn’t arousal. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He took the book from her and flipped through the pages, a fierce scowl growing on his face. “It came to my attention recently there are those who believe I modeled Lidia after you.”
Her laugh was light. Meaningless. “Do you think I’ve honestly read every book in this library, Jacob? I don’t know who Lidia is.”
That gave him pause, before a cunning light lit his eyes. “You may not have read every book in here, but you’ve read all of mine.”
