“My natural habitat is wine and solitude, dammit.”
“True. But we’re here to stir up your ecosystem.”
I roll my eyes and stalk toward the romance section before my face betrays how much I want to lick him from bottom to top like a fucking cherry popsicle.
After what he said to me the other night about fucking me? I can’t get that memory out of my head to save my life—pretty sure I’m already dead, though.
Wooden signs dangle above each aisle.
Horror. True Crime. Romance. Erotic Romance.
I make a hard left toward the aisle of my people, where pastel covers and shirtless men with tropes for days fill the shelves.
My veins throb with unresolved tension as Ryder’s fingers trail along a shelf, his expression full of devilish curiosity. He picks up a book with a half-naked Highlander on the cover, raises a brow, and tucks it under his arm.
“For research,” he says.
With a snort, I give him side-eye, trying to focus on the safety and familiarity of the books in front of me, and not on how his arm brushes against mine as he reaches for another book.
But he’s too tall. The scent of sandalwood and rain is coming off him in waves, and he’s so close, despite trying not to, that when I reach for a book, my arm brushes against his chest.
The contact sets off a fire in my belly that’s a bitch to pretend doesn’t exist.
“We’re going to pick something specific,” he says out of nowhere.
I glance at up him. “What?”
“A book. Find the one that wrecked you emotionally. One ofthose ‘stare-into-space-because-it-destroyed-you-forever’ kind of reads.”
“Why?”
“Because we are going to trade,” he says, eyes dancing. “Forced vulnerability. Think of it as an emotional trust fall. You hand me your book trauma and I’ll hand you mine.”
“You’re a menace.”
“And you’re deflecting.”
“Fine.” Already regretting what I’m about to do, I huff and pullFlockfrom the shelf. “Here. It’s the first in a trilogy. If you think this one is intense, just wait until you read the second. It’ll fuck you up for life.”
He studies the cover, then reads the blurb, nodding in approval. “Bold choice. My turn.”
Pivoting, he takes a couple of steps, snatches a book off a shelf, then turns and hands it to me.
When I check out the cover, my soul shrivels up and dies.
It’s my book.
Heartstruckwas my debut novel. It was the book that started everything. The book that brought Ryder Blackwood and his Marine buddies into fictional existence.
He smirks like he’s already won. “Most transformative read of my life.”
“You’re ridiculous. You didn’t read it, you lived it.”
“Semantics.”
“You cannot seriously expect me to read this to you.”
Entering my personal space, he lowers his voice. “Page one-forty-seven.”
