Page 187
“How so?”
“When you feel dead inside, you inevitably reach for things that make you feel alive. Pain. Adrenaline. Drugs. That’s how vices are born. That’s how you became my obsession. You are what makes me feel alive. Like a breath of air after drowning.”
Setting my hand to his cheek, I run the pad of my finger across the grisly scars there, ones I hardly notice nowadays. “I think I’m in love with you, Lucian Blackthorne. And you don’t have to say it back to me.” I can’t be certain, because I’ve never loved a man in my life, and likewise, no man has ever spoken those words to me in return.
“Everything I’ve ever loved, truly loved, has been ripped away from me.” Brows stern, he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “And that scares the shit out of me, where you’re concerned.” Even the times when he’s hard and aloof, I’ve felt his care for me. I know something’s there, just like the shadows on the walls back at the manor. I don’t have to see it, or hear it, to feel it everywhere. He doesn’t have to say it.
I push up onto my tiptoes to kiss him. Glancing around the shop, I sigh. “I’m a business woman now. You know what that means?”
“You’ll be wearing skirts more often than not?”
“It means you’ll get to see my ruthless side.”
“They’re books, Isa. Not million dollar mergers.”
“You don’t know book hoarders like I do. They take their assets very seriously.”
Leaning to the side, I look past him to check the Closed sign on the door, and back away, removing my long winter trench coat.
Golden eyes watching my every move, he keeps his distance.
I drop the coat to the floor and step back, deeper into the rows of books, away from the front windows of the store.
He steps toward me, tipping his head in curiosity. “What’s this?”
“Is it only boats you christen? Or bookstores, too? I’m not sure.”
Sliding his black trench over his shoulders, he tosses the garment onto the floor beside mine. “I’m fairly certain you christen both, but you’re not old enough for a bottle of champagne.”
“That’s too bad.” I continue to back myself toward the wall of books behind me, until I’m well out of sight of anyone passing by the shop. “I hear it’s bad luck if you don’t. Sort of like crossing paths with a Blackthorne.”
A crooked smile kicks up the corner of his lips as he steps toward me, until caging me against the books. “Then, I guess you’re screwed.”
“I guess I am.”
Slipping his fingers beneath the hem of my sweater, he yanks it over my head, his eyes alight with fascination as he runs his hands over the lace bra, one he bought for me, no less. Tongue sweeping over his lips, he yanks the fabric down, popping a nipple free, and devours the hard tip of my flesh. He hikes my leg up over his hip, testing the seam of my A-line skirt, and his eyes roll back the moment his fingers make contact with damp panties. “Fuck me. You do this on purpose.”
“If it disappoints you, I’m happy to wear grannies with panty liners from here on out.”
“No grannies. And no liners. I like your panties wet.” Burying his face in my neck, his mouth hunts my throat, licking and biting and kissing. Frantic and impatient, he leaves a hot, wet trail of kisses across my neck, over my collarbone and back up again, while his fingers dig into my thigh. I’ve never known a man to make my breath stutter and muscles tremble with his kiss, the way Lucian’s does. It’s like a full body reaction.
He hoists me up and sets me down on the smooth wooden surface of a nearby reading table, the same table where I once sat while losing myself in racy bodice rippers, dreaming of one day knowing that kind of passion. The hard edge presses against my palm, and I arch into him.
“You seem feisty today,” I breathe, just before his teeth press against my throat, pushing a moan past my lips.
“I’ve never fucked you in a bookstore.” The clink of his belt is the only warning before he springs himself free, and with my leg hiked, he pushes my panties aside and prods himself at my entrance.
“And that turns you on?”
“Everything about you turns me on.” Flames in his gaze ignite, when he drives his hips forward, and I melt against him. His palm hits my throat, and he squeezes while his greedy lips devour the air between us. The intensity of his kiss is stronger than before, as if something is different between us, all of a sudden. He’s not just kissing me. He’s claiming me. Owning me. And every drive of his hips proves the point, as I willfully surrender to him.
Between the grip of my throat and his mouth on mine, I can’t breathe. My chest tugs for air, while my muscles tighten and quiver, edging me closer to release.
Every slam of his hips is rough and determined, and the growls against my lips only punctuate the frenzy of his movements. With each powerful stroke, his muscles tense and flex as he takes me like an animal. Raw masculinity radiates from every pore on this man’s body, and when he ups the pace, I realize just how small and fragile I am beneath him.
How easily he could break me, if he wanted.
The air wanes inside my lungs, my head growing dizzy with his relentless drive toward climax. As if sensing my urge to pass out, he releases me, and his eyes are pools of liquid flames searing me from the inside out.
