Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 94076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94076 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Sounds about right.
I snap it closed and put it back on the shelf. Beside it are rows and rows of gilded spines with names like Brontë. Poe. Wilde. And Chaucer.
How I’d love to curl up with one of these and read it from cover to cover.
I get so engrossed in the books, I don’t hear the door open.
“You get lost, little Firecracker?”
The voice comes from behind me.
I swing around, and standing in the doorway is Lars.
CHAPTER 11
Lars
She looks like a deer caught in headlights.
She’s startled but quickly recovers with a cute smile and twinkling eyes.
“I’m a sucker for the classics,” she says, holding up an old book of fairytales.
I usually know when someone is lying. Which is why her reaction confuses me. I can see her genuine love for the books shining in her eyes. But at the same time, my gut tells me she’s up to something.
She’s not an outsider looking for club cock for the night. But she’s looking for something.
I cross my arms. “You like the classics, huh?”
“Oh yes, I’m a big fan. Do you read?”
“I do.” I tilt my head slightly. “I highly recommend Carmilla by Edith Wharton and The House of Mirth by J.S. Le Fanu. I think we’ve got those on the shelves somewhere.”
She cocks an eyebrow. “Really?”
I smile because I’ve just caught her out on a lie. And I’m about to tell her that when she gives me a wicked smile and says, “Except you got the authors mixed up. J.S. Le Fanu wrote Carmilla and Edith Wharton wrote The House of Mirth. But then, you already knew that didn’t you.” She puts the book back on the shelf and turns to face me. “If you want to trip me up, you’ll need to try much harder than that, Enforcer.”
“So you are hiding something.”
“Aren’t we all,” she says cryptically, slowly moving toward the door.
I put an arm out to block her path. “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t call security and have you thrown in the dungeon.”
“That’s a bit dramatic, isn’t it? Does this place even have a dungeon?”
“It’s an old castle, what do you think?”
She lifts her brows. “You’re six feet six and I’m five foot nothing. Your pride should be wounded, Bike Monster, if you need help handling the likes of me.”
I can’t help myself. The laugh leaves my lips before I can stop it. This firecracker has just thrown out a challenge, and things just got interesting.
Reaching behind me, I close the door. But when I turn the key and lock it, I see the alarm in her eyes and the sudden panic on her face. I narrow my eyes, not expecting the little firecracker to show any fear. She swallows, and I can read the fear in her expression. Don’t hurt me. And I’ll be damned, it’s got me curious.
“What are you doing?” she asks.
“I think you and I need to talk.”
“Why did you lock the door?”
The panic in her voice is in stark contrast to the sassiness from mere minutes ago.
“I’ll unlock it when you’ve told me what you’re really doing in here.” I gesture to the large couch opposite the fireplace.
She glances at the couch and then back at me, her eyes sharpening. She knows she’s out of options. Reluctantly, she starts to move toward the couch but stops just short of it and spins around, then catches me completely off guard by reaching up and pulling my face down for a kiss.
No.
Stop.
Don’t.
Yeah, right.
If this gorgeous spitfire wants a kiss, then I’ll happily give her one.
And damn, her lips taste sweeter than I had imagined.
But they’re nothing but an attempt to distract me—which makes me even more suspicious.
“Nice try, darlin’.” I smile against her lips as I slowly unwind her fingers from the back of my neck.
She steps back and pouts. Fiery blue eyes gaze up at me.
I point to the couch. “Sit.”
She reluctantly does as I tell her and sinks to the couch, crossing her arms as she looks up at me.
“Now, let’s try that again. What the hell are you up to?”
“Fine, if you really need to know. I’d heard about the library, and I wanted to see it for myself.”
She’s lying. Or maybe half-lying because there is that genuine affection in her eyes again. But something is off.
“You’ll have to do better than that,” I say, taking a seat next to her.
“You know people in town talk about this place. For years I’ve heard about the library. Is it true Beast gave it to his wife as a wedding gift?”
Yep, this one is all about distraction. “You’ll have to ask Beast.”
She fixes me with her baby blues then leans closer. “I’m asking you.”
I lean in. “It’s not my story to tell.”
She leans even closer. “I’m really not here for any other reason.”
Our faces are close. “I don’t believe you.”