Book Lovers(73)

“Oh, I know.” I stand too. I can’t dance around it any longer—it’s not working anyway. I can’t do anything about the Libby piece of things, but this—this can be resolved. One way or another, the wall of tension is coming down today.

I take a breath and go on: “Especially if something’s going on with you and your ex.”

His eyes dart back to mine. “It’s not.”

“You saw her last night, didn’t you?”

His jaw flexes. “I was working. She just stopped by.”

I feel my gaze narrow skeptically. “For a planned visit?”

He shifts his weight. “Yes,” he admits.

“To buy a book?” I say.

His jaw tightens again. “Not exactly.”

“To hang out?”

“To talk.”

“As ex-fiancés so often do.”

“It’s a small town,” he says. “We can’t avoid each other. We needed to clear the air.”

“Ah,” I say.

“Don’t ah,” he says, sounding frustrated now. “Nothing happened between us, and it’s not going to.”

“It’s none of my business,” I say.

“Exactly.” Somehow this seems to make him more frustrated, which makes me more acutely, hungrily aware of the space shrinking between us. “Just like it’s none of my business if you date my cousin.”

“Whom I have no intention of seeing again,” I say. “And with whom I wouldn’t have gone out even once if I’d known he was your cousin.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Charlie insists.

“And you didn’t either, by spending time with Amaya,” I reply. We are either too good or too bad at fighting. We are viciously trading support for each other’s romantic lives.

He one-ups me with, “Shepherd’s a great guy. Most eligible bachelor in town. He’s perfect for your list, checks all your boxes.”

“What about Amaya?” I throw back. “How’s she measure up to yours?”

“Doesn’t make the cut,” he says.

“Must be a pretty long list.”

“One item,” he replies. “Very specific.”

The way he’s looking at me wakes up my skin, my bloodstream, my want. “Too bad it’s not going to work out for you guys,” I say.

“And I’m sorry to hear about you and Shepherd.” His eyes flash. “I thought you two had a nice time.”

“Oh, I did,” I say. “Just turns out a nice time isn’t what I really want right now.”

He stares at me, eyes blackening, and I hope I’m as legible to him now as ever, that he knows I’m done brushing off this thing between us. Scratchily, he says, “And what is it you want, Stephens?”

“I just . . .” Now or never. I feel like I’m readying myself for a skydive. “I want to be here with you and not worry about what comes next.”

He steps closer, my heart whirring as he invades my space. “Nora,” he says gently.

“It’s okay if you don’t want that,” I say. “But I’m thinking about you way too much. And the more space I try to put between us, the worse it is.”

His lips twist; his eyes glint. “So you’re trying to get this out of your system?”

“Maybe,” I admit. “But maybe I also just want something that’s easy for once.”

His brow lifts, teasing. “Now I’m easy?”

Yes, I think, to me, you are the easiest person in the world. But I say, “God, I hope.”

Charlie laughs, but it fades quickly and his gaze drops to the side. “What if I already know this can’t go anywhere,” he says, “no matter how much we might end up wanting it to?”

“Is there someone else?”

His eyes lift, widened. “No. It’s nothing like that. It’s just that—”

“Charlie,” I say. “I told you. I don’t want to think about what comes next. I’m not even sure I could handle that right now.”

He studies me, his jaw working. “Are you sure?”

“Completely,” I say, and mean it. “If you want, I’ll even sign a napkin.”

I’m not sure which of us started it, but his mouth is on mine, warm and hungry, his hands running down my sides and back up my front, taking in as much of me as he can at once. No hesitancy, no politeness, only want. My fingers twine into his shirt as he hauls me against him, closing every gap we can find.

Within seconds, he’s yanking my blouse out of my skirt and his hands are up the front of it, so perfectly rough and warm that the silk is unbearable by comparison. A desperate sound twists through me, and he spins us around, pushing me onto the table, hiking my skirt up my thighs so he can step in against me.

I pull him to me, arching into his touch. His fingers curl around the back of my neck and knot into my hair, his teeth on my throat.

“We can’t do this in a library,” I hiss into his mouth, though my hands are still moving, skimming up his back beneath his shirt, nails scraping his skin and leaving goose bumps.

He murmurs, tone chiding, “I thought you didn’t want to worry about the rules.”