“What?”
“The book you’re holding. The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.”
“Oh. Um . . . I have. I think . . . yes, in school, years ago.”
Shivers ran through me as he approached, giving me a skeptical look as if he could see through my answer. That made me very uneasy. His eyes were like dark chocolate—the deepest shade of brown. As they scrolled once down the length of my body, my nipples hardened.
“What made you pick out that book in particular?”
Whispers: Interactive StoriesMake your own choices and decide what happens next!
Answering honestly, I said, “The spine.”
“The spine?”
“Yes. It’s black and red and coordinates very well with the room. It popped . . . stood out to me.”
His mouth curved into a slight, cynical smile, although he didn’t laugh. He seemed to be studying me. His intensity made me want to just run. Forget this whole crazy endeavor. He was nothing like I’d pictured, based on the sweetness of that blue note.
This was not what I’d signed up for.
“At least you’re honest, I suppose.” He tilted his head. “Right?”
I was sweating. “What?”
“Honest.”
He said it like he was challenging me.
I cleared my throat. “Yes.”
He inched closer and took the book from my grasp, his fingers brushing against mine. The slight touch felt electrifying. I couldn’t help checking his left hand for a wedding band; there was none.
“This was a controversial book in its time,” he said.
“Why was that, again?” Again. Like I ever knew the answer in the first place.
As I waited for his answer, I breathed in the rustic scent of his musk.
Reed ran his long fingers along the other books on the shelf, not looking at me as he spoke. “It’s a satirical account of the social atmosphere in the South just before the turn of the century, but the author’s take on racism and slavery is interpreted differently by many. Thus the controversy.” He finally faced me. “You were probably taught that in school when you weren’t paying attention.”
I swallowed.
First discovery about Reed Eastwood: condescending asshole.
Condescending asshole—who’s right. I hadn’t been paying attention.
He placed the book back on the shelf and looked at me. “Do you read?”
Every question came out of his mouth in a challenging way.
“No. I . . . used to read romance novels. But I got out of the habit.”
He cocked a mocking brow. “Romance novels?”
“Yes.”
“So tell me, Ms. Darling, how is it that someone who doesn’t read—aside from the occasional romance novel—comes to be interested in a penthouse property featuring a library that takes up twenty-five percent of the entire space?”
I said the first thing that came to mind—anything to avoid awkward silence with this man.
“I think the library adds character. Being surrounded by books is very sexy . . . cozy . . . I don’t know. There’s just something intriguing about it.”
God, that was a stupid answer.
He continued looking at me inquisitively, like he was expecting more. His gaze made me very uncomfortable, not only because he was so serious but also because he was so attractive. His dark hair was parted to the side, and unlike the rest of him, it wasn’t perfectly coiffed. He was also sporting three-day scruff on his chin. Reed had a dangerous energy about him that contradicted his proper attire. Something in his eyes told me he’d have no trouble bending me over and smacking my ass so hard that I’d feel it for days. At least, that’s where my mind went.
Being in the quiet of the library, coupled with the power of his stare, was making me tense.
He finally said, “Shall we tour the rest of the space?”
“Yes . . . please. That’s why I’m here.”
“Right,” he muttered.
I breathed a sigh of relief, grateful for the change of environment. The library had started to feel like a dungeon.
Reed was equally impressive from the back. Watching the curve of his ass move against his tailored pants, I tried to fight the sexual thoughts in my head.
He led me into the impressive kitchen. “We have mahogany floors. As you can see, it’s gourmet—designed with the chef in mind and recently renovated. Countertops are granite, center island is marble. Bosch stainless steel appliances. Everything is top-of-the-line. Cabinets are custom white lacquer. Do you cook, Ms. Darling?”
Straightening my black sheath dress, I said, “I do, on occasion, yes.”
“Great. Well, feel free to look around. You can let me know if you have any questions.”
Was he starting to act normal with me? My pulse began to calm down a bit.
I strolled around the massive kitchen, my heels clicking throughout the room. He leaned his muscular forearms against the center island, his body still as his eyes followed me. The break in his intensity had apparently been short-lived. It was back.
Forcing my eyes away from him, I nodded. “Very nice.”
“Questions?”
“No.”
“Ready to move on?”
“Yes.”
The next stop was the master suite. The room was dim, but the large window in the space that displayed a spectacular view of the city more than made up for that.