Page 11 of The Rejected Wife

She shoots me a look. "Of course, I’d rather you did, but—" She shakes her head. "Forget it."

She begins to move away, but I step in front of her. "No, tell me."

She blows out a breath."Umm, no, it’s just that"—she hesitates—"it’s not something I imagined any man would ever do for me."

Something in her voice gives me pause.Does she not realize she deserves this, and so much more?I bend my knees and peer into her face. "It was worth bringing you here just to see that look of wonder on your face when you walked in."

She flushes. For a few seconds, our gazes stay connected. The air is spiked with longing. The attraction between us roars to the surface. She must sense it, for her throat moves as she swallows. Her pupils dilate. She begins to sway toward me.

Then, as if realizing how her body is betraying her, she wrenches her eyes away. Her gaze falls on a shelf, and she does a double take. "Is that—" She hurries over to it and reads out the category heading, "Mothers, Madonnas, and Mamma Mia?" She laughs. "Whoever comes up with these titles?"

"That would be Giorgina, the owner of the store." I walk over and stand behind Priscilla.

Then, because I can’t help it, I lean in and sniff the air above her. The sweet scent of apple blossoms goes straight to my head. My groin tightens. I’ve been painfully aroused since I made her come. And being this close to her turns my blood to lava. I want to scoop her up in my arms and carry her off to my place where I can have my wicked way with her.

Only, I want more than a quick one-night stand. I stiffen. Is that why I was unable to let go of her after rescuing her from the mercy of the train door? Is that why I asked her to have a coffee with me? Is that why I was unable to stop myself from going down on my knees and worshipping her? Is that why I had to find a way to spend the rest of the day and night with her?

I feel drawn to her in a way I haven’t with anyone else—enough to realize she’s unique. To wonder if these emotions she elicits within me are something I’ll ever find with anyone else. To wonder if there’s a future for us together.A future?I lean back, putting distance between us.

Me, who’s never wanted to settle down—is so enamored with this woman I just met, that I can’t fathom a life without her in it. Damn. It’s why I want to spend the night getting to know her better, and not only in the carnal sense.No…I need more.I need to find out everything about her. I need to…get to the bottom of this strange attraction to her.

She pulls out a book. I look at it over her shoulder. It has a beautiful flower cover, and the title says,The Proposalby L. Steele. Then, she flips it open to a page, and I read,he slides his fingers up the creamy flesh and parts her?—

"Whoops, didn’t mean for you to read that." She snaps the book shut and is about to slide it back on the shelf, but I hold out the carry basket I grabbed on my way in. "Drop it in here. I know you want it."

She gives me a funny look. "How do you know that?"

"You ran your palm over the cover, and you picked it up unerringly from the line-up, so"—I raise the basket—"go on. I know you want to."

She looks torn by my urging, then slips the book into the basket.

"Good, now what other books do you want to get?"

“Uh”—she hesitates—“not sure I’m going to be able to afford them." Then her forehead furrows. "How do you know I want to get more of them?" she asks me in a suspicious voice.

"The way you ate up the shelves when you walked in? And how you forgot about me when you saw the paperbacks?" I assume a woebegone expression. "Never thought I’d be envious of books for the attention of a beautiful woman. But I know when I’m outnumbered."

She blushes, then laughs. "Glad you know when you can’t be competition."

"Oh, trust me, I know." I survey her smiling expression. It was worth bringing her to this hidden bookstore just to see the glow on her face.

Our gazes hold, that chemistry simmering under the surface flaring again. The flush on her face deepens. She glances back at the titles on the shelves. Without hesitation, she grabs two more and drops them into the basket. She scans the shelves, picks out a few more, then a few others. By the time we finish one wall, the basket I’m holding is overflowing.

I grab an empty one, and she keeps adding to the pile. We move to the opposite wall, where she pulls a few more selections from the self-help section until this basket is overflowing, too.

My biceps flex. My shoulders bulge with the strain of carrying her haul. I bench press four hundred pounds every day; carrying two loaded baskets of books is nothing. But I gotta admit, it’s heavier than I thought it would be.

She turns around and takes in her stash, then gasps. "Oh my gosh, that's more than I realized. Let me go through and pick out which ones to keep. I can’t afford to buyallof them."

"Don’t worry about it; if you want more?—"

"No, no, I wasn't going to buy all of them." She reaches toward the basket.

I hold it out of reach. "Nonsense, you want these books, and you will have them." I nod toward the shelves we haven’t come to yet. "Sure you don’t want to look at them."

She looks at them longingly, then back at the baskets I’m carrying. "Nope." She shakes her head.

"You sure?"

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