Page 44 of Claim to Fame

“I’ve already read them.”

“You’ve readallthe books?” she teased.

His lips lifted in a smirk. “All of her books,” he said, inclining his head towards the book in Hannah’s hand.

“You’ve read AK Wild?” she asked in disbelief.

Ethan stepped closer, backing her up against the bookshelf behind her and leaning down until his lips ghosted over her ear. “Every one.”

A shiver ran down her spine at the gravel in his tone, the heat of his breath on her throat. “Which one is your favorite?”

“That one,” he answered, indicatingThe Lady’s Knights.

Hannah scanned his face for any hint of a lie, but she knew better—Ethan didn’t lie. His gaze fell to her lips, his presence crowding her against the bookshelf. He dropped her hand and wrapped an arm around her lower back, angling her hips towards him as he somehow moved closer.

“Get the book, Hannah.”

She set the book down on a little side table and tilted her chin up towards him, her body practically begging for him to kiss her. “Maybe you’ll read it with me later.”

His brow furrowed for a moment, his eyes darting between her own. “Maybe.”

Then his lips were on hers, soft but insistent, searching, seeking. As though this was their first kiss. In a way, she supposed, it was—their first kiss since they’d begun sharing parts of themselves with each other that couldn’t be revealed by undressing. Their first kiss that wasn’t about how many orgasms they could wring from each other before time ran out.

At least, she hoped that wasn’t what they were doing this time.

Because she could no longer keep the Ethan she knew from Boston, the one who made her come harder than anyone had made her come before, separate from this new Ethan who picked out picture books for his granddaughter and couldn’t cook himself dinner. And she was tired of pretending she wanted to.

He parted her lips with a sweep of his tongue, licking into her mouth, and she opened for him, lifting her hips to meet his. The books he’d been holding fell to the ground at their feet as he slid a hand into her hair, his knee slipping between her legs. She reached her arms around him to urge him closer. He kissed her senseless, his muscular thigh pressing deliciously against the desperate ache between her legs, and she ground against him, whimpering.

“I found a few more—woah,” the bookseller cut off, turning away as he came upon them in the aisle.

Ethan and Hannah broke apart, panting. He dropped to his knees, sweeping up the pile of books as Hannah pressed a hand to her mouth, embarrassment mixing with the arousal still flooding her system.

“Sorry to interrupt,” the bookseller chuckled. “Just thought you might be interested in this one for Julie.”

Ethan grabbed the book, adding it to the stack. “Sorry, Mac.”

The man shook his head, smiling. “No apology necessary. In fact, I think it’s safe to say those authors would very much approve of what you two were getting up to,” he said, indicating the shelf of romance novels.

Hannah groaned and buried her face in her hands.

“I think we’re ready to check out,” Ethan said, gesturing towards the register at the front of the store.

Hannah hung back as Ethan paid for the books, includingThe Lady’s Knights, before following him out of the store into the too-bright sunshine. “I’m mortified,” she said as soon as the door closed behind them. “I don’t think I’ve been caught making out with someone like that since I was a teenager.”

Ethan pressed his lips together in a—mostly failed—attempt to smother his laugh.

“It’s not funny!”

That only made him laugh harder. And the harder he laughed, the more Hannah pouted, until he caught her around the waist and pressed another kiss to her lips, hard and fast. “Come on. I believe soup was next on the agenda.”

A few doors down from the bookstore was a tiny café with oversized window boxes and a cobblestone path leading from the sidewalk to the bright yellow front door. It looked like it had once been a rather narrow house, and the door was barely tall enough for Ethan to fit through without ducking. Inside, the room opened into a small waiting area with a pastry counter. One entire wall had been turned into a chalkboard with beautifully rendered chalk flowers and butterflies highlighting daily specials like The Marcy (a grilled chicken sandwich with pesto aioli) and The Nana (a Thanksgiving-style turkey sandwich on a house-made roll).

A short woman with a septum piercing and purple ombre hair fading to gray at the tips appeared behind the counter. “What can I get you folks?”

“Did Maria make her caldo verde today?” Ethan asked.

“You know it,” the woman said.

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