Page 31 of Book People

I snatch the letter back off her.

‘Hey,’ she says, making a grab for it, but I hold it away, staring down at the initial at the end of the letter.

And I will be your Catherine.

Forever, C

So . . . the gossip was right. Hedidhave an affair with someone. And he kept all the letters she wrote to him, because, surely, those are her letters in red ink. Unless they’re from my great-grandmother . . . But no. By all accounts Grace Blackwood wasn’t one for reading, and had hated the bookshop. She definitely wouldn’t have lovedWuthering Heights.

‘C,’ Miss Jones says. ‘Who could that be?’

‘It’s not my great-grandmother, I can tell you that.’ I stare at the note, though what I’m trying to find, I’m not sure.

‘Why not?’ Miss Jones shifts on the couch, getting closer. She’s reading over my shoulder, I can feel the warmth of her right next to me. I can smell her scent. It’s sweet, vanilla maybe. ‘Can you tell by the handwriting?’

My mouth waters. The red ink on the page I’m holding blurs and I struggle to remember what question she asked.

Something about my great-grandmother.

‘Grace didn’t like the bookshop,’ I say, every inch of me aware of every inch of Miss Jones right beside me. ‘She wanted my great-grandfather to get a better job and she didn’t like the village. She didn’t like him spending so much time in the shop. At least that’s what my grandfather said.’

Miss Jones leans forward a little more, her breath against the side of my neck. ‘Open another one. Go on, let’s see what they all say.’

I grit my teeth. ‘Personal space, Miss Jones. You’ve heard of it, I presume?’

Take off your clothes, Miss Jones. Let me see how pretty you are.

‘What?’ She sounds startled. ‘Why?’

It’s too much. I turn before I can stop myself and meet her grey eyes staring back. ‘Because if you don’t move away, God help me but I won’t be responsible for what I might do.’

Chapter Nine

I would never have imagined that a kiss could change the world.

But yours did.

C

KATE

I don’t realise how close I am to him until he turns his head and his gaze finds mine. Through the lenses of his glasses, his eyes are electric. He’s all essence, this man, and I have the strangest thought: he’s all passion or he’s all ice, there’s no in-between. Does he know there’s a middle ground? Does he know how to be in it?

It must be exhausting being him, with no place to rest.

It’s instinct that has me raising a hand to touch his cheek, for what reason I don’t know. Maybe in comfort or reassurance, I’m not sure which. Not that he lets me touch him, because his own hand comes up, so fast, and his fingers close around my wrist, stopping me.

His grip is strong and warm. Not too hard to hurt, but enough to know I couldn’t break it if I tried. His eyes are blazing.

Aisling told me that he looked at me like a wolf looks at a rabbit and I can see what she means now. Heisa wolf. And he’s hungry.

A hot shock passes through me. I’ve made a mistake, a bad one, but the letters got me carried away and I wanted to look at them. I hadn’t known how close I was to him until it was too late. Until he turned and looked at me and I’m trapped now. Not by his grip, I know he’d let me go if I asked. No, I’m trapped by his gaze. By the lightning crackling in his eyes.

I can’t remember the last time a man looked at me like that. I don’t think Jasper ever did.

‘What are you doing?’ he growls. ‘Touching me, Miss Jones, is a very bad idea.’

I know it’s a bad idea. I know very well, and yet still I ask, ‘Why?’ It’s a goad and my heart is beating far too hard and far too fast. But I want to see. I want to know what he would do if I pushed him.

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