Page 42 of Book People

Sebastian’s gaze is opaque. I can’t tell what he’s thinking. Then he says in the same cool, measured tone, ‘It really is excellent, Mr Parsons. Easy reading, naturally, but with some bite to it.’

I shouldn’t feel pleased that he’s backing me up, but I do.

Mr Parsons looks down at the book I’m holding as if I’m handing him a dead rat. ‘Two pages,’ he says to me. ‘That’s my rule. If it doesn’t engage me in two pages then I won’t read on.’

‘Fine.’ I wave the book at him. ‘Read two pages. I’ll wait.’

Again, he glances at Sebastian, probably wondering what on earth this madwoman is doing trying to force books on him.

But I don’t care. I’m trying to prove a point, that I know what I’m doing. That I’m good at this. That I’m not just fluffy blonde hair, and dogs, and costumes and events. It’s the books, it’s always been the books, and I know what I’m talking about. No matter what Jasper said about me.

Sebastian nods, then gestures at the leather armchair positioned in a nook by the old fireplace, where the fictionsection is. ‘Please.’ He smiles slightly. ‘I think it will surprise you.’

Mr Parsons has a dubious expression on his face, but he takes the book, goes over to the chair and sits down. Opens it up.

‘What is this in aid of?’ Sebastian asks me,sotto voce.

‘He’s your most snobbish of customers, yes?’ I reply.

‘Nothing wrong with appreciating good writing.’

‘He’s a book snob,’ I insist. ‘I want to see if Lisa Underwood would be a drawcard for him too.’

‘The two-page rule has been the downfall of many an author . . . I want you, Miss Jones. But you might prove to be an addiction I cannot quit, so it’s preferable if I do not even try.’

He says the whole thing in the same tone of voice and it takes me a moment to realise exactly what he’s said.

I might be an addiction. An addiction he cannot quit. I have never been an addiction for anyone and now I feel hot all over.

‘Would that be so bad?’ I whisper.

‘Yes.’ He is gazing steadily at Mr Parsons, not me. ‘Yes, it would. The Blackwood men cannot be trusted with women, Miss Jones. We do not treat them well and . . . you deserve much better than that.’

I feel even hotter. Again Jasper enters my thoughts, the bastard. He never talked to me about what I deserved. Only about what he did.

‘It’s just sex, Sebastian,’ I say, trying to minimise the moment for both of us.

Only then does he deign to look at me. ‘It will never be just sex with you, Miss Jones.’

I can see it then, in his eyes. Conviction. Certainty. As if he knows already what it will be like and that it will destroy not only me, but him too.

I want to tell him he’s being dramatic, but I know deep in my heart that he’s not. He’s right. It will never be just sex betweenus. It will be incendiary and that’s a door we should keep firmly closed.

I don’t even like him, yet I can sense, just beyond the borders of that, something more. Potential. Possibilities. What if I dig beneath the surface of this attraction between us? What if I dig beneath the surface of him? What will I find if I do?

Something amazing, I just know it.

But I know, too, that I’ll be committing myself if I do. That I won’t be able to change track or course. I’ll have to follow my curiosity wherever it leads, even to heartbreak.

Deep thoughts for a sunny morning in early summer.

Too deep.

‘Look at those letters,’ I say, because I can’t think of anything else. ‘I think Lisa will love the mystery of it. Especially when we don’t know who Sebastian was writing to.’ I look up at him. His eyes are so blue it’s almost painful. ‘Keep me posted about Mr Parsons.’

Then I turn around and leave the shop before I say something or do something I regret.

Back inside the haven of Portable Magic, the shelves full of books that normally give me such calm and happiness, now make me feel flat.

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