Page 29 of The Huckleberry Bookshop

The doors closed. The elevator moved downward again.

“They were expensive, weren’t they?” she asked, immediately wishing she hadn’t.

“I have a deal,” he said automatically. She wasn’t certain if he truly had some sort of bulk discount with a jeweler—he might, given the number of women who normally hung around him. But she got the feeling he was actually masking something.

His warm palms had settled on her shoulders. She watched his Adam’s apple bob as he slid his hands upward until they were cupping her head, his thumbs caressing her jaw.

She held her breath as his body pressed against hers.

Her eyelids drifted lower.

The doors dinged open again, and sounds from the lobby filled the elevator. Chad blinked, stepping backward.

He cleared his throat, then got out on the wrong floor.

Chapter 6

“How’s it taste?” Mullens asked, leaning against the counter in the bookshop’s kitchen. It was just the two of them and the camera on an early Saturday morning, having graduated from Nuvella and Howell’s school of film making.

Athena had teased him like they were friends earlier in the week when they’d ridden the elevator together. She’d maybe even flirted a bit, revealing that playful side he’d seen her expose only when she thought he wasn’t around.

He’d been unable to sleep or focus since that ride. His thoughts had been stuck, wondering what might have happened if the elevator doors hadn’t opened.

Would he have kissed her? Would she have let him?

That would have been a miracle—as big as her seeming to have forgiven him for the whole photo shoot mishap. Then again, maybe he’d just caught her in a moment in that elevator, because today she was hyper-focused, her mind clearly not on him.

He missed fun Athena and wanted her to come out and play.

For the camera.

Ha. Who was he kidding? He wanted all of Athena, and preferably in his arms.

“The walnuts?” he prompted, when she didn’t answer his earlier question.

Athena, concentrating more than he figured was necessary on slicing a fresh pear, grabbed one of the still-warm, lightly candied walnut halves from the dish and held it out. She was in the zone, forgetting about the camera.

It was clear she expected him to put out his palm for it. Instead, he crouched slightly, lining his mouth up with her fingers. Time to make some magic happen.

She jerked in surprise when his warm breath danced across her knuckles. As she flinched, his mouth closed, nipping at her fingers.

“Did you just bite me?” Her dark brown eyes went wide.

“And usually women have to ask,” he replied, waggling his eyebrows.

“How did I get so lucky?” She shook out her hand as though trying to flick away pain. His teeth had barely grazed her, but he knew that wasn’t what she was recovering from.

He was messing with her mind.

Athena focused on her pears again, braising them for the arugula salad. She talked to the camera, informing their future viewers about cooking temperatures, what sort of flavors went together, and how to be brave in the kitchen without ruining the entire meal.

“Let me taste.” He was at her elbow, leaning over her dish of pears.

She tipped the bowl toward the camera as if she’d been cooking for an audience all her life. “You’ll notice they’re perfect. Bits of golden edges. Not mushy. Firm in all the right ways.”

“Like me.”

“Like you,” she said absently, spearing a pear with a fork. She held it out. “Careful. It’s hot.”

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