Page 23 of Black Castle

“But, darling,” he murmurs, and as if a book suddenly catches his eyes on the opposite shelf, he lifts his body off the shelf he is leaning against, then crosses over, pulling out the book. “I am not every man.”

Darling.

He called her darling.

Vivienne’s stomach flips, the familiar, yet rich word echoing in her mind. This isn’t fair. He is treading on dangerous territory with the sweetly reckless way he has thrown the word at her—oblivious to the fact that she is a stupid, hopeless romantic who is capable of falling in love with a man who offers her nothing but a smile, let alone calling her something so personal and passionate.

She grips the book in her hand tighter, desperate to feel something solid before she will collapse.

“What about death?” she asks, searching for something that might crack his composure. “Most are afraid of death.”

Lucan’s lips curl slightly. It isn’t a smile. Not quite. But it makes her spine go rigid.

“Vivienne,” he drawls lazily and her lips part. This is the first time he is calling her by her name. And it sounds so foreign and exquisite.

“Death and I have come a long way, you know,” he continues, flipping through the pages of the book he picked up earlier. It’s House of Death and Ash.

His golden eyes flicker to hers. “I have no reason to be afraid of my oldest friend.”

Vivienne barely processes his words. She is still stuck in the way her name sounded on his tongue.

The rustle of papers and the sound of his footsteps heading away, though, snaps her back to reality. He is by the next shelf, another title in his hand.

“Let’s take that,” she says, picking another copy of the book, making sure it’s the right one. “I haven’t read it. But the buzz has been all over all the book blogs I follow. People say it’s great.”

Her heart still pounds, and his scent is still all over her. But she tries her very best to ignore him. She is quickly developing a massive crush on him, and she can no longer pretend she hasn’t thought about what it will feel like to kiss those full lips of his.

And those thoughts make her feel a tiny level of guilt in her heart. Every time her heart skips a beat, she will think about Ian, and feel like a horrible person that she is. Somehow, thinking of moving on from a man who has clearly made it obvious that it’s over between them, feels like she is doing something really terrible.

But she is a girl obsessed with the idea of being held with a gentle hand, sweet forehead kisses, and a wild sex filled with passion and unspoken words of affection. She is a girl constantly desperate for the attention and devotion of a man. She is insatiable, always hungry for that love and care. And staying nearly a month without it makes her body feel wrong. She wants to move on. But the guilt of ruining Ian Griswyk’s life is holding her back.

She feels like she doesn’t deserve to move on to another man. Not until she has found a way to put Ian’s life back in order.

But she isn’t sure how long she can resist this man before her. Because if he as much as makes it obvious that he is into her today, Ian Griswyk will surely become a nearly forgotten memory.

The soft snap of a book being shut jolts her out of her thoughts again. Her brows furrow. He is returning the book back to the shelf.

“Why?” she asks.

“Reviews are subjective.” He walks to the next side of the shelf, scanning it.

“Um, okay?” She reaches over and plucks out the book he returned.

“The reviewers aren’t you.”

Vivienne blinks, still confused. “And?”

“I came here so I could get books based on your recommendation, not some reviewers in your favorite blogs.” His fingers graze over the spine of other titles on the shelf, then his gaze falls on her again. “So I can’t read it until you confirm it’s worth my time.”

Her heart skips again, her cheeks flushed red. Is he flirting with her or something? Does he have an idea that this is him flirting?

“Okay, how about we both grab a copy each and buddy-read?” she suggests, thrusting a copy into his hand. “We start on the same day, same time and race to the finishing line.”

Lucan exhales through his nose, a thoughtful look crossing his expression as he turns the book over and over in his hands.

“I have never done that before.”

“Me neither,” she beams. “If we like it, we can do it again. Might even become our thing.” She pauses to gauge his expression. “How about that, Snow white?”

---