Page 37 of The Battle of the Bookshops
“Wait here,” said Roman, slipping off his morning coat and, for the second time that day, wrapping Jules in it to counter the cruel wind that was blowing up the high street, straight from the sea.
Tired, but with her headache much reduced now that she was away from the noise, Jules pulled the coat around her gratefully and leaned against the window of the shop. The warmth of the coat—and, let’s face it, all the alcohol she had drunk—made her sleepy, relaxed, and content.
For once, just maybe, she was happy to let Roman take charge.
Chapter 16
Half asleep, Jules began to wonder if he had gotten stuck. Just as she was thinking of following in his footsteps, there was a rattle and a clunk, as he released the lock and opened the door wide.
“Madam,” he announced, with a little bow.
Jules ducked into the shop, under his arm, slipping off his morning coat as he closed the door behind them both. “Thank you,” she said, handing it back to him with a genuine smile.
“I like seeing you in it,” he said, holding her gaze. Mesmerized, Jules found it impossible to look away. “In fact, I just like seeing you,” he went on, lowering his voice, so that Jules had to lean forward—wanted to lean forward—to close the distance between them.
She stepped toward him, one step, two steps... He remained completely still, one hand holding the coat, the other hanging relaxed by his side. His arctic-blue eyes, with those impossibly thick, dark lashes, fixed on hers, breaking her gaze only to drop languidly down to her mouth and back again, in an endless moment.
Time stood still.
“I want to kiss you,” she whispered. Her words sounded odd in the silence.
Roman gave a little nod, inviting her in, his face grave. Still, he didn’t move, waiting for her to come to him.
She remembered all the stories she had read about vampires. Deadly. Impossible to resist. But they still needed an invitation from a willing victim. Jules was the prey. And yet, she stepped forward.
She placed her hands on the tops of his arms tentatively, with just an inch of air between her body and his. She could feel his body heat and was aching to press herself against him. What was this madness?
“Our families have hated each other for centuries,” she whispered, closing her eyes and swaying slightly.
“About time we healed the rift then, don’t you think?” he said softly. “The Montagues and the Capulets, united at last maybe? Romeo and Juliet fell in love, after all...”
“And look what happened to them,” she murmured, but she didn’t pull away. Instead, she reached up on tiptoes and, with inexorable slowness, leaned in, brushing her lips against his, feeling the stubble on his chin, the pillowy softness of his mouth, and breathing in the smell of him, his clean hair, the remains of his lime aftershave, his animal warmth.
For a long moment, he let her explore as she drank him in, and then, consent fully established, he responded, at first gently, and then, pulling her against him, wrapping his arms around her to prevent her from falling, he kissed her on and on, until her stomach disappeared and her head spun.
“Jules, Jules, Jules...” he said softly as they eventually broke apart. He was shaking his head in wonderment. “What’s that short for? Juliet?”
“Julia,” she said, with a little moue. She had always hated her full name. “Nobody calls me that, though.”
“Julia,” he rumbled, running his finger down her cheek. “I like it. It can be my own special name for you.”
Suddenly, she started liking her full name a whole lot more.
“What does this mean?” she said, drowning in his gaze, wondering how she had never noticed the tiny white scar that dissected his left eyebrow. Far from being a flaw, it seemed to give even more impact to his deep blue eyes, now almost black, his pupils were so dilated in the dark shop, lit only by the streetlamp outside.
“I don’t know what it means,” he said, smiling gently. “Everything? Nothing? Up to you... But I know I like it. And I like you, Julia. Even if your family nameisCapelthorne.”
Time drifted as they stood there embracing. Kissing.
“I should go,” he said, drawing away and sighing. “It’s late. You’re tired, and they’re expecting me back at the town hall.”
“No,” she protested. But what did she want?
Okay, so what she really wanted was to drag him upstairs and check out the taut abs he was clearly hiding under his fine white lawn shirt.
Only that wouldn’t be wise, would it?
Reluctantly, she ran her fingers lightly down his chest and stepped away. It felt like the hardest thing she had ever done.
