Billionaires Dollar Series

He smiles, a crooked thing that shows me just how devastatingly handsome he is. “If I was, I certainly don’t mind. But I think I made that pretty clear at the time.”

A flush creeps up my cheeks. Oh, he had. “You were unexpected.”

“Likewise. And I have to say, I’ve never been referred to as a stud before.”

My flush darkens. “Oh, that was… it seemed appropriate at the moment.”This is from NôvelDrama.Org.

He nods. “But not now?”

“I don’t… You’re impossible.”

His grin is back. “So I’ve been told.”

I glance from him to the bookcase behind him, my suspicions returning. “Why are you here?”

“I came to buy a book.”

“Really?”

“Yes. I am, in fact, literate.”

I lean against the shelf and try to ignore the fact that he’s seen me naked, that I know the groan he makes when he loses himself. “Well, in that case, I’m here to help. What are you looking for?”

He smiles knowingly, aware of the bluff I’m trying to call. “I want something that’ll make my heart race.”

“Horror?”

“No,” he says. “Something else.”

I clear my throat. “A thriller, perhaps? I have one I’m sure you’ll love.”

He sweeps out his arm. “After you, Skye.”

He follows me to the other side of the store, footsteps echoing mine. He might have asked for a book that would set his heart aflame, but mine’s the one that’s racing.

“It should be here…” I murmur, running my finger along the length of spines until I find the one I need.

I hold it up to him.

His gaze flickers from the cover to me, wide and aware. Then he chuckles softly. “Well, well,” he says, reaching out to take it from me.

“It’s a thriller,” I say.

“I can see that.” His eyes scan the back, and I know what he’s finding there. A description of a billionaire hero running rampant. Murders in penthouses, secrets hidden beneath silk and money, all to conceal a drug ring.

“Interesting,” he says, voice thick with amusement. “Recommended to me, you say?”

“Well,” I say, wondering if I took the joke too far, “it is a genuinely good book as well.”

He tucks the book under his arm and looks around, eyes coasting across shelves of book, the little old armchair in the corner. “This is a nice place. Has a lot of old-world charm.”

“I think so too,” I say. “But it’s closing.”

“Yes. A development firm is planning to build yet another hotel here, and the city agreed. We have two months to close shop.”

“A hotel?”

“Yes, like the one we met in, I guess. The company who’s developing it has that air, you know?”

“What air?”

“A hotel bar kind of air.” My hands are gesturing, trying to paint a picture. It’s hard to describe a feeling. “All swanky hotel music and beige furniture. Probably run by some old rich guy who has no need at all for more money, or more hotels, or more influence. So this place is going, lost forever to posterity.” My tone is light, but the idea makes my throat clench. For years, this store was my solace, and Karli’s grandmother-the original owner-was a light in the dark.

Cole’s eyes are inscrutable. “That sounds complicated.”

“Pretty straightforward actually. Out with the old and in with the new.” I turn away from him before I make a complete fool of myself by tearing up. “Would you like your book gift-wrapped?”

“No.”

“It’s for you?”

He smiles at my surprise. “I wasn’t joking earlier, you know. I am literate.”

“I’m glad our school system didn’t fail you. But you don’t strike me as… ah.”

“The reading type?”

A blush creeps up my neck. “Well… yes, I suppose. I just wouldn’t think you have a lot of free time on your hands.”

“I don’t. But sometimes you have to make time, especially for the things that matter.”

It’s the first serious thing he’s said to me today, and I find myself nodding, unable to think of another witty comeback. What does he do for a living? He never mentioned that night at the hotel, and I never asked. We’d promised each other anonymity. “You’re right,” I say, my eyes dancing over his suit, his tie, the cuff links.

His voice is amused. “Are you trying to use your people-reading skills on me again?”

“It’s a force of habit.”

“Likewise,” he says, “although I think I got you all wrong that first night.”

“Oh?” My heart stutters in my chest at those final words. First night.

He leans against a bookshelf, too big for this store, for me, for this world. “Oh yes. I thought you did that sort of thing all the time.”

“That sort of thing?”

“Hot sex with a complete stranger,” he says. “Don’t pretend to have forgotten that part.”

My cheeks are on fire, but I force myself to keep his gaze. Please, Karli, stay in the storage room.