Page 100 of Honeyfires

Holy Shit

Chapter Eighteen

The invitation came on a Wednesday evening while we were tangled together on the couch, Vera reading aloud from Persuasion while I traced lazy patterns on her thigh, half-listening to Captain Wentworth's letter and half-drowning in the cadence of her voice.

"There's a library event next week," she said, setting the book aside. "Special book club discussion. We're doing a local author spotlight. There's this woman from Phoenix who writes historical fiction set in Arizona. It's kind of a big deal for us."

"Sounds nice," I murmured, my fingers continuing their exploration of the silky skin above her knee.

"I was hoping you'd come." Her voice carried a careful note, like she was asking for something she wasn't sure she'd get. "But you don't have to. I know it's not your thing."

I stopped my wandering touch, looking up to meet her cornflower eyes. They held that particular blend of hope and resignation that made my chest hurt, like she expected me to decline but was brave enough to ask anyway.

"If it's important to you, I'm there."

Her face transformed, brightening. "Really?"

"Really." I pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to her temple. "When is it?"

"Friday evening. Seven o'clock. It's wine and cheese, kind of fancy for San Jacinto." She bit her lip, and I could see her already trying to manage expectations. "You really don't have to feel obligated—"

"Vera." I cupped her face, my thumb stroking her cheekbone. "I want to be there. I want to see you in your world, doing what you love. Besides," I added with a grin, "someone's got to make sure all those book nerds know you're taken."

She laughed, that bright tinkling sound that never failed to make me smile, and kissed me thoroughly enough that Persuasion got forgotten on the floor and we didn't make it to the bedroom until much later.

Friday evening found me standing in front of our bedroom mirror, adjusting my collar for the third time and feeling ridiculous.

I'd pulled out my nicest suit, a dark navy color, purchased years ago for a funeral and rarely worn since. The pants fit perfectly, tailored to hug my hips and legs in a professional but undeniably flattering way. But it was the shirt and jacket combination that had me second-guessing everything.

White shirt, crisp and expensive. I'd left the top three buttons undone, enough to show the hollow of my throat and the tanned expanse of skin below. My clavicles stood out sharp and pronounced, drawing the eye down to where my tattoos began their journey up from my chest, the phoenix's wing spreading across my ribs and up into the corners of my chest, the top curves of Lucas and Santi's initials visible above my heart. The jacket hung open, casual despite its formal cut, the sleeves pushed up slightly to show my forearms.

I looked like I was trying to seduce someone at a funeral.

Books weren't my thing. People weren't my thing. But Vera was my thing, so I'd make it work.

"Holy shit," Vera breathed from the doorway.

I turned to find her frozen in place, one hand gripping the doorframe, her eyes wide and dark as they traveled over me with unconcealed hunger. She wore a navy dress with a fitted bodice and full skirt, the kind of vintage piece that made her look like she'd stepped out of an old movie. Her hair was styled in flowing waves, her lips painted ruby red.

But she wasn't looking at her own reflection. She was staring at me like I was something to be devoured.

"Is it too much?" I asked, suddenly self-conscious. "I can button up more—"

"Don't you dare." She crossed to me in three quick steps, her hands immediately seeking my exposed chest, fingers tracing the visible ink. "Petra, you look... god, you're so fucking hot I can barely think straight."

Heat flooded through me at the raw desire in her voice. "Yeah?"

"You have no idea what you do to me." Her fingers traced my clavicle, following the sharp line to where it disappeared under the shirt. "Walking around looking like sex personified. Those forearms, that chest, the way the suit fits you..." She bit her lip, her cheeks flushing. "We're going to be late if you keep looking at me like that."

"You're the one looking at me like that," I pointed out, catching her hand and bringing it to my lips.

"Can you blame me? You're wearing a suit looking like that with your shirt unbuttoned like you're about to fuck up some poor girl’s life." She pressed closer, her voice dropping. "Specifically mine."

I grinned, pulling her against me. "We're going to be late."

"Worth it," she murmured, but she let me take her hand and lead her toward the door, though not before stealing one more appreciative look that made my skin flush hot.

The San Jacinto Public Library had been transformed for the evening. String lights hung from the ceiling of the community room, casting everything in a warm, brilliant light. Tables draped in white cloth held trays of cheese and crackers, bottles of wine, and little clusters of grapes. Bookshelves lined the walls, and vintage reading posters created a backdrop that was both charming and slightly intimidating.