Page 16 of Secret Sins

My heart was loud in my ears, but I manned up and touched my mouth to hers.

Cinnamon burst through my senses, stinging my lips. Lightning zinged up my spine to settle at the base of my skull. Eyes open, we tasted each other with the barest touch. As someone who used to consume high-dollar bourbon whiskey on a regular basis, I could confirm that Bailey tasted better. She was a unique blend of toffee, honey, cinnamon, and vanilla cream. Bottle it and sell it, or keep it for myself, I knew I would never be the same after just one drop.

With a shaky breath, I pulled back. "Sell me a fucking book."

Chapter 8

Bailey

Oh, my God.

Oh, my fucking God.

Despite his request for a book, I didn't release Van's shirt. My fingers flexed, attempting to drag him closer. "No."

"What do you mean, no?" he whispered.

His breath fanned over my cheeks, his long, hard body molding mine to the shelves behind us, and he wanted me to let go of him to do something as stupid as sell him a book?

Looking into the depths of his eyes—as close as we were, the flecks of green and brown were clear—I tried to gauge his intentions. "I'd rather keep doing this."

Clearing his throat, Van took a step back. "We can't."

Yeah, I might have whimpered and been incredibly reluctant to let go of him. "Why?"

He scrubbed his hand over his head, and that was when I noticed he wasn't wearing his customary hat. The one with a random logo that was likely given away as a gimmick at some point. Furrows remained in his hair when he stopped messing with it, and I couldn't help but want to put my hands there instead.

"Many reasons." Stepping further back, he said, "But, for one, your doors are wide open."

I didn't recognize my voice when I spoke again. "I would only care about that if you were about to rip my clothes off."

Those eyes darkened, and my pussy responded with a clench. Me too, girl. Me too.

"I would never do that in your shop." Clearing his throat again, he took a few more big steps down the aisle.

"I live right next door." Was I inviting him over? Hell, yeah, I was.

"I'm dangerous for you, Bailey. That's what I've been trying to tell you all along."

"No, you aren't." Who was I trying to convince, me or him? "I've seen enough to know you aren't."

His mouth turned down, and he spun to face the door. "I'd like to buy a book, please."

"I'll sell them all to you, give them to you . . . fuck, Van, I'll unload my entire inventory into your apartment if you'll just talk to me."

"This one," he said, plucking one blindly from the shelf.

"Gone with the Wind?"

Glancing at me over his shoulder, his mouth twitched. "'Well, my dear, take heart. Some day, I will kiss you and you will like it. But not now, so I beg you not to be too impatient.'"

I gaped. "Did you just pull that out of your ass?"

"One thing you don't know about me includes the years I had nothing to do but read old books from the depository at Storm Cove."

"What does that mean?" I moved toward him, cautious not to spook him. "You've memorized Edgar Allan Poe and Margaret Mitchell?"

"And countless others." He shrugged, placing the book back exactly where it belonged. "But I'd rather have something I haven't read before."