Page 49 of Power Play

“Ryan.”

“What?”

“This is more than most people read in a lifetime.”

He set the books from the coffee shop on the table. “Most people spend hours watching strangers argue online.”

“You also do that.”

“I study human failure.”

“That is a very elegant way to describe reading comments.”

His laugh followed me as I crouched near the lower shelf.

Wuthering Heights sat beside The Tenant of Wildfell Hall, its spine ruined and pages crowded with paper markers. I reached for it, but Ryan’s hand appeared above mine and pulled it free first.

“That one stays here.”

I looked up at him. “You invited me to borrow reference material.”

“Anything else.”

“You don’t share?”

“I share.” His thumb moved slowly over the worn cover. “I don’t lend this one.”

The way he handled it made me forget my next joke.

“Sentimental?”

“Possessive.”

“About a book?”

“About what’s mine.”

His eyes met mine, and my breathing changed before I could stop it.

Ryan held my stare long enough that the sentence stopped sounding like it had anything to do with Emily Brontë. He placed the novel carefully back on the shelf before offering me his hand.

I took it.

He pulled me to my feet with very little effort, and the motion brought me closer than I expected. My free hand caught his forearm instinctively while his fingers remained closed around mine.

Without his cap, there was nothing between me and the full weight of his attention.

Ryan never glanced. He focused, and it had always been one of the more dangerous things about him.

I cleared my throat. “Which books can I safely touch without triggering your territorial instincts?”

His thumb moved once over my knuckles. “You can touch whatever you want.”

My stomach tightened. “That sounded less academic than you intended.”

“It sounded exactly how I intended.”

The heat climbing my neck became impossible to hide, so I slipped my hand from his and turned toward the shelves before he could enjoy himself too much.