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“No,” Grayson replied bluntly. He swallowed. “Well, it was nice meeting you all. Have a good evening.”

With that, he made straight for the door, leaving the warmth of the restaurant behind, the cold harsh against his face, the night fully dark. Releasing a long breath, Grayson walked toward Crawley Books. He glanced back at Mateo’s place, catching a glimpse of Charles and his friends through the window, the five of them laughing merrily as they played cards.

Why didn’t Grayson have that? He had been able to fly to the States at the drop of a hat because there was nobody he was leaving behind. No girl. No friends. No one.

Who did he speak to on the daily? His teaching assistant, his colleagues. Not friends.

If he disappeared right then, who would miss him?

The thought depressed him deeply. No one. Grayson shook his head, quickening his steps as he walked back to the bookstore.

There was no use thinking such things now. He buried them away, like he always did. But he couldn’t bury the ache deep inside him—the desire to be known.

Entering Crawley Books, he shrugged off his coat and headed to the office to hang it. Things looked different from when he had left twenty minutes ago; there was a great deal more clutter everywhere, lights and flowers and candles. Lucy herself was at the counter, watching a young woman from across the store.

The customer reached for a title, and Lucy’s expression turned pleased as the customer came up to the counter.

It must have been her book-magic succeeding once more, something she had explained to him a bit that first day. He hadn’t understood it fully but had been fascinated by the wonderful power she held, though she’d gotten strangely defensive when he relayed that he found it interesting. He didn’t understand how that had insulted her, but it kept him from asking more about it, despite wanting to.

Lucy rang the customer up. After the woman left, she noticed Grayson. She gave him a superior smile from behind the counter, lighting another candle with a snap of her fingers.

“This is a fire hazard,” Grayson said, glowering. She pulled another candle out from under the counter and lit that one as well.

Grayson stomped away to the office. He would wait for her to be distracted before doing away with some of those candles.

It was one of his constant battles with Lucy, changing the decor of the store. He ought to have given up, but Grayson was getting more and more comfortable with the bookstore through the shenanigans, and he was kind of perversely entertained by the look she got on her face when she was agitated.

Her mouth jutted open with shock while her big brown eyes widened. And finally, her features scrunched into anger. Grayson was getting slightly addicted to the thrill of fear that shot down his spine when she fixed her glare upon him, which was alarming, to say the least. As was this ludicrous attraction he felt toward her.

She was most certainly a distraction, and he didn’t need a distraction, not now. Not when he was trying to build a relationship with his grandfather after all these years.

He needed her out of his way. All she had done was make his life difficult, and he did not like difficult. He liked simple. Practical.

Grayson stood in the quiet office, thinking. The problem was, he didn’t quite know how to get her out of his way. Perhaps he could vex her into quitting on her own.

Yes, that could work. If she left on her own, Charles wouldn’t even blame Grayson.

And once she was gone, things would fall into place.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Grayson

Afew days later when Grayson walked out of the office, his gaze immediately strayed to where Lucy was standing by a book-shelf, putting a book back in place. At the very least, Grayson considered, while Lucy was here, she was a pretty sight. The plan was to vex her into leaving, but he needed to be slow and steady with it, or Charles would suspect foul play. In the meantime, he could appreciate her beauty.

She was wearing a little plaid skirt with stockings, her dark hair wavy around her shoulders, which were clad in a tight burgundy sweater. She was no longer wearing slippers but heeled black boots.

A tendril fell onto her face from the half-up hairdo she wore while she worked, and she let out a little sigh of frustration. She brought her hands up, twisting the rogue curl back in, and the movement mesmerized him for a moment, the way her torso stretched as she brought her arms up, her back arching. His mouth went dry, and his thoughts promptly went out of hand.

He imagined pinning her pretty wrists against a bookshelf, wondering how her arched body would feel pressed against his. The way she might gasp as he kissed her neck, melting against him. He would make it so good for her.

Lucy’s hands came down, and Grayson’s face heated, his blood pounding. He mentally scolded himself. It really was too bad she was the devil incarnate.

Shaking his head, he went back to the office for some space away from her. He had largely tidied up the room, and it was no longer dust infested, thankfully. Grabbing his bag, he sat down at the desk, pulling out his latest read and immersing himself in the Emily Wilson translation of The Iliad.

Time slipped away as he lost himself to the joy of reading, until about an hour later, when he was jotting down a note about an interesting translation choice. Lucy stepped into the office to grab something from her purse, and when she saw him, she gasped with such drama that he had no choice but to look up at her.

“What are you doing?” she asked, appalled. She stood in front of the desk, mouth open. He tried not to notice just how tiny her plaid skirt was up close, what lay underneath. He dragged his gaze up to her face, where she looked horrified.