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He’s handsome, tall and lean with light brown hair and sparkling hazel eyes. His smile is crooked, hitching up on the left side more than the right, giving him an impish look that’s counteracted by the dimple in his left cheek. “What are you reading?”
I twist the book away from my chest for him to see. He raises his eyebrows at the half-naked Alpha on the cover, leaning over an Omega maiden in a very low-cut peasant dress. “I think we have different tastes in books.” He holds up a copy of Isaac Asimov’s short stories, complete with a solemn black and white photo of the author on the cover. I roll my eyes at him, because defending the romance genre twice in ten minutes has to be some sort of record.
“Romance is just as legitimate as any other genre,” I say, reciting my usual argument.
The Alpha grimaces, waving his free hand in aso-sogesture. “I don’t know about that. Romance books aren’t very realistic, are they?”
There’s a bantering tone to his voice that puts me at ease instead of making me want to tear him a new one.
“But it’s not about realism.” I gesture at the book of short stories clutched in his long fingers. “And isn’t true love something you’d see before aliens and UFOs?”
He throws back his head and laughs, a warm noise that feels comforting, like curling up next to the fire with a homemade blanket. I think I catch his scent, but it’s so similar to the scents already around me that it’s difficult to distinguish. Old paper and warm wood.
“Touché. Of course, we could always mix the two together and read some sci-fi romances. Aliens whispering sweet nothings into each other’s ears. Best of both worlds.”
“Oh, those definitely exist. Trust me. I’ve written a few.” I immediately wince at my words. I didn’t mean to reveal any personal information, not to an Alpha.
His clever eyes instantly narrow on my face. “You’re a writer?” He gestures at the overladen shelves next to us. “That’s so cool. Are any of these novels yours?”
“I can’t tell you that,” I say in my best teasing tone. “Under penalty of death.” When his lips quirk up in amused confusion, I add, “I’m a ghost writer. I’ve signed a lot of NDAs. I couldn’t tell you if any of these books are mine, even if I wanted to.”
He frowns at my answer, full lips turning down at the corners. “Don’t you want to get credit for your work?” he asks, but I shake my head in response.
“Not really. I’ve never been someone who wanted fame or publicity. I just like to write. I like to take someone else’s idea and polish it up until it’s something that the entire world can enjoy.”
He furrows his brow as if this is the most absurd thing anyone has ever told him. “And you think you can do that with”—he reaches in front of me to pluck out a random book from the shelf—”The Alpha Billionaire’s Christmas Baby?”
“I happen to like Christmas babies and Alpha billionaires,” I say with mock disdain, and he laughs that incredible laugh once again that makes me want to curl up to his side and cuddle into his broad chest.
“Fine, fine,” he concedes with a mock salute. “You read your thing, and I’ll read mine.”
“They really have the same purpose,” I say, tapping on another one of the books in his stack for emphasis. When I do, my wrist brushes against his, and a frisson of awareness shoots down my arm. How can something as simple as that make my toes curl?
I clear my throat. “Books are meant for escaping the real world. Books with happy endings allow us to find hope, even if the real world doesn’t have it.”
My voice cracks a little on the last few words, and I clear my throat to disguise it. I am one of those poor souls who will never get her happy ending. But I’ll live a thousand of them through the stories I read and the ones I tell.
Sometimes, that’s as good as it gets.
The Alpha stares at me intently, blinking a few times with long dark lashes. “You’re right,” he murmurs, taking a step closer to me. “Happy endings are important. Everyone deserves one.”
“But not everyone will get one,” I whisper, my face heating at his proximity. One step forward, and I could be in his arms if I wanted to. “But they can through a book.” We’re only a few inches apart now, and I know I should be worried about my pheromones breaking through the scent blocker, but all I can do is focus on his own amazing scent, coming through more clearly now that he’s closer.
He smells like old books, comforting and full of warm memories. I’ve always loved the smell of old books, but I’ve never met a person who smelled like them. This Alpha does, though, the scent wrapping around me like an embrace from an old friend, making my throat burn with longing for something I can never have.
His hand suddenly thrusts out, and I jump, startled by the swift movement. “Are you okay?” he asks, cupping his palm under my elbow to steady me on my feet. “You were swaying a little on your feet there.”
“I was…?”Oh no.My body is reacting to him. My instincts are trying to say,Alpha, Alpha, Alpha. Mine, mine, mine.When I really need to be thinkinghome, home, home.My knees wobble, and my palms are clammy, even when I wipe them on my jeans. My core heats with desire, though I haven’t started producing slick yet. I can’t, or everything I worked for will be destroyed.
“I haven’t eaten much today,” I lie easily, stepping back from him so sharply that I drop the book I was going to buy. It falls to the floor, the pages crumpling against the carpet. His head whips from the book to me again, a baffled look on his face.
“I better get home and get that taken care of. Low blood sugar and all that.” I bend to snatch up the book and hastily shelve it properly, not wanting to give Caroline more work on my account. “Excuse me,” I duck past him, rushing out past Caroline and her customers, shouting a hastylater, girl!on my way out the door. I push my way outside, not looking back at the handsome Alpha as I flee.
I need to get back home to take another shower to cover up my pheromones with another hot shower and lots of scent blocker. My body is still adjusting to the new dosage of heat suppressant, and going to the bookstore was a risk I shouldn’t have taken. The only place I should be is locked up in my apartment, away from anyone else. Away from any Alphas. Away from the real world and any chance at those happy endings that only exist in my books.
THREE
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