Chapter Twelve
Zoey
I wake up Sunday morning buzzing.
That kiss…
Every time I close my eyes, I can feel his mouth on mine and the way my stomach flipped, the way the earth actually seemed to move under my feet.
It’s a cliché, I know, but that’s what it felt like; the earth moving like everything shifted under the power of that kiss.
Because it was powerful. It zoomed through me, awakening things I didn’t know existed in me, like a small fire of desire burned everywhere. I’ve been attracted to men before, but this…oh, this. Everything else I’ve ever experienced paled in comparison to this. Every little moment in the past when I thought I was in love crumbled to dust.
Not that this is love.
This is plain old desire.
On the level I’ve never experienced before. And I’m…I’m in trouble.
It’s not even that he works for me. It’s just a job in a bookshop. It’s me feeling like this. I understand all the love songs I’ve ever scoffed at. I’m floating. Everything has an extra kick to it. Colors are richer. Things brighter. Like they are just before rain. But so much more.
Slowly, I get up and go through all the motions. Breakfast, coffee, shower. Accounting.
And that’s the problem.
I’m flying high and I can’t concentrate.
“Damn it.” I can’t let it happen again. I know that. He knows that. Maybe I imagined it.
I didn’t.
Finally, I throw down my pen and pour a coffee and go and sit by the window on my sofa, staring out at the gray that seems to be a permanent fixture right now. Like an ominous warning.
Problem is, I think I’m waiting for the other shoe to fall from the heavens and hit me on the head. Hot men don’t waltz into my life like this. They don’t kiss me. And… maybe it goes all the way back to Bronn. Or maybe I’m just weirded out by the sweetness he fills me with.
“And maybe you’re just looking for trouble. It was one kiss.”
It’ll probably never happen again.
Or maybe I can learn to enjoy good things like that kiss. Good things like Magnus.
And not overthink it.
Like Suzanna says.
With that in my head and my new mantra of the day, I buckle down to work.
It’s five pm, almost on the dot, when the lights go out.
At six, I’m surrounded by hastily dug out ancient lanterns and candles.
By seven, I admit defeat.
It’s not a circuit. There’s no big outage, it’s me.
And one thought comes to mind.
That evil bastard, Edward Sinclair.
Monday morning and nothing has improved. If anything, it’s worse. I text Magnus and tell him to take the day off, with pay. After all, it’s not his fault I can’t open a dark store.
And now I know why.
There’s drilling and banging and trucks. And a giant hole in the ground two doors down outside a boarded-up building.
They’re not city workers. And at some point all around there are stickered signs stating work permits. And a notice on my door about the power.
I’m so angry. And I grow more and more furious as the day goes on. Because those lights aren’t coming on anytime soon.
I’m furious, and I want to cry.
I don’t. Instead, I start digging into everything.
I’m in deep when I realize the noise I hear isn’t the noise from all the work, but someone banging on the door. I lift my head.
Magnus.
The sheer relief that sweeps through me is something I can taste as I rise from the stool behind the counter in the shop.
He frowns when I open the door, looking around. “What the fuck is going on?”
“Edward Sinclair.” I gesture for him to come in.
There’s a moment, small and electrifying, as Magnus meets my gaze and slips past me, his body almost brushing mine, and little ripples of awareness spread out over my skin. “What’s he done now?”
His words warm me because it’s like I’ve somehow found an ally, and I bite down on my burgeoning smile. Even with the stress I’m feeling, he lifts me into a lighter place, even if it is a panacea of the temporary kind.
“What hasn’t he done? And why are you here? Not that I’m complaining, but…there’s not any work to do.”
He smiles that slow panty melting smile and everything swoons. “Can’t a man check on a pretty girl?”
“Magnus, we—”
“Why are the lights off? Did you not get I was coming?” He takes a look at my face and frowns. “Let me guess. Your billionaire nemesis?”
I push a hand through my hair and realize it’s probably resembling a fright wig, what with all the worrying I’ve done to it with my fingers, and…I don’t know why it matters, but it does. The kiss still sings in my veins. A kiss that I can’t let happen again. A kiss I want to repeat with the kind of desperation that rips through veins.
“There’s construction, as you noticed, by him. I saw the signs.”
Magnus frowns and heads to the counter. I follow. “Doesn’t he own a lot of the block?”
“Yes, but not all. Not yet.”
“If it’s illegal, then do something.”
“He’s a billionaire, so even if it was, how am I going to compete there? I can’t afford to take him to court or anything like that. Not with time and certainly not with money. The fact is, he can’t go through with his plans if I don’t sell. Keep it simple, right?”
“Right.” He looks at me, those dark eyes electrifying. “But your lights?”
“I called the power company, and they said everything is working fine. So it’s got to be somehow to do with them.”
“You should have told me earlier—”
“I don’t go running to people.” I shake my head. “I’m not a weak little damsel. And there’s nothing you can do or could do.”
He steps closer to me. “Except keep you company.”
“I’m not asking you to give up time.”
“I wasn’t aware that’s what I suggested. Maybe I want to be with you. And, how about we look at the bright side,” he says, his voice sending waves of desire through me, “this might be perfect for a candlelight dinner?”
I’m weak. But I know what he’s saying.
I go to explain it’s all wrong and we’re not like that and we can’t be like that, I do, when he holds up a plastic bag.
“Indian?” I ask, sniffing the air.
He nods and I might be in love with him.
Somehow, he’s figured out my weakness for spice—especially Indian food. Sugar and spice. I’m a cliché.
And it’s not love. I’m just hungry. Not to mention exhaustion and stress. Magnus sets the bag on the counter and comes up to me, his hands on my shoulders and he massages a little. It’s pure heaven. He’s worth his weight in gold with a touch like that.
“Hey, it’s gonna be okay.”
“I just…if this keeps going, how am I going to operate?” But before he can say a word, I add, “Don’t worry. Your job, such as it is, is fine. Safe. I’m not selling, I’m not closing down. I own the building, after all. And if my grandmother could keep this place going, and hers before that, then…” I find a smile. “I can, too. It’s easier to fight fat, corrupt wolves when you own the place.”
For a long moment, Magnus doesn’t say anything. But finally he nods. “Dinner?”
“Yes, please.”
I lead him upstairs, and it’s natural his hand is in mine as the stairs are down now, and I have the flashlight. I stop at the kitchen and grab wine, mugs, bowls, and cutlery that he eases away from me.
Magnus goes to set up at the kitchen table when I shake my head.
“I want to show you something.”
His eyebrow rises and my cheeks burn.
“This way.”
I lead him out of the kitchen and down the narrow hall to the back of the apartment. I live on the top floor, but there’s a small staircase, so I lead him there. Up the narrow, steep steps and unbolt the door.
A gust of air hits as we emerge, and around us the lights of the city sparkle like their own kind of night sky.
Magnus stands perfectly still, a small smile slowly emerging, and he looks about. “Wow.”
“Way back, people who lived here, my relatives and their tenants—the floors below my apartment were also apartments.”
“The top level of the store and your storage?”
I nod and lead him to a table and chairs I’ve got set up. “Yes.” I start putting things out as he hands them to me and we work together, like an oiled machine. “They used this space for growing food, washing, and the rest. I don’t grow food, but…”
“You have a garden in the sky.”
I laugh. “It’s not like some of those curated ones rich people have, but it’s my little slice. All though the neighborhood people would find spots to make their own, to make their lives better. This is one of them. And…I don’t come up here enough.”
He takes his plate, chicken chettinad by the look and smell. I don’t know where he went, but this food smells divine. “You should.”
“There are lots of things I should do.”
Magnus takes a sip of his wine and leans back, looking so big and there and at ease. “You never talk about your family that much.”
“Neither do you.”
He sighs. “Tonight my mother was with gran before she leaves town.” He rubs a hand over the back of his neck. “A cruise.”
“She doesn’t seem like the cruise type, unless you mean your gran.”
“You’d be surprised.” He looks down into his cup, and drops the other hand to his lap, the food still sitting in front of him. “Gran…we’re fighting a battle, y’know? Like everyone.”
“I know.” I smile. “Life is hard, but sometimes it’s finding the little things to be grateful for.”
“Like you?”
Heat burns my cheeks and I laugh, shaking my head. “No.”
“What did you do at school?”
“This and that. But I found this is the life I wanted, surrounded by books, baking, just bringing things to people in the form of escape in the pages of whatever story or thing they want. There are worlds down there. Entire experiences.” I point down as if I’m showing him the store. “And you can run away, you can live another life. Or you can learn, gain skills, languages, or even just fall into the past.”
“You’re pretty amazing.”
From below comes a screech of brakes, followed by animated and colorful shouting. We look at each other and start laughing.
After that we just talk and eat and drink. Subjects wind all over the place from me to…me, to this little part of Brooklyn. When I ask him questions, the answers are generic, and I wonder if he was hurt in the past or is embarrassed by having to work here. He’s not the best worker, but I don’t think it’s that.
But I leave it because people talk on their own terms and pushing doesn’t help.
Magnus is sweet and kind with an interesting hard edge. There’s a touch of cynicism about him, too, but I put it down from working in what was previously a high-pressure job.
“What are you thinking about?” He packs up the stuff as the air turns cool. He’s seen me shiver, I realize. “You went all quiet.”
“How you don’t really talk about you.”
He shrugs and says, “I find you more interesting, Zoey.”
“I’m really not.”
“Actually, you really are. But let’s get inside where it’s warmer.”
I groan. “And dark.”
But I lead the way and once in the kitchen I light a lantern. The living room glows with light from the street lamps and buildings across the street, and I turn to say goodnight, determined to nip this whatever it is between us in the bud, when Magnus holds up the bottle. “Another glass? Then I’ll get out of your hair. Work tomorrow.”
“Wine sounds good because if this keeps going, then—”
“We make calls and sort it out.”
I breathe out. “You’re right.”
Leading him down the short hall, I set my mug on the low coffee table and Magnus does the same, the bottle and his own cup.
And then he turns to me. His long fingers, warm and gentle, stroke against my cheek and I’m immediately in freefall. “I’ll get to the bottom of this, Zoey.”
“How?”
“Make some calls. I don’t know. I know I don’t like seeing you upset.”
Before I can say a word, he drops his mouth to mine and kisses me.
I’m gone. I’m caught up in the kiss, the feel of his tongue, the heat of his mouth. His arms come around me and I’m lost. Completely, utterly, awash on a sea of sensations I want to drown in.
The kiss twists and deepens and need spikes, a throb that’s physical, through my blood, my bones, my sinew.
I’m vaguely aware we’re moving and I’m on the sofa, Magnus on me, his hard body so delicious I can’t get enough.
He’s heavy and his thigh slides between mine as he bites my bottom lip, sending a cascade of heat showering in me. He moves his mouth, biting, kissing, licking, sucking, along my jawline and up to my ear.
His hot breath and gentle tug on my ear lobe sends me flying, the throb in me, deep down in my center, a physical thing and I bury my hands in his hair. It’s thick and soft and delicious against my fingers and I pull him into me, needing more.
Down he moves, lower, along my throat until he bites down and sucks on my throbbing jugular and I almost come then and there. He’s hard against me. I can feel his erection. Big, thick, impressive, and I know I’m wet. I’m aching. I need. I need everything.
I haven’t ever felt such a flood of emotions, of urges, of response to someone like I do him.
Not even as a teen with my first fumbling boyfriend.
Nothing compares to the dexterous melody he plays on my skin. I arch against him as his hands slide down my belly, and down over the front of my yoga pants. Shit, I didn’t even think about what I’m wearing, but it doesn’t matter because oh, God, it’s like he’s touching my bare flesh, his heat penetrating through the thin layers of the material and my panties.
Then his mouth is back on mine and I kiss him hungrily, urging him closer even as I keep my hands above the waist.
If I touch him, I’m completely gone. I’ll let him do anything.
As it is, he’s totally wrecking me, and I’m shaking as those clever fingers slide up, then beneath the elastic of my pants, and then down, into my panties and along the slickness of my pussy.
I hiss a breath as his fingers move back and forth and I arch up into him, wanting, needing…oh, yes… He circles his thumb on my clit and pushes one finger into me and my entire being rushes down to that place between my thighs and—
“Stop.”
Magnus lifts his head, breathing hard against me, his finger still in me, and my body gives a little involuntary shudder, like the smallest orgasm. “Stop?”
“No…yes. Magnus. Yes, we have to stop.”
Slowly he removes his hand and he buries his face in my throat a moment. Then he kisses my lips and sits up, smoothing my top back into place. “I… Sorry, I got carried away.”
I don’t even have to guess that he never has to say such things to females. Most would already be naked and on him. Most of those already wanting him as theirs. And me…
Shakily, I sit up, breathing out. “I…no, it’s me. Magnus. I obviously like you, but I’m not a casual girl. I don’t…I mean, I do. But not for a while.” I bury my face in my hands and it’s on fire.
“I get it. I should go. And Zoey?”
“Yeah?”
“Look at me.”
I do, and I’m not sure I understand the expression on his face. It’s almost like wonder mixed with need, regret, and faint surprise.
“Looking,” I say.”
His mouth lifts at a corner. “I really like you, too. This…none of this with you and me has any intentions other than what it is. I want you to know that.”
I nod, not sure I understand the fullness of what he’s saying because there are layers there, so many and I don’t know where to begin or even if I should. “I do, but…we need to take this slow, or not at all.”
Magnus looks at me for a long time. Then he gets to his feet. “Goodnight, Zoey.”
And he leaves, and all I can do is sit there, staring after him.