Chapter Twenty-One Sophie #2
“Then,” Sophie continued, affecting what she clearly believed was a wise, bookish voice, “a customer will approach, looking lost and overwhelmed by the sheer volume of literary brilliance surrounding them.” She gestured dramatically at the empty space around her.
“And I’ll lean forward conspiratorially”—she demonstrated, nearly losing her balance—“and say, ‘Oh, if you loved that one, you absolutely must try this.’ ”
She reached for an imaginary book, holding it aloft like she was presenting the Crown Jewels. “I’ll have read everything, you see. Every single book.”
Luke nodded. “Because you will absolutely have time while running your first bookshop.”
She chose to ignore him. “I’ll be that mysterious, all-knowing bookshop owner who somehow intuits exactly what a customer needs to read next, probably while wearing reading glasses that make me look scholarly and sophisticated.”
“Right. All sounds good,” Luke said once she’d finished her dramatic flourish.
“But about the actual counter. You want it L-shaped or straight? And how high? Standard retail height is about forty-two inches, but if you’re planning to spend a lot of time behind it, you might want to consider what works best for your height.
” He pulled out his tape measure. “Also need to know if you want storage underneath, drawers or shelves, and whether you want the register area separate or integrated?”
He paused and waited for her answers, a hint of mischief in his blue eyes.
Sophie blinked, momentarily derailed from her literary fantasies by the reality of actual measurements and practical considerations. “Oh. Right. I hadn’t really thought about the…technical bits.”
“ ’Course you hadn’t. You were too busy planning your cardigan collection. Now, let’s get back to work, shall we?”
When it got to lunchtime, Luke glanced at his watch. “You hungry?”
“Starving, actually.”
“Me too,” he growled. In one fluid movement, he closed the distance between them and pulled her gently against him. His eyes, darkened to a stormy blue, showed her what kind of hungry he meant. He leaned down, his mouth finding hers, pure and unrestrained.
She pressed herself against him, hands finding their way into his hair, the gritty reality of renovation dust completely forgotten as his tongue swept against hers.
Luke backed her against the old bookcase, careful even in his urgency to avoid the areas of flooring they’d marked as structurally unsound.
The wood of the bookcase was solid behind her, his body deliciously solid in front.
Sophie gasped as his lips traveled to her neck, finding a spot just below her ear that made her knees buckle, all while his fingers skimmed the bare skin of her waist, his thumb briefly grazing her nipple.
The contrast of his work-roughened palm against her smooth skin sent electricity shooting through her.
Sophie let her own hands explore, running down the planes of his chest to the flat stomach beneath his shirt. The soft groan this elicited from Luke only encouraged her to continue her exploration, fingers dipping just below his waistband.
A wrench they’d left on the nearby makeshift table clattered to the floor as Luke shifted, pressing her more firmly against the wall. Neither paid it any attention.
Luke’s hand moved higher beneath her T-shirt, his thumb brushing the underside of her breast through the delicate cotton of her bra. Sophie arched into the touch, wanting more, needing more.
“We should—” Luke began, then seemed to lose his train of thought as Sophie nipped at his lower lip.
“Less talking,” she murmured against his mouth. “More of that thing you were just doing with your hands.”
His answering smile was wolfish as he complied, his palm fully cupping her breast now, thumb circling in a way that had Sophie making entirely undignified sounds of pleasure.
Her hands found the hem of his T-shirt, tugging impatiently upward.
Luke broke the kiss just long enough to help her, pulling the garment over his head and tossing it aside.
Sophie had a moment to appreciate the view—tanned skin stretched over defined muscle, his dark hair narrowing to a tantalizing trail that disappeared beneath his jeans—before his mouth reclaimed hers.
The press of his bare chest against her T-shirt was almost too much, the heat of his skin radiating through the thin fabric.
Sophie was seriously contemplating the structural integrity of the floor for activities far more strenuous than renovation when Luke’s phone went off, buzzing against his thigh.
He ignored it.
She tried to.
“Luke,” she said, pulling away. “You should really get that.”
“I don’t do phones,” he murmured, kissing her neck.
“Then why have you got one?”
“Emergencies.”
“Could this be an emergency?”
He sighed and pulled his phone from his pocket, putting it to his ear. “This better be an emergency.” He listened for a moment, then his face went serious.
“Yeah,” he said, “I’ll be there in ten.”
He hung up, dark brow knitted. “Hate to put a pause on this but the museum’s been broken into. I gotta go see to the lock.”
“Is that a common occurrence around here?”
He kissed her head then grabbed his T-shirt, pulling it on before he picked up his toolbox. “Nope. In fact, the last break-in in Solace Springs happened about three years ago.”
“Could it be related to the fire on the island?” Sophie asked as she followed him.
“Maybe.” He paused at the door, giving her a once-over with his eyes. “I’ll come back with lunch and we can continue where we left off.”
“I like the sound of that.”
She watched him head off, cursing whoever was causing havoc in her new town and nuking what had been shaping up to be the most promising lunch break of Sophie’s life.