Busted

“I’m not thinking about it.” He shoved his hands through his hair. The thick, gold-streaked strands of brown immediately fell back into place, but he barely noticed. “I’m not thinking about it tonight at all.”

“Okay.” She shoved off the wall and moved toward him. “Seems fair. I want to . . .”

She stopped and studied the book dump tucked at the end of the aisle. The section was labeled Romance and the book, with its spring green cover and the mostly nude female torso, was very familiar.

“Looks like they don’t care if romance writers play in their pool,” she murmured, reaching out for one of the L. Forrester books. She started to flip through it and then stared at the signature on the title page. Just below the block font was the bold, vivid scrawl—the exact same scrawl she had in her book, although hers was personalized. “She signed these.”

Trey stopped at her elbow. “There are quite a few signed books in here,” he said. He gestured to another display. “Those are signed, too.”

“But she doesn’t do this. She doesn’t do interviews, blog tours, nothing.” Frowning, she put the book down and picked up another, scowling at the signature.

Trey picked up a book and flipped through before putting it down. “You a reader?”

“Of her? Hell, yes. I love them. She makes me laugh and . . .” She paused, pursing her lips. “Well, if I’m ever reading one and you’re around, I’d want privacy.”

The back of Trey’s neck went red even as his eyes flashed hot.

“That a fact?” He picked a book back up. “Maybe they’ll sell me one early then.”

“I have one.” She laughed a little and then went back to studying the signature, then the book dump. “I wonder how they got her to come in here and sign.”

“That’s not necessary.” Trey gestured at another display. “He doesn’t live here either. If the publisher makes arrangements and the author is okay with it, they can get signed books from the author. It just has to be coordinated.”

“Well, so much for that idea. I was hoping Mitch or Guff knew her. I was going to press for clues.” She sighed and put the book down. “The information on her website can’t even be called sketchy. It’s more like she thought about being sketchy and then took an eraser and cleaned up most of the sketch before she let anything go up.”

“Some people are kind of big on their privacy.” Trey shrugged.

“But . . .” Then she stopped and put Exposing the Geek Billionaire down. “Never mind.”

He slid her a look. “But what?”

“She’s good. Damn good. I guess I just don’t understand why somebody that talented wouldn’t want to do interviews and that kind of thing.”

“Maybe for the same reason I don’t much like doing book signings.” He cocked a brow and put his copy of the book down, too. “Some authors just aren’t all that good at being social, or they feel weird talking about their work—so weird they can’t get past it. Others have different reasons.”

“Yeah. Fine.” She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Whatever.”

Then she cut around him. “What books do they have of yours? I should probably read a couple of them.”

There was a faint pause. And then he said, “Read a couple?”

She shot him a wide grin over her shoulder. “Oh, relax. I’ve read two of your books. I just figure I’ll read a couple more. I normally go for something a little less . . . depressing, though.”

“Gee, thanks.” He gave her a sidelong look and then jerked his head to the side. Something about the look he’d given her told her he’d had this conversation before. Then he confirmed it by saying, “You do realize that dating me doesn’t make my books required reading.”

Dating me . . .

“Dating you.” She glanced over her shoulder at him. “So . . . does that mean we’re doing this again, Mr. Barnes?”

He caged her in, up against the end of one of the bookshelves. She felt the wood against her back, the heat of him against her front and her heart started to race.

“I think you’re the deciding vote on that, Ms. Bliss. You already know what I want.”

*   *   *

She smelled so good.

It was a scent he wanted to lose himself in.

Trey wanted to lose himself in her altogether really. Then she turned in his arms, a smile on her lips and he felt that strike him square in the heart.

Feeling a little dazed, he wrapped his arms around her. “So what’s the decision?” he asked, the words sounding a lot rougher, a lot more demanding than he’d intended.

Say yes—

“I’m definitely considering it.”

“Okay.” He caught her lower lip between his teeth. Then he let go. “Just so you know, I make excellent arguments. If you need me to convince you . . .”

A bubble of laughter escaped her. His lips twitched at the sound and he pressed his face against her neck as she laughed. Her arms curled around him, one hand sliding into his hair. “Well, now. You know . . . maybe that won’t be necessary.”

He lifted his head.

She met his eyes and lifted a hand. She touched a finger to his lips and traced, following the line of his mouth. With a far-off look in her eyes, she murmured, “I think it’s time for me to stop considering and just enjoy the ride.” Now her gaze cleared and she focused on him. “I’d like to see you again. It’s not always easy to work out—I don’t usually let Neeci go to a sitter. It’s me or Mama Ang, my aunt.”

“I’m a parent, too.” Stroking his hand up her side, Trey leaned in and rubbed his lips over hers. “You know, Clayton talks about Neeci non-stop. I think the two of them bonded pretty much from the get-go.”

“Didn’t they?” She leaned back and he loosened his hold enough so that she could rest against the shelf behind her. The smile on her face widened and her eyes glinted with humor. “I swear, there are times that I hear nothing else. It’s Clay this and Clay that and by the way . . .”

Ressa grimaced and looked away, although she shot him a look from the corner of her eye. “She . . . ah . . .” She licked her lips. “Neeci wants an autograph. I figured I should tell you soon before she sees you at pickup or something.”

“She wants my autograph?” Confused, he studied her face. Neeci was seriously not his audience. Not for a good ten years or so.

“Nooooo . . .” Ressa drew the word out. “She wants your little brother’s autograph. She kind of heard that Sebastian Barnes was your brother, and. . . . well, um . . .”

“Ah.” Now he started to laugh. “I can manage that. I’ll make Clay ask him. Seb will probably get a kick out of it—he’ll bend over backward for Clay.”

He reached up and pressed his finger to her lower lip. “Hey, if you’re not busy tomorrow, why don’t you bring her over?”

Ressa blinked. “What?”

“To the house. You and Neeci come over. They can play together . . . and one of my brothers dropped into town. You can meet him.”

“Please tell me it’s Zach. I’ve seen some of the tattoos he’s done on his website.” She looked delighted now.

“No.” He rolled his eyes and tipped his head back. “People always want to meet Seb or Zach—I have four brothers, you know. Those knuckleheads are only two of them.”

She laughed. “You jealous there, gorgeous?”

“You coming over?” he countered, leaning in and nipping her lower lip. “And no. I’m not jealous. I got used to people asking about them—well, Zach, before I was even five. Are you coming over?”

*   *   *

It had taken more determination than Trey had thought he had not to push for more than a quick, almost chaste kiss when he’d dropped Ressa off at her place.

If he’d lingered more than a minute, he would have gone back to kiss her again—and he’d told her that—as he pulled away. The look she’d given him made him all too aware she wouldn’t mind if he’d done that. Over and over. But he needed to get home.