I need to put this to rest so I can get her out of my head.
Finally, the driver pulls into the driveway.He cuts the engine and turns around.I barely hear him chirp out a price, which I pay on autopilot.
When I get out, I take a deep breath and exhale slowly as I stare at her house.For the most part, it’s dark, but a golden glow from her living room tells me she must still be awake somewhere.No way would she leave a light on for me.
The late September breeze smells like leaves and the whisper of winter wind.
Deep breaths, Price.
She’s probably holed up in her office still pretending to work.Already avoiding me like it’s her full-time job.
But when I step inside… she’s on the couch.
Reading.
My brows furrow as I step further in, toeing out of my boots.She doesn’t acknowledge me, which isn’t surprising, but the fact that she’s out in the open instead of hiding in her office is.
She’s curled into the corner of the couch, legs tucked up beneath her, holding a paperback and looking completely enthralled.Beside her, on the end table, is a glass of wine and a half-empty bottle.
As I move toward her, I stop short, blinking hard.
There is anaked manon the cover of her book.
Well, okay, to be fair, it’s just his chest, but still.Close enough.
“What the hell are you reading?”I blurt out before I can think better of it.
Anna flinches—actually flinches—like she forgot I existed for a second.
Her eyes snap up, dark and defensive, but I don’t miss the way she clutches the book to her chest like I’m about to snatch it out of her hands.
Which, to be fair, I absolutely was.
She glares.“None of your damn business.”
I step closer, peering over the edge of the book before she can react.
Oh.
Oh, this is gold.
I barely suppress a grin as I read the title aloud.“Taken by the Barbarian King?”
Anna’s face goes nuclear.
She snaps the book shut and launches off the couch so fast, I almost stumble back.
“Do you have a fucking problem with what I’m reading?”she snaps, tucking the book behind her like that’ll somehow erase what just happened.
I grin, slow and easy.“I mean… I have questions.”
She scowls, but a rosy color tints her cheeks.“Well, I don’t have any answers.”
I chuckle, leaning against the back of the couch, arms crossed, fully enjoying the way she’s absolutely flustered.
“Didn’t take you for the type, Ace,” I muse, eyes twinkling.“I thought you were all about intellectual thrillers and feminist dystopias.But here you are, indulging in some good ol’ fashionedsmut.”
Her eyes narrow dangerously.“Oh, I’m sorry—would you rather I read about emotionally constipated rockstars with bad impulse control?”