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But Arabella’s heart had already begun beating far too quickly. A breeze moved softly through the marketplace between them. Neither spoke for several moments. Then Edwin finally gestured toward the bookstore. “Do you enjoy reading?” “Yes.” “What sort of books?” Arabella hesitated. “Poetry mostly.” One dark brow lifted slightly. “Romantic poetry?” Her cheeks warmed instantly. “Sometimes.” Edwin looked dangerously amused again. “You continue to surprise me, Lady Arabella.” “And you continue mocking me.” “Only because you blush so beautifully.” The words escaped him so naturally that both of them froze afterward.

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As I held it in my hands, a surge of anticipation coursed through me. "I wonder what's in you," I said as I settled onto the plush cushions of the nearby armchair, cradling the book in my lap. Opening it gently, I was greeted by intricate illustrations and delicate handwriting that seemed to dance across the page. The words on the page weaved a tale of forbidden love and dark desires. It was a dark romance, filled with passion and danger, a story that both intrigued and captivated me. I was instantly drawn into the world of the characters, their struggles, and their yearning for a love that defied the odds.

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Surprised look, "No, I'm not. A lot of people say that when I tell them I'm not into sports. I like sports, the strategy and stuff. But not all the drama about the teams." "So, what are you into?" He reaches into his bag and my world changes. A book. The man reads. And more. It's the third book in the current bestselling sword and fantasy series. He holds the book half our of the bag like it smells bad. "This right now." My pulse quickens. Suddenly, Travis, the dweeb became a much more promising project. "You read fantasy?" He's checking my face, waiting for the mocking. "Yes." I take the book from his hand.

' Emboldened, he captured her mouth again, deeper this time, while one hand ventured lower, slipping beneath the polo's hem to trace the curve of her hip, fingers splaying over bare skin. She gasped into the kiss as his touch ascended, skimming the inside of her thigh, teasing the edge of her most intimate warmth. The sensation was electric, sending jolts through her limbs, making her feel exposed yet cherished, as if every nerve ending was awakening for the first time. It was like rediscovering her body, the betrayal's shadow fading under his reverent exploration. Riven's fingers paused, seeking permission in her eyes, and when she nodded, breath hitching, he delved further, parting her fol

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Her cathedral. She slouched into her best corner chair—stuffed, tufted velvet in tired blue—pullding out a book from her tote. A quiet night's reading before bed was now her ritual, and for tonight, she opened what was familiar and comforting: *The Light Between Oceans*. The book always bore its imprint on her. Loss. Forgiveness. Breaking and binding decisions. She opened to the top of it, and the world disintegrated. Somewhere in the city—several stories above, in a steel and glass building—Julian Blackwood lay in his dark, sleek bedroom, staring at the book she had given him.

I didn’t hesitate. I pulled Fifty Shades of Grey first (cliché, yes, but I needed an entry point), then The Claiming of Sleeping Beauty by Anne Rice, Story of O, a slim volume called The New Topping Book just to balance it out, and two anthologies with titles like Bound Hearts and Surrender to Me. The stack felt heavy in my arms, like contraband. I carried them to the my corner and hid them under the table. I sat down, and opened the first book.