Page 31

Because aye, he could think of some way for her to spend her days…

Which is why he drowned out that thought by growling, “Ye’re allowed to touch the goddamn books, woman.” When she startled and shot him a hesitant look, he glowered. “It’s a library. Books are supposed to be read.”

“Can I…read them?”

“Of course ye can bloody well read them!” Demon turned his back, muttering in irritation. “Take any of them. The bloody things are there for reading.”

When she spoke, her soft questioning voice was closer than he expected. “You do not mind me taking a few back to my room?”

The titles on the books before him swam. “That’s stupid.” He threw out one arm, pointing toward the cozy collection of large chairs and the long settee arranged around a bear rug in front of the hearth. “Read them here, where it’s warm.”

Silence for a moment. He could feel the air moving behind him as she stepped closer. “I would like that,” she whispered.

Blindly, he reached for the shelf in front of him. There’s the book with the myth…

“Demon, I—”

“Here.” He whirled about and shoved the book toward her. “This is the one I was speaking of. With the Endymion legend.” It was easier to stare at her forehead than into her eyes. “Read it wherever ye wish, I suppose.”

She took the book from him but didn’t look at it. Instead, she continued to stare up at him. “Demon…”

Turdgoblins, he had to resist the urge to flinch away. What was this? What was she expecting? Inviting her to dinner was a bad idea. It was confusing him on what her role in his life was.

Ye fingered her arsehole earlier today.

His brain was being unhelpfully chipper.

Then ye fooked her hard from behind while she moaned her pleasure.

Well…aye, he wasn’t likely to forget that, was he?

Just saying…her role in yer life is pretty clear.

So what was this, then? The inviting-her-to-the-library-and-giving-her-free-access impulse? The finding-a-book-he-thought-she-might-like mistake? Was he trying to woo her?

Ye dinnae need to woo her; ye have her signature. Try snapping yer fingers.

That was about the time Demon realized it wasn’t his brain he was arguing with, but his cock. His brows drew together in another scowl. “Stop looking at me like that.”

The woman had the audacity to step closer, tilt her head back farther, challenge him. “Like what, Demon?”

So he tried to scare her off with crudeness. It always worked. “Like ye want something from me.”

“I want to give you something instead.”

He hadn’t expected that, but he wasn’t going to allow her to push him off-center. “Like this?” His hand closed around the bulge in the front of his trousers. “Ye want me to snap my fingers?”

“I want this,” she whispered, and raised her hand to cup his cheek. Cup his scars.

Petulant bungle-wank.

Moldy cunt-douche!

Toad-spotted, dissembling, irksome clackdish!

Demon knew he should step out of her hold, twist away. He knew he couldn’t allow himself to actually feel the warmth of her hand on his skin.

But instead his eyes fluttered closed, and he had to swallow down a shudder. No one had touched him like this in years.