Page 35 of Meet Me In The Dark (Skeptically In Love #3)

It’s already half an hour past when Celeste should have finished work, but tonight, I’ll wait as long as it takes.

I have plans for her.

When she finally emerges another fifteen minutes later, her eyes land on me, and she stops.

Her lips curl into that defiant little smile I’ve grown to crave. “Are you lost, Mr. Blackwood?”

I straighten, unable to stop myself from drinking her in from head to toe, then back to the eyes that strip me bare every damn time.

“This stalking thing is really getting out of hand,” she teases.

I step toward her. “It’s not stalking when you enjoy it.”

She laughs softly, shaking her head. “If you’re here to ask me to dinner again, I told you I’m not going.”

“So you’ve said.”

God knows I’ve asked her enough times. Dinner should be simple and normal, but Celeste isn’t like anyone else. She has a visceral aversion to anything remotely resembling ordinary. The stubbornness would be infuriating if it weren’t so enticing.

So, tonight, I’ve become a bit more creative.

I move toward the passenger door and open it for her. A flashback immediately hits me of the last time she stubbornly refused to get in, and I had to toss her over my shoulder.

Judging by the flicker in her eyes, she’s remembering too.

She works her jaw as she deliberates, a sure sign she’s weighing her options.

“These heels are killing me,” she finally says.

I roll my eyes. “You’re spoiled.”

Closing the gap between us, I hoist her over my shoulder.

Laughter bubbles up in her throat, and the sound of it does dangerous things to my chest. She has the dirtiest laugh, and it’s addictive as hell.

I set her in the passenger seat and buckle her in.

“Spoiled,” I repeat before I kiss her.

∞∞∞

Twenty minutes later, we pull up in front of the old Ashton Memorial Library. The once-grand building towers over the street, but its stone facade is worn by years of neglect.

Celeste steps out slowly, eyes widening as she takes it in.

“I studied this place in college,” she murmurs, awe and curiosity mixing in her expression. “What exactly are we doing here?”

I take her hand. “We’re going inside.”

Her gaze snaps back to me. “Inside? How? It’s been closed to the public for years.”

“I pulled a few strings.”

“That’s a lot of strings, Julian.” She rolls her eyes, but I don’t miss the grin playing at the corners of her mouth as I guide her through a side entrance, keying in a private security code.

Her hand tightens in mine as the door unlocks and swings open into the shadowed interior.

Inside, I can’t rip my eyes away from her. All I can do is soak in how her expression changes from confusion to wonder, how her eyes are wide and sparkling with fascination.

“They recently secured funding for restoration,” I explain, keeping my voice low, as if not to disturb the ghosts of this place. “I thought you’d want to see it before they start work.”

Her gaze scans the intricate moldings, soaring ceilings, and graceful arches she once studied, before I see her wiping away a tear from her cheek.

“Celeste?”

Shaking her head, she smiles through the emotion. “I’m fine.” She swallows. “It’s just… amazing. Thank you.”

We venture deeper, passing beneath vaulted ceilings and cracked marble columns.

I can practically see her mind at work, envisioning restoration and mentally drafting blueprints. She pauses often, her fingertips ghosting over surfaces with tenderness.

“Look at these.” She stops to examine a series of arched windows with intricate stained glass, partially obscured by layers of grime. “These windows are priceless. They must have taken months, maybe years, to create. ”

She ascends the staircase, and I follow silently behind her, watching her explore rows of forgotten bookshelves lined with dusty volumes no one has touched in decades.

Her fingers gently trace over the spines.

I have no interest in these relics, but the way her face lights up—God, I could watch her like this forever.

She turns toward me, walking backward, and I already know trouble is coming.

“When you were in high school or college, did you ever make out with a girl in the non-fiction section?”

I put my hands in my pockets just to stop myself from reaching out and pulling her into my arms. “Can’t say I have.”

She stops when her back meets the edge of a table at the end of the aisle. “How about we change that?”

Christ, this woman.

“Celeste,” I warn. “This isn’t why I brought you here.”

“You were the first man to ever blindfold me. Let me be the first girl you ever make out with in the non-fiction section.”

Her skirt rides up her thighs as she pulls herself onto the table and shrugs. Bare skin flashes, and my control fractures. She knows exactly what she’s doing to me.

Fuck patience. This woman is addictive.

In two strides, I’m on her. When my mouth crashes onto hers, she wraps her arms around my neck and holds on.

A sudden thud echoes through the library, startling us both as a book tumbles to the floor from a nearby shelf.

“I think we have an audience of ghosts,” I murmur against her lips.

She smiles wickedly as her fingers trail down my torso. “Then let the ghosts have their gossip.”