Not to mention that the man had an ass like an actual peach.
Really? That’s what you’re focusing on right now?
Ugh. How shallow was she? It was particularly hypocritical, since she’d always felt it unfair that men wrote her off because she was carrying some extra weight. Or sometimes the opposite—that her weight was why they liked her, and it had nothing to do with what went on inside her head or her heart.
Yet now she was objectifying Ronan in that exact way.
Maybe it was simply a case of figuring out how to scratch her “itch.” Sharing a room with her sisters did not lend itself to an active sex life—or any sex life at all. And these days, Audrey had too much on her plate to really put in the effort to find someone she had a connection with. Unfortunately, all that pent-up energy, coupled with the fact that Ronan was hot enough to fry a steak on, meant she couldn’t seem to force her brain to think a single sensible thought around him.
“Come visit me anytime,” she said, though her voice sounded a little higher-pitched than normal. Could she not act cool for once in her sorry life? “And what were you doing in my aunt’s shop? You don’t strike me as the type to be into all that.”
He turned to her, his full lips quirking into a smile. “Funny. I thought the same about you.”
“I’m there to help out. She’s owned that shop since forever, but she’s getting older. She needs to share the load.”
That wasn’t entirely true—more like her aunt was doing her a favor by giving her gainful employment and paying her more than she was worth so she could keep her siblings fed and clothed. Since Audrey refused to take money for nothing—aka charity, which felt utterly demeaning and rubbed against her sense of independence—they’d come to an arrangement where she worked at Game of Stones two days a week and helped out with the books.
But, for some reason, she didn’t want Ronan to know all that. Because “all that” could lead to other things she didn’t want to talk about.
“What’s the weirdest thing someone has come in for?” There was a mischievous sparkle to his blue eyes, and her heart thumped insistently in her chest. The man could melt a grown woman with those eyes.
“Uh…” She forced her brain to shift gears. “We had this guy once who was in town for the weekend. He wanted a tarot reading done, but with his own cards, and they were kind of…graphic.”
Ronan raised a brow.
She cringed at the memory. “Tarot has four suits, right. Swords, wands, pentacles, and cups. These cards had…uh, phallic images for some of the suits. I’ll leave it to you to guess what they used for swords.”
Ronan laughed, and the sound was rough and raspy and delightfully at odds with his smooth voice. It sent a shiver down Audrey’s spine. “What did you do?”
“I wasn’t giving the reading, thankfully. We have a woman who comes in every weekend to take clients, so she ended up with him. He took the whole thing very seriously, and our poor tarot lady had to do the whole thing with a lot of very large, veiny penises staring up at her.”
Ronan shook his head, still chuckling. “Veiny?”
“Uh, yeah.” Audrey wrinkled her nose. “It was gross.”
“I’ll bet.”
“It’s funny. These days, we think of tarot as very hocus-pocus. But tarot originated as a card game back in the fifteenth century and wasn’t widely used for divination until the late eighteenth century.”
“I stand by my earlier assessment. If there’s ever trivia in Kissing Creek, I want you on my team.”
Her brain circled on “I want you” over and over, creating a sexy echo in her head. Yeah, right; a man like Ronan would never, ever want a woman like her. White trash, former trailer-park girl skirting the poverty line. A woman with nothing to offer. Did she seriously think a professor would be interested in a barista with a fountain of useless general knowledge?
“So, uh, the bookstore is down here.” She pointed down Rose Street, which looked more like a glorified driveway than a road. “Take a left at the end.”
He paused, eyes searching her face. The sun was high, and it was so warm Audrey felt like she was burning up under her cardigan. She only wore the damn thing to ward against the air-conditioning her aunt blasted to combat her hot flashes. But outside, under the intense contact of Ronan’s delicious blue gaze, Audrey was seriously concerned that she might not-so-spontaneously combust.
“Would you like to accompany me?”
Damn. He spoke like a freaking Jane Austen hero, and that only served to ratchet her desire up a few more notches. The men she knew spoke in a series of grunts, and they most certainly didn’t use words like “accompany.”
“Sure.” She was powerless to do anything but agree. “I love books.”
You love books? Really? That’s the best you could do?
Audrey had her nerd label all but stamped to her forehead. She devoured books like her life depended on it. Second Chance often had sales to clear out old stock where the books were a quarter each. She’d come home with a big stack every time, and there was something about the cracked spines and coffee stains and notes in the margin that she adored.
“I love books, too.” Ronan grinned, and Audrey’s heart thumped.
She would need to be on her best behavior today, because it was fine for Ronan to channel some Colin Firth–level sexiness, but she needed to keep her head on straight. Scratching an itch was fine, but not with her professor.
…
Ronan watched as Audrey slipped her cardigan off and slung it over one arm. The thin straps of her dress exposed rounded shoulders dusted with freckles and the sweet slope of her neck. He cleared his throat and forced his eyes ahead of him as they walked down the narrow street. It was almost an alley, with the backs of houses facing them rather than the front. One yard had a large lemon tree hanging slightly over the fence, bright yellow fruit dotting its full branches.
“What do you read?” he asked. Books seemed like a safe topic—something he could talk about for hours that would hopefully stop his mind from veering into any inappropriate thoughts about Audrey.
Your student, Audrey.
Yeah, he needed the reminder…which was highly unusual. In over a decade of some form of teaching, he’d never once felt tempted to cross the line. But there was something about Audrey that was like a hook in his brain, and he couldn’t shake it free.
“Mostly nonfiction,” she said. “But I’m open to any topic. True crime, history, travel memoirs, self-help, essay collections.”
“It’s admirable that you find time for recreational reading while you’re studying. I know a lot of students find it difficult, given how much they have to read for class.” It had certainly been that way for Ronan. He’d always been the kid with his nose in a book—something he’d been mocked for as a teenager. “Are you taking a full course load?”
“Umm…”
He allowed his gaze to slide back over to her in time to see her brows knitting above her nose.
“No, I’m not taking a full load,” she replied. “I’m not actually working toward a degree.”
That surprised Ronan. Sure, he’d noticed that she was older than the average student in his undergrad classes. He’d put her at mid-twenties, maybe a little older. There was a quiet maturity about her that set her apart.
“Oh? Is it workforce development, then?”
“For my jobs as a barista and hawker of spiritual wares? Uh, no.” She laughed, but it sounded forced. “I don’t really need too much development for those kinds of jobs.”
She wasn’t studying toward a degree or taking classes to enhance her employment opportunities. “Why are you taking my class?”
“For pleasure…of learning, I mean.” She nodded as if reassuring herself. “I like to learn about different things. It’s why I read and listen to podcasts and take night classes. Not all learning needs to be wor
king toward something, right?”
They’d paused at the front of the bookstore, which looked like something he’d expect to find in the Shire. The low doorframe and tiny windows stacked with books had a distinct “hobbit hole” feel to them, and Ronan was sure he’d find some treasures inside.
“You’re right,” he said. “But it’s not often I encounter a student in my classes purely for the love of learning. You’re a rare breed.”
She looked up at him like she wasn’t quite sure what to make of his assessment—whether it was a compliment or not. “Rare. That’s a new one.”
They walked into the store, and it was as gloriously dusty and crammed as he’d hoped. Ronan had a thing for secondhand bookstores, probably because his grandmother was an avid reader and they’d spent many school vacations hunting out teetering piles of long-forgotten tomes and first editions of the Agatha Christie novels she loved so much.
Since he’d fled England with only a suitcase to his name, the bookshelf in his furnished campus accommodation was unacceptably bare. Besides, small towns might not be the most exciting places to live, but he’d come across some of his best finds in out-of-the-way places like Kissing Creek.
Audrey trailed her fingertip along a shelf of thick leather-bound vintage encyclopedias, her eyes flicking and assessing every volume she passed. The store was dim, since books filled every inch of the place, including being piled up high in front of the windows. There was a man near the door, sitting behind his desk with his head tipped forward, glasses perched precariously on the end of his nose.
Audrey held her finger up to her lips. “Mr. Hart likes to have a snooze in the middle of the day. He’s almost ninety, but he refuses to let anyone take over the shop.”
“Is this town straight out of a rom-com?” Ronan shook his head. “Don’t tell me—somewhere there’s a princess undercover as a regular girl.”
“It certainly isn’t me; I’ll tell you that.” Audrey snorted. “And are you intimately acquainted with rom-coms?”
“Not intimately, no. But I lived in a shared house with two other TAs at one point, and one of them watched those things on repeat. Christmas was unbearable.”
“Oh, but they’re so fun.” Audrey clapped her hands together. “Secret babies and time-traveling royalty and small towns where everyone’s always getting snowed in. And cute animals!”
“I don’t think I’m the target audience, somehow.” Ronan found himself moving farther into the store, the aisles narrowing so much that his shoulders bumped the shelves on both sides. He turned to his side to shuffle through a particularly small section. “This shop is a fire hazard.”
“I know.” Audrey sighed, a smile blossoming on her full lips. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
“It really is.”
They were standing closer than Ronan would have liked. Actually, that was a complete lie. They were standing close enough that Ronan liked it very much, because Audrey’s hand brushed his as they reached for the same book. Her gaze shot up to meet him in a way that had his stomach knotting. Clearly, she’d felt that sharp electric spark, too.
“Sorry,” she muttered, ducking her head. “You go ahead.”
“No, you go.” He gestured for her to slide the book out from between its shelf mates.
How was this whole scene so romantically charged? It was dark and cool and a little musty, but Ronan felt like he was in the basement of some castle, with a woman tempting as all sin tucked right beside him. The smell of her—like flowers and fresh air—mingled with the scent of old books and wood, and he had the very real vision of pushing her against the heaving shelves and kissing her senseless. Of pushing that pretty dress up her thighs and—
Hell fucking no. What’s wrong with you?
Audrey was still looking at him, green eyes almost engulfed by black. Nostrils flaring a little. Her teeth dented her lower lip, and her breath skipped like a needle on a scratched-up record.
“So…you’ve lived here your whole life?” It was small-talk drivel, but that was better than having his mind run wild with fantasies.
“In the bookstore?” She smirked before turning to hook her finger into the spine of the book, sliding out to inspect the blurb on the back cover.
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes, I’m a Kissing Creek resident from birth.” There was a note of something dark in her reply, like she wasn’t proud of admitting it. “Pink, white, and red runs in my blood. Why did you come here? I can’t imagine Harrison Beech is high up on any professor’s list of desirable colleges to teach at.”
“Why do you say that?”
“We’re close enough to Boston that most people move away, but not so close that we feel like we’re part of the city,” she said with a shrug. To some people, it might have sounded like a negative, but Audrey stated it as though it was simply fact. “And the average age might be mid-thirties, but don’t be fooled. There are hardly any people here who are that age; it’s simply an average of college students and retirees.”
“What about you?”
She looked up, her eyes narrowed slightly. “Isn’t it rude to ask a woman her age?”
“You brought up the topic,” he replied.
“I’m twenty-six, and my birthday is at the end of the year.”
He grinned. “Does that make you a Pisces?”
Audrey smirked. “Nice try, but Pisces is mid-February to March. Is that the only star sign you know?”
Busted. “Yeah. I was more curious to see if you knew about it, since you’re such a collector of knowledge.”
“I know about the star signs because we have books and astrological charts in the shop. For the record, I’m a Capricorn.”
She replaced the book on the shelf and wandered ahead of him, her hips shifting as she maneuvered around a stack of leather-bound tomes that came up to her waist.
“What does that mean for the uninitiated?” he asked.
“I’m stubborn, persistent, practical, and a realist. Arguably the most boring of all the star signs, in my humble opinion. Well, all the earth signs get that unfair label, I guess.” She glanced back over her shoulder. “That sounded like complete gibberish to you, didn’t it?”
“Total gibberish.” And yet, Ronan found himself once again impossibly fascinated. “What star sign would you rather be?”
“Leo maybe…but with less ego. Ooh, no, Scorpio. I want to be moody and mysterious and passionate.” She grinned. “Highly unpractical and a little bit of a loose cannon.”
“Ah, but you’re much too sensible for that.” Anybody could see it—Audrey was diligent and hardworking, and she took responsibility for her actions.
She might call it boring, but Ronan admired those traits. Who knew what his life might have been like if his parents had embodied a bit more responsibility?
Audrey laughed. “I’m afraid I am. Comes with the territory.”
“And what territory is that?”
She blinked, the amusement in her expression evaporating and leaving behind something else. “Just my life.”
“Being a barista and hawking spiritual wares?” He shouldn’t prod; it was none of his business. But he wanted to know everything there was to know about Audrey, the mysterious girl with the beguiling smile.
“Putting food on the table for my siblings.” Her gaze never left his, almost as if she wanted to gauge his reaction. Suddenly it all made sense—not studying toward anything because that was too much commitment, and the two jobs she seemed to enjoy but wasn’t excited about. “Playing mom doesn’t lend itself to being a passionate loose cannon.”
Ronan’s own mother would beg to differ, no doubt. “How many siblings?”
“Four, but one is off on her own adventures now. She’s studying at Duke.” Audrey’s proud smile made Ronan like her even more. “The twins are seventeen and getting ready to start col
lege applications. Deanna is fourteen. She started high school this year.”
“I bet they look up to you,” he said.
“They don’t have much choice,” she said with a rueful smile. “But I try to make sure they have everything they need. The wants are a little harder, but we make do. We’re a good family.”
We’re a good family.
Her words had a hint of defensiveness to them, like she’d been told otherwise at some point and felt the need to stand in front of her family name with sword and shield.
He wondered what happened to her parents—were they sick, dead? Or just deadbeats, like his own? For a moment, Ronan felt a kindred connection with Audrey. Although he’d never had the responsibility of looking after Keira, as Grandma Orna had been there since they were born. And she’d been an entire family wrapped up in one person.
“And that’s about as much talking about myself as I like to do, thank you very much,” Audrey said, cutting into the questions forming a tornado in his head.
Ronan held up his hands. “Got it. No more personal questions.”
They moved toward the back of the store, where yet more shelves sagged under the weight of a seemingly infinite number of pages and spines. He found the mystery section and scoured the Agatha Christie titles, looking for anything his grandmother might not own. She’d collected first editions of plenty of the later Christie novels from the sixties and seventies, but those from the thirties and forties were much harder to come by, often being snapped up by collectors and rare-book dealers to be sold for an exorbitant price.
“You’re a mystery reader?” Audrey asked, peering around his arm.
“My grandmother is. She’s got quite the collection, so I always keep a lookout for anything special when I find a new bookstore.”
“You’re looking for books for your grandmother’s collection?” Audrey shook her head. “Could you be any more of a cinnamon roll?”
“A what?” He blinked.
“It’s very sweet, that’s all.” She laughed.
“She was the one who taught me to read,” he said. Orna had done it in her typical fashion, thrusting a book upon him when he hadn’t been the least bit interested and forcing him to sit still until they’d made it all the way through.
Kissing Lessons (Kissing Creek) Page 5