Perfect.
My cheeks were definitely bright red.
Roane’s fingertips pressed deeper against my lower back, and then I felt the whisper of his lips on my ear as he commented, “Interesting choice.”
I made the mistake of turning my head toward him and found his nose inches from mine. Our eyes locked for a second before his gaze dropped to my mouth.
Today he smelled like freshly mown grass sprinkled with musky male spice.
My body swayed slightly toward his, and Roane apparently took the movement as an invitation, his head dipping those last few inches.
“Excuse me.”
A voice, loud and close, jolted me away from Roane, whose mouth had been millimeters from touching mine—so close, I’d felt his breath tickle my lips.
“I just . . . want that book.” An arm reached between us, and dazed, I looked down to see a petite brunette with glasses that took up most of her face. She seemed unfazed by the fact she’d clearly interrupted an almost clinch. Instead her determined eagle eyes were on the historical romance novel.
Despite my disappointment, I decided I was ultimately grateful for the interruption. I was leaving in two weeks, and there was no point in giving in to this attraction. Neither of us would be happy with a casual physical encounter. Furthermore, I was running out of time to discover what I wanted from life. I did not need a guy muddling up my already confused headspace.
I grabbed the book for the woman, who was straining to reach the shelf, and handed it to her. She gave me a thin-lipped smile and darted away. After a second or two of staring after her, I finally drew up the courage to look at my friend.
Roane’s expression was unreadable.
Uncomfortable for the first time in his presence, I flickered my gaze over his shoulder, looking for something to distract us. Across the room, I spotted a shelf dedicated to Harry Potter.
That would do.
“Ooh,” I said, hurrying across the bookshop. Spotting the first book in the series, I removed it. Roane had followed, as I’d expected, and I turned to him, smiling through the awkwardness. “I have to get this.”
Roane bent his head toward mine to peer at the book. “Have to?”
Our eyes met, and just like that we were much too close for my body to handle. I swallowed hard, wondering how obvious it would be if I physically retreated. Pretty obvious, I guessed. “It’s, uh, well . . . the first book has a different title in the States. It would be cool to own a copy with the original UK title.”
His eyes trained on my mouth as he murmured, “What’s it called in the States?”
“The Sorcerer’s Stone, not The Philosopher’s Stone. Apparently, the publisher didn’t think Americans would associate the word ‘philosophy’ with magic.” I sounded breathless. Most likely because I was.
“Hmm.” Roane wasn’t even listening to my words at this point. His focus was on my mouth, his eyes were hooded, and he was definitely going to attempt another kiss.
Stop him! a voice screeched in my head.
It was the voice of reason.
I jerked away from him. “Anyway, I’m going to go buy it.” Wow, my voice sounded high. Unable to meet his gaze, I strode away toward the front of the store, where I’d seen the cash register.
As I waited to be served, I took a bunch of photos of the store to share on Instagram, and by the time the line moved down, Roane had returned to my side. He didn’t say a word, just waited patiently for the guy behind the counter to ring up my book, and when I was ready to leave, he placed his hand on my lower back and guided me out through the crowds.
“You liked it then?” Roane asked, as if he hadn’t just tried to kiss me twice, been interrupted and then rebuffed.
“Yes,” I replied, deciding to follow his lead and pretend the encounter hadn’t happened. “I loved it. Thank you for bringing me here. I’ll have to come back before I leave.”
He flicked me an unreadable look and yanked open the driver’s-side door of his SUV.
Despite our pretense of normality, tensions were high between us as Roane drove me to the rental car place. Unfortunately, it was closed so we’d have to come back another day. When? I didn’t know. I was already halfway through my vacation. The thought depressed me.
Our last stop was the supermarket, and as we strolled through the aisles, Roane pushing the cart, it felt weirdly more intimate than the two near kisses at the bookstore.
So domestic.
People stared at us. I didn’t know if it was because it was difficult not to notice Roane, or if it was the two of us together that was causing the stir. Then I caught sight of us in one of the mirrors in the clothing department, and my uneasiness increased.