Fractured Things - Samantha Lovelock Page 0,32

count how many winter evenings I sat in front of the fire, happily just watching her read.” His voice trails off.

Of course. This house has been in the Halliday family forever. My mother probably spent a lot of time within these rooms when she was young.

“I’m sorry, that was stupid of me, Mr. Halliday. I don’t know why I thought she’d never been here.” My apology hangs softly between us, the air still and quiet.

“Please, call me Holt, Stella. Mr. Halliday is for business and people I don’t like. Holt is for family.” Unaware of his words' effect on me, he picks up his phone and taps out a quick text. When his attention returns to me, I’ve managed to kibosh the tears before they fall.

“Sorry about that. There is something I think you’d like to see. I’ve asked Poe to bring it down.” He stands and stretches his arms behind his back, then moves over to the wet bar and pours himself two fingers of a burnt amber liquid I’m sure is incredibly expensive scotch. “While we wait, you’re more than welcome to see if there’s anything on the shelves that interests you. Would you like a soda or water?”

“No, thank you, Mr. Hal—I mean, no thank you, Holt,” I smile around his name. “The books, though, those I’m absolutely going to explore.” Jumping up excitedly, my feet carry me to the furthest edge of the bookcases, figuring I should start from the beginning.

Tracing my hands over the spines, it feels like I’ve been given a great gift. Some of these are old, like old, old—the kind of things I’d never be allowed to be this close to in my previous life. The smell of the leather and paper embrace me. There really is something to be said about the scent of books and how the paper feels when you turn the pages. Not that I could have afforded an e-reader before, but even if I could’ve, something tells me my preference would still be for tangible, printed words.

A perfunctory knock sounds at the door to the study, and Poe strides in, freshly showered and smelling divine, damp hair spiky on top, and his dark t-shirt fitting his torso in a way that makes my mouth water.

Stop drooling! Good lord, his dad is in the room, and you’re over here getting a lady boner.

The jackass seems to know precisely what’s going through my mind and leans against Holt’s desk, aiming a smart-ass smirk my way while his eyes flash with his own dirty thoughts. He smoothly hands his dad a book without turning his attention from me.

I do my best to give him shit by scowling in his direction, but my attempt fails miserably because all he does is throw back his head and laugh. Which, of course, exposes the length of his throat and draws my focus to the line of his strong jaw and the sexy collarbones I suddenly find myself wanting to nibble on.

Nibble on his collarbones?!? What the hell is this guy doing to me? Why does everything about him make me want to see him naked again?

The thought of him with no clothes on just makes matters worse, and my face feels like it’s on fire. Tired of him taking the lead, whether he realizes he is or not, I walk over and punch him twice in the upper arm.

“Hey! What the hell was that for?” He grouses, rubbing the spot where my fist connected, even though we both know it didn’t hurt.

I lean in close and lower my voice, hoping Holt doesn’t hear.

“Two for being a pain in my ass. Stop standing there, looking like every girl’s wet dream, please.”

“Or what?” he asks with a mischievous note in his voice.

“Or I’m going to punch you again, only this time it won’t be in the arm.” I threaten in a teasing tone, holding my fist in front of me, level with his crotch. “Behave.” He grins at me and shakes his head ever so slightly.

“Never.”

My exaggerated eye roll sets him off, laughing again as Holt sets down his drink and comes to join us. The heartache painting his features instantly sobers Poe and I though, and we both straighten up.

“Stella, your mom and I, well, we accidentally gave each other the same book for Christmas the year she was fifteen, and I was sixteen.” He sits in the leather chair I recently vacated and leans forward, cradling the worn and well-read paperback reverently. “We