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If Books Could Kill


If Books Could Kill

Without warning I was grabbed from behind, lifted off the ground and twirled around.

I screamed and swore loudly at my assailant. Then I realized who it was and swore even more.

"Despite that mouth of yours, you're more beautiful than ever," he said.

"Kyle McVee, you idiot!" I cried, and hugged him hard.

"Ah, you've missed me," he crowed as he held me snugly in his arms.

"No, I didn't miss you," I said, burying my face in the crook of his delicious-smelling neck. "You're a cad and a rat fink, remember? The Bad Boy Bookseller of Belgravia. I curse your name every morning."

"I love you, too, my sweet," he said with a laugh. "Besides, I've mellowed."

"Really," I said.

"Yes, I'm quite housebroken these days, not a rat at all." He kissed me full on the lips. "Mm, you've still got the sexiest mouth on four continents."

"Oh, stop it." I stood back and looked at the man who'd broken my heart three—or was it four?—years ago. My breath almost caught as I stared. Kyle McVee was simply beautiful. Tall, elegant, with a wicked grin and dark eyes that sparkled with charm and humor, he had the look of an angel but was an unapologetic devil through and through. He was yet another living example of my pitiful taste in men.

Maybe I did have a sad habit of picking the most unsuitable men, but I certainly chose the prettiest ones.

© Kate Carlisle

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