Succubus Blues. Richelle Mead

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СКАЧАТЬ I commented. “Letting those touch the ground. You’ll have to burn them now, like a flag.”

      Ignoring me, Doug gathered up the books and then ushered me off out of earshot. “Nice of you to go home and change into something more comfortable. Christ, can you even bend over in that?”

      “What, do you think I’ll have to tonight?”

      “Well, that depends. I mean, Warren’s here after all.”

      “Harsh, Doug. Very harsh.”

      “You bring it on yourself, Kincaid.” He gave me a reluctant, appreciative glance just before we started climbing the stairs. “You do look pretty good, though.”

      “Thanks. I wanted Seth Mortensen to notice me.”

      “Believe me, unless he’s gay, he’ll notice you. Probably even then too.”

      “I don’t look too slutty, do I?”

      “No.”

      “Or cheap?”

      “No.”

      “I was going for classy sexy. What do you think?”

      “I think I’m done feeding your ego. You already know how you look.”

      We crested the top of the stairs. A mass of chairs had been set up, covering most of the café’s normal seating area and spreading out into part of the gardening and maps section of books. Paige, the store manager and our superior, busily attempted some sort of wiring acrobatics with the microphone and sound system. I didn’t know what this building had been used for before Emerald City Books moved in, but it was not an ideal venue for acoustics and large groups.

      “I’m going to help her,” Doug told me, kindly chivalrous. Paige was three months pregnant. “I’d advise you do something that doesn’t involve leaning more than twenty degrees in any one direction. Oh, and if somebody tries to get you to touch your elbows together behind your back, don’t fall for it.”

      I gave him a sharp jab in the ribs, nearly making him lose the books again.

      Bruce, still manning the espresso counter, made me my fourth white chocolate mocha of the day, and I wandered over to the geography books to drink it while I waited for things to pick up. Glancing beside me, I recognized the guy I’d discussed Seth Mortensen with earlier. He still held his copy of The Glasgow Pact.

      “Hey,” I said.

      He jumped at the sound of my voice, having been absorbed in a travel book about Texas.

      “Sorry,” I told him. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

      “I—no, you d-didn’t,” he stammered. His eyes assessed me from head to toe in one quick glance, lingering ever so briefly on my hips and breasts but longest on my face. “You changed clothes.” Apparently realizing the myriad implications behind such an admission, he added hastily, “Not that that’s bad. I mean that’s good. Er, well, that is—”

      His embarrassment growing, he turned from me and tried to awkwardly replace the Texas book back on the shelf, upside down. I hid my smile. This guy was too adorable. I didn’t run into many shy guys anymore. Modern-day dating seemed to demand men make as great a spectacle of themselves as possible, and unfortunately, women seemed to really go for it. Okay, even I went for it sometimes. But shy guys deserved a break too, and I decided a little harmless flirting with him would be good for his ego while I waited for the signing to start. He probably had terrible luck with women.

      “Let me do that,” I offered, leaning across him. My hands touched his as I took the book from him, replacing it carefully on the shelf, front cover out. “There.”

      I stepped back as though to admire my handiwork, making sure I stood very close to him, our shoulders nearly touching. “It’s important to keep up appearances with books,” I explained. “Image goes a long way in this business.”

      He dared a look over at me, still nervous but steadily recovering his composure. “I go more for content.”

      “Really?” I repositioned slightly so that we were touching again, the soft flannel of his shirt brushing my bare skin. “Because I could have sworn a moment ago you were pretty caught up in outside appearance.”

      His eyes shifted down again, but I could see a smile curving his lips. “Well. Some things are so striking, they can’t help but draw attention to themselves.”

      “And doesn’t that make you curious about what’s inside?”

      “Mostly it makes me want to get you some advanced copies.”

      Advanced copies? What did he—?

      “Seth? Seth, where—ah, there you are.”

      Paige turned down our aisle, Doug following behind. She brightened when she saw me, and I felt my stomach sink out of me and hit the floor with a thud as I put two and two together. No. No. It couldn’t be—

      “Ah, Georgina. I see you’ve already met Seth Mortensen.”

      Chapter 4

      “Kill me, Doug. Just kill me now. Put me out of my misery.”

      My immortality notwithstanding, the sentiment was sincere.

      “Christ, Kincaid, what did you say to him?” murmured Doug.

      We stood off to the side of Seth Mortensen’s audience, along with many others. All the seats had filled up, putting space and visibility at a premium. I was lucky to be with the staff in our reserved section, giving us a perfect view of Seth as he read from The Glasgow Pact. Not that I wanted to be in his line of sight. In fact, I really would have preferred that I never come face to face with him again.

      “Well,” I told Doug, keeping an eye on Paige so as not to draw attention to our whispering, “I ripped on his fans and on how long it takes for his books to come out.”

      Doug stared at me, his expectations exceeded.

      “Then I said—not knowing who he was—that I’d be Seth Mortensen’s love slave in exchange for advanced copies of his books.”

      I didn’t elaborate on my impromptu flirting. To think, I’d imagined I was boosting a shy guy’s ego! Good Lord. Seth Mortensen could probably bed a different groupie every night if he wanted.

      Not that he seemed like the type. He’d demonstrated much of the same initial nervousness in front of the crowd as he had with me. He grew more comfortable once he started reading, however, warming to the material and letting his voice rise and fall with intensity and wry humor.

      “What kind of a fan are you?” Doug asked. “Didn’t you know what he looked like?”

      “There are never pictures of him in his books! Besides, I thought he’d be older.” I guessed now that Seth was in his mid-thirties, a bit older than I looked in this body, but younger than the forty-something writer I’d always imagined.

      “Well, СКАЧАТЬ