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    “Well, yes, but no.”
    He barely managed to stifle his snort, unsure whether he wanted to laugh or scream.
    “The thing is, you have so many. I organized one boxful only to find the next box wrecked what I’d done so I thought they’d look nicer if all the same color spines sat together. I tried to follow the colors of the spectrum. Look, the books go up and down in waves.”
    He’d noticed. It made him feel seasick.
    “But the most important thing is that you’ll have fun trying to find the book you want,” Matty said with a broad smile. “It will be a whole new experience.”
    Turner spotted How to Avoid Huge Ships shelved between Dining Posture in Ancient Societies and Primeval Plants and growled.
    “You don’t like it,” she said in a small voice, disappointment all over her face. “Sorry. I was only trying to help. I could do it again.”
    “No, you’ve done quite enough.”
    “Please let me put things right. You want all the thrillers together? I can do that.”
    She dodged around him and clambered up the ladder that leaned against the shelves. Turner stared at the strip of flesh exposed on her lower back, and then his gaze dropped to her feet. Old-fashioned shoes but tiny, beautiful ankles, the gentle curves of her calves, the delicate skin at the back of her knees, smooth thighs… Oh God, her legs go on forever . If he moved a little closer, he’d be able to see— Turner groaned and jerked away from her toward the desk. His foot snagged the base of the ladder and knocked it askew.
    Matty squeaked and Turner flung himself toward her as she tumbled. He just managed to get his arms around her before she hit the floor. But in the process he ended up there with her, lying on his back with her on top. When she didn’t move, he rolled so she lay beneath him, intending to push himself up, but then didn’t. Their faces were six inches apart.
    Five inches.
    What the fuck am I doing? I don’t even like her.
    Four inches.
    She smells so sweet. And drives me crazy—not in a good way. Though…
    Three inches.
    One taste. Then I’ll be put off for good.
    Two inches.
    I could pretend I slipped.
    One inch.
    I am so fucked.
    Turner told himself no, but as his fingers speared her weird hair above her pixie ears and his lips touched hers, the last vestiges of his control evaporated, the dam broke and lust went on the rampage. He covered her mouth with his and fucked her with his tongue. Some tiny corner of his brain yelled, “Slow, tender, gentle,” but his marauding Viking tongue went for “pillage, thrust and ravage”.
    Her hands slid over his back, her fingers kneading his spine through his shirt and it was like pouring fuel on a fire. Blazing hot in an instant, Turner was caught in an inferno. He couldn’t think straight, couldn’t think beyond satisfying his desperation to bury himself inside her, pound into her over and over until they came, screaming together.
    Oh hell.
    When Turner felt her struggling to breathe, he managed to pull his mouth back, but only as far as her chin, and from there his lips slid inexorably onto the delicate column of her neck. Oh yes.
    No, no, no.
    Shut up.
    Soft, smooth, tempting skin with a pulse that sang the sweetest song. Calling him—enticing, luring. As he dragged his mouth down her throat, she whimpered and whispered his name. His cock went diamond hard. Turner sucked her neck, drunk on her taste, her scent, her softness. And yet for some reason, his fangs stayed in as if they sensed no point in biting her. He yanked his mouth up to claim her lips again. He writhed against her, rocking his desperate cock into her lower belly, wanting clothes gone but unwilling and unable to release her head so he could tear them off.
    Her fingers forced a way between their bodies and she spread her hot palm over his groin. Electricity flashed from his cock to his balls. His turn to whimper. One squeeze and it was a miracle he didn’t come in his pants. He lifted himself