A Gentleman in the Street (17 page)

“None taken.” She gave him a shark’s smile. “The old lady next door still mutters about the ‘upstart Oriental’ who bought Buffy and Harold’s place and turned it into a den of sin.” She opened the door to her library.

Jacob stopped. Good. It meant he was properly impressed. “May every den of sin look like this.”

“If you’re going to sin, darling, you should do it with class.”

The ceilings here were as high as the rest of the house, and the massive expanse of walls had been covered by floor
-
to
-
ceiling bookcases. A couple of sofas and tables made up a large reading nook in one corner. Her heavy desk and home office setup were arranged nearby.

There was a separate study, but she preferred this area. The scent of the books helped her think. Some of the shelves were empty, but the majority were crammed tight with titles.

Jacob took a few more steps inside and craned his neck up, treating the sight of this room with the kind of reverence most people displayed in her impressive foyer. “This is insane. This is all yours?”

“Well. I inherited about a fifth of the titles from the previous owners, after donating the boring ones I didn’t want. The rest, yes. The rest are mine.

“What?” she asked, when he continued to look at her. “Some rich people collect art. I collect books.”

“You never told me that.”

“I didn’t think it was relevant.”

“I’m an author. You didn’t think I’d find it relevant you have a library the size of a football field?”

“Hardly a football field. Maybe a couple of basketball courts.” She couldn’t help but savor some satisfaction. Jacob didn’t impress easily.

He walked to the closest bookcase and ran his finger along the shelf. “You’ve had someone alphabetize these?”

“Funny enough, I am capable of putting books in alphabetical order without relying on my serfs.”

He shot her an incredulous glance. “When do you sleep?”

She glanced deliberately at her watch. “Sometime between fucking and ruling the world.”

The words were a test, and he passed. No flinch or expression of horror at her frank talk, but a snort of laughter that made her want to smile.

She controlled her facial muscles. Really, she was too easily swayed by this man.

She stiffened when he came to an abrupt halt, his shoulders rigid. Abruptly recalling what was in that section, Akira took a quick step toward him, but it was too late.

Fiction. The C’s.

He turned and studied her. “You have every one of my books.”

She kept her face impassive, though she couldn’t help that her fingers had tightened into a fist, her body bracing for a blow.
Never let them see what you like, what you want.
“So?”

“So…why do you have my books?”

Her shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I don’t know.” Her heartbeat accelerated, a tell that annoyed her, even if he would be unaware of it.

Well, you see, I couldn’t stand not having at least the barest connection with you.

She couldn’t talk to him. She couldn’t bed him. She couldn’t befriend him. But for all these years, she could read him.

She tensed, prepared for an interrogation or mocking, and was surprised when he tapped his fingers against the shelf and cocked his head. “Do you want my autograph?”

Her muscles relaxed in a rush, making her legs shaky. Her lips quivered at the corner. “Sure.” She strolled closer. Mischief and another, darker emotion had her reaching past him to pull a paperback off the shelf. This book had been released in hardcover later on, she was sure of it, once Jacob became popular, but she still had the original first edition. Her fingers brushed his when she handed it to him. “Here. Do this one.”

They both looked down at the glossy cover of
Shield of Sorrows
. Unflinching, he met her gaze. “It wasn’t you.”

Heat rushed through her, but it wasn’t arousal. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He took the book from her and flipped through the pages, a fierce scowl growing on his face. “It came to my attention recently there are those who believe I modeled Lidia after you.”

Her laugh was light. Meaningless. “Do you think I’ve honestly read every book in this library, Jacob? I don’t know who Lidia is.”

That gave him pause, before a cunning light lit his eyes. “You may not have read every book in here, but you’ve read all of mine.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You’re arrogant.”

“And you’re lying if you deny it. Which is why you aren’t denying it.”

She leaned against the bookcase, considering him. “I’m an excellent liar.”

“Not with me. And I think you know that.”

Had he always been this sexily confident? Had his quiet
,
unruffled demeanor simply concealed it from her? “Okay, hotshot. I’ve read this book. But I certainly have better things to do than wonder if you used me as inspiration for a self-serving socialite with questionable morals.”

She had never been able to read his emotions quite so easily. Remorse deepened the lines around his mouth. “Well, if you had, rest assured, I definitely did not.” He pulled a pen out of his shirt pocket and flipped open the book to the title page. Scrawling a couple of lines, he handed it back to her.

Unable to resist, she glanced at the writing.
You’re more like the hero.

She bit her lip to keep from smiling. “Because I’m brilliant, aggressive, and sexually accomplished?”

His face was serious. “Yeah. And because you could probably save the world, if you were wearing the right shoes.”

She cleared her throat. It had been a while, but she vaguely recalled the time Agent Talent had freed himself from certain death with a knife concealed in the sole of his wingtips.

As amused as she was, she wouldn’t read too much into his words. He was being flip, that was all. Akira placed the book on the nearest shelf, ruining her admittedly obsessive ordering system. “I undoubtedly could.”

He shifted his weight
.
The light from the wall sconces caught the subtle reddish undertones in his hair. “So, what do you think?”

“Think?”

“Of my books.”

Her fingers drummed a steady tattoo on the shelf. “You don’t want to know.”

He winced. “Ouch. Okay. That bad, huh?”

“The intrigue and suspense part is always good,” she offered. “You’ve almost stumped me a couple of times until the middle.”

“I’m kind of hoping to stump people until the end.”

“Don’t worry. Most people aren’t as smart as me.”

He looked amused. “But?”

“But what?”

“The suspense is always good, but…”

She shrugged. “You need to work on your female characters.”

“My…” He drew back, offended. “I’ve been praised for my female characters.”

“You mean the ones you don’t brutally murder?”

A dark flush moved up Jacob’s face. “
Shield
was my first book, okay? I haven’t brutally murdered a woman in…” he flinched
,
“…at least two books?”

“Hmm.”

“I murder men too.”

“But never the hero.”

He was starting to look annoyed. Perversely, she kind of liked it. “The hero’s supposed to live. He’s the hero.”

“Make him a her every now and again,” she replied. “And maybe I might increase the ratings I left you on Amazon.”

He opened his mouth. Shut it. Glanced consideringly at the shelf, and then back at her. “I didn’t really intend to write one series for this long
,
” he said, with a touch of defensiveness. “I can’t just turn James into a her. I’d have to write something new.”

“Is that a problem?”

“No. But I’m under contract for at least one more Agent Talent book.”

“One doesn’t sound like a lot.” She shrugged. “But if you love writing the good Agent’s exploits, I can’t say much about it.”

He rolled his lips inward. “I don’t love him much right now. Finishing this last book has been like pulling teeth.”

“Ah.”

“But
Shield
has been optioned for a mini-series. Sales have never been higher. My agent’s pushing for continuing.”

She lifted a brow, simultaneously happy for him and dreading the thought of poor, fascinating Lidia coming to an undeserved death on the small screen. “No kidding. Well, what the hell do I know?”

“It would be interesting, though. To write a heroine.” His eyes narrowed, and he stared past her. “Someone different.”

“If she’s cool and very rich, you can use me as inspiration.” She shrugged. “I was probably in the minority, but I liked Lidia.”

“I can’t bring Lidia back…” He stopped, as if realizing he could, indeed, do whatever he wanted.

“Can’t you?” She leaned against the shelf. “It’s been ages since I read the book. But your Agent Talent never found her body, did he?”

“That would be a cop-out. Raising someone from the dead.”

“Why? Seems to me like you ended her story right when she was getting interesting. That’s great source material.” Her innate business sense rose to the surface. “Killing this series is dumb. If a show is made and takes off, it’ll funnel readers your way. A spin-off would be much easier for you or your agent to market.”

He nodded, but she doubted he was even peripherally aware she was in the room. His gaze was far away, his long fingers moving over the strap of his bag. “That might work. Maybe,” he muttered, half to himself. He grabbed
Shield of Sorrows
. “Do you mind if I jot down some notes?”

He was already moving to the huge wing chair before she could give her assent. Hastily, he sat down and opened his bag, removing a scratched laptop.

“Um. Sure.”

He gave her a distracted smile, but it still made her heartbeat accelerate. “Great. Here.” He reached into his bag again and pulled out a wrapped sub, holding it out to her. She accepted it gingerly. “I hope you like chicken salad. If not, I also got ham and cheese. I like ’em both.” He pulled out another sub, but since his lap was occupied with his laptop, he placed it on the coffee table. Back into his pack he went and withdrew two cans of beer
.

Intrigued by his Mary Poppins bag, she drew closer and perched on the armchair opposite him. “What else do you have in there?” she marveled.

He glanced down at the bag between his big feet. “I’ve had this thing since Kati was four. I don’t think either of us wants to know what else is in there.”

“Why, Jacob. Is that your mom purse?”

She expected annoyance or defensiveness, but Jacob only nodded. “There’s a reason moms need mom purses. My computer bag was the most socially acceptable conveyance I could use for the crap the kids needed
.
” He opened his computer and booted it up. “Now, eat your sandwich.”

She thought of the food sitting in the warming dishes in her dining room. Studied the way his hair fell over his forehead, the light in his eyes, the way his strong fingers flew over the keyboard. Slowly, she unwrapped her sandwich.

The room was quiet except for the noise of his typing. When she finished eating, she rose. He paid no attention to her. After throwing her trash away, she retrieved her grandmother’s box from her desk. After a moment’s hesitation, she returned to the chair opposite him and curled up in it, hugging the wooden box to her stomach and watching him.

If the weather was cooler, she would lay a fire. So cozy.

Too cozy.

All of it. The conversation they had just had, without a trace of stiltedness or weirdness. The setting. The peace.

The way she absolutely couldn’t work up the urge to leave.

I loved your grandfather, but he was a difficult man to simply be with. That’s the problem with your mother, Aki-chan
.
She can’t help herself.

Akira jerked, the stray memory startling her. She so rarely recalled discreet conversations with her grandmother any longer.

She had been fourteen, but already taller than the older woman, her knees brushing against the underside of the dining table in her grandmother’s home. Mei was a dutiful daughter who offered her mother money time and again, but Hana wasn’t ready to leave her comfortable row house.

Akira had discovered later her grandmother had placed the funds her daughter had given her into a trust fund for Akira. When Akira had turned twenty-five, that money had enabled her to buy her first bar.

“What do you mean?” fourteen-year
-
old Akira had asked her grandmother.

The smaller woman had looked up from her salad and smiled, but it had been tinged with sadness. “Some people will just let you be, even when you’re with them.”

“Like, leave you alone?”

“No. And stop using the word
like
in every sentence.” Born and raised in New York, a faint hint of Long Island clung to her speech.

Akira had ducked her head. She used words way worse than
like
, but never around her grandmother. “Sorry.”

“I mean you can be with the person, but still be yourself. You can be happy to be yourself. It’s very…nice,” her grandmother had said quietly. “When you’re with a person who is content to let you be. It’s the most peaceful thing in the world.”

Akira licked her lips and clutched the box closer to her chest. Such a silly memory. She’d barely understood what her grandma had been saying then, and she still wasn’t quite certain what it meant.

Jacob wasn’t the kind of person Hana had been talking about. Up to a week ago, Akira would have declared he didn’t even like her.

It’s the most peaceful thing in the world.

She rested her head against the silk fabric of the chair. So why did this feel so damn peaceful?

His head popped up suddenly, his eyes focusing on her. “Oh, damn. How long have I been ignoring you?”

“Not long,” she lied. She should care about that too, since she wasn’t accustomed to being ignored. Funny how she didn’t. “Did you get your notes down?”

He ducked his head, and she had to steel herself against his cuteness. “Yeah. I planned out some research I’ll need to do too.”

“Maybe I should tell you more things wrong with your books. It seems to really get your juices flowing.”