No, he knew why he hadn’t. Marcus would have told him to end it, whether he’d known the girl’s true identity or not. Marcus had loved Max fiercely and far too protectively.

If only Max had realized she’d been an assassin. The signs should have been obvious, if he hadn’t been so horny and stupid and young and in love. But now he knew better. Love didn’t get you anything, and it was more trouble than it was worth. Not that he loved Bella, or the bitch that had killed his sire. It just seemed better to nip the notion in the bud before things went any further.

With the air growing warm despite the drifting rain, he chose Bella, and stepped into the bookshop.

She’d taken to the place the way only a truly strange person could. It had good “energy,” she’d claimed. Max had explained that the pipes had broken earlier in the year; the good energy was probably the lingering mildew smell. Yet another example of how different they were. He could squirrel it away in the back of his mind, with the others he’d been squirreling away for days now as ammunition against his attraction to her.

When he opened the door, the bells announced his intrusion, and she looked up. Her eyes narrowed and her body tensed in the split second before she recognized him and smiled.

Her smile was amazing, but then, nothing about Bella was less than incredible. The way she moved, as though she were aware of every muscle in her body at every moment. The way she kept her expression maddeningly neutral, so there was no hope of discerning what was going on in her mind.

She’s too good for you, anyway, he decided. Then, firmly, to soothe his reality-bruised ego, No, not too good. Too complicated.

“You are all wet.” How did she manage to make such a simple statement sound like a proposition?

The accent, probably. “I was taking a walk,” he lied, hating himself for lying to her. “Thinking.”

“Oh?” She turned back to the counter, where an odd assortment of candles, bottles and herbs lay in neat piles. She lifted a notebook and frowned at the page. “No. You were outside the door. I could smell you.”

“I don’t love you,” he blurted. Very smooth, Harrison.

She looked up, clearly startled, and it gave him some satisfaction to see that he could shake her cool demeanor. “Good.”

“Oh, whatever. I just broke your heart, lady. You know, and I know it.” He tossed his hands up in a gesture of total defeat. “Otherwise you wouldn’t be pulling all this ‘I don’t want a relationship’ bullshit.”