“Lolita,” he said, turning my book over in his hands. His eyes widened over the pink-lipped mouth on the cover, then handed it to me. Our fingers brushed, and a warm current coursed through them. My heart thundered so loud he could probably hear it.“So,” he said, his eyes meeting mine. “You’re a smuthound with daddy issues?” The corner of his mouth turned up in a slow, condescending smile.I wanted to smack it off his face. “Well, you’re quoting it. And incorrectly, by the way. So what does that make you?”His half-smile morphed into a whole grin. “Oh, I’m definitely a smuthound with daddy issues.”