“You seem like a great librarian.”
“I can’t imagine how you could know that.”
“I can tell. You’re good with kids.”
What was a huge rock star doing standing around sweet-talking a librarian in the back room of a New York public library? He had to have other places to be, other things to do.
“Here, I’m sure you need to be heading somewhere. I can show you…” I gestured toward the hallway leading toward the back door.
“Come with me.” Leaning his large forearm against the cabinet over my head, he framed my body, every lean, sexy inch of him.
“Come with you?” Breathing was getting even more difficult. Good thing it was an automatic function, like my heart pumping. Which also felt somewhat labored at the moment.
“Let’s get out of here,” he invited me, all sex and sin.
“I don’t finish my shift until five.” You could take the goody-two-shoes out of the library, but you couldn’t take the… wait, no, that didn’t work. You could take the librarian out of the… anyway, the point was I had a deeply-ingrained work ethic.
“Wait, don’t tell me.” He looked down at me with a crooked smile, as if what he were about to say were impossible, but he was going to say it anyway. “Are you not a fan?”
“Of your music?”
“Yeah.”
God, he smelled good. Not like cologne or product or anything but sexy, musky and masculine and so inviting.
“I listen to your music.” My voice came out soft, like I was confessing a secret.
He wanted to hear every word. “Do you have a favorite?”
Um, whatever you’re doing right now? That was my favorite. I managed to keep that to myself, not blurt out anything quite so lame, but it took some babbling. “Oh, I like all kinds of stuff. You wouldn’t believe it if you saw my music, I’m all over the map. I grew up playing classical music, so I’ve got a lot of that, but I’ve got a lot of your music, too.”
“A lot of my music?”
How did he make that sound so intimate, like I’d just confessed to touching myself late, late at night while thinking of him? As if listening to his music was the same thing as fantasizing about getting stranded on a tropical island with him after some sort of a plane wreck. It would be just him and me, plus somehow luggage would wash up with super cute bikinis and make up. The beaches would be amazing, the natural food supply plentiful, nothing but the hot sun and our near-naked bodies to entertain us. So, OK, yes, I had fantasized about being trapped with him in various scenarios featuring natural disasters, but how else was a regular girl supposed to get to know a hotter-than-hell celebrity if she wasn’t snow-bound, ship-wrecked or otherwise beset by a natural disaster? A sharknado would work.
“Let’s get out of here and go somewhere together.”
So vague and somewhat letchy, but boy did it sound inviting. “I…” How could I just walk out on a shift? Ditch my responsibilities? Maybe rock stars did that kind of thing all the time, but not piano-teaching librarians. We showed up on time, prepared, with a helpful, accommodating attitude and stayed until we got the job done.
“I have to do storytime at three.”
“Storytime?”
I’m reading Olive the Other Reindeer.”
“All of the other reindeer?”
“No, Olive. You haven’t heard of it?” He looked at me, bemused and blank. I guessed if he didn’t have kids in his life there was no reason he’d have come across the Christmas book. “It’s really clever and sweet. Olive is this little dog who misunderstands the song. She thinks ‘All of the other reindeer’ is ‘Olive, the other reindeer.’”
“All of the other reindeer,” he sang softly into my ear. Ooh, that put me on pause. His husky voice, like aged whisky poured over ice, such a dangerous blend of soothing and sexy. How could he make a line of “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer” sound so good it made me want to take off my panties? I guess that’s why they called him an idol.
“So,” I exhaled, the hitch in my voice betraying how tempted I felt.
“You’re turning me down to read to kids about a confused dog?” He smiled at me. I blushed. It did sound stupid when he put it like that. “I like your priorities,” he insisted. “But when do you get off?”
Get off. He gave that simple, innocent phrase a whole new twist. I bet if I met up with him he’d get me off. Probably give me the best orgasm of my life. Probably pin me down and take me, rough, plunge into me so hard I’d scream for more.
“I can pick you up at five,” he offered.
“I teach piano lessons until nine.”
“You’re a piano teacher too?” He looked delighted at the news.
“Yeah.”
He shook his head, marveling at me. “A librarian piano teacher. I’ve hit the jackpot.”
I had to laugh. My career choices had never exactly invoked that response before. I mostly got a slightly bored reaction. Not hot like the fashion industry, sexy like modeling, creative like an artist, or big money in any sort of way. When I met people my age and told them what I did, I usually got a detached nod, maybe some head-scratching, and a subject change.
“You’re perfect.”
And it was Ash Black saying that, all muscular six foot two inches of him, praising me in his famously gravelly, seductive voice. I blushed. And I laughed.
I couldn’t stop laughing. I felt so giddy, as if I might float away like a helium balloon untied from its mooring. The lead singer of my favorite band, the bad boy starring in my late night fantasies, standing there holding my hand and complimenting me in my tiny, dingy break room. This would
be a great story for my roommates.
“What’s making you laugh?” He looked at me, a smile on those delicious lips.
“I’m just imagining telling my roommates what happened today at work.”
“Oh, how you had to help that little girl check out some books?”
“Yeah, that.” I cracked up again. “And the rock star who ran in behind my desk.”
“What will they say?” Oh my, he still held my hand as we spoke, our fingers intertwined like a perfect fit. I swear, in the middle of this December day the man radiated heat and his chest was so broad. That leather jacket was unzipped, revealing a plain, faded black shirt. It looked like it was cotton and I bet it would be soft to touch, but he’d be hard underneath.
I swallowed. “My roommate Liv won’t be impressed. She’ll probably go on a rant about corporate rock.” She’d shaved her head last week and gotten a new tattoo on one of the few remaining bare patches on her right arm.
“No?” he asked, low and husky. He brought his hand up to my hair and caught a strand between his fingers, feeling it as if it were fine silk. “How about your other roommate?”
“Jillian. She’ll be worried.”
“Worried?” His hand continued to work magic, stroking my hair, making me feel like a gorgeous, rare treasure.
“You know, a dangerous rock star. Swooping down unannounced.”
“Pouncing on an innocent, unsuspecting librarian.”
“Yes.” I cleared my throat. What was he doing with his hand? Now he brought a finger to my cheek, stroking me so lightly.
“She’s right.” Slowly, slowly making his way over to my mouth, he teased my bottom lip, grazing the edge. “I’m very dangerous.”
A slight gasp slipped from my lips. This couldn’t be happening. I wasn’t standing next to Ash Black in our break room, and he certainly wasn’t touching me, making me throb and ache and start breathing all jagged and quick as I leaned in to him.
“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, tilting his head down. “May I kiss you, Anika?”