Wild Ride: A Changing Gears Novel (16 page)

“Never have been. I always wonder what’s around the next corner. Or where the next adventure is. I’ve watched the sunrise over the Kalahari, sailed a felucca down the Nile, climbed mountain after mountain and there are always more, seen nearly every major artwork that’s on public display and many that aren’t. I’m not sure I can change.”

“Maybe you’ve never had enough reason to stay before,” she said softly.

“I know one thing. It’s going to hurt to leave you.” His fingers pushed the hair back off her temples and he stared at her face as though memorizing it. “Usually, I have my adventure and I’m ready to move on.”

She thought he was telling her one of his deepest truths, and was grateful for his honesty. “If I asked you to come with me when I leave here, would you?”

By prefacing the question with if, he wasn’t asking her, though, was he?

She thought she’d love to watch the sun rise over the Kalahari, sail rivers, and visit galleries around the world. And on mountain climbing days she could go to the spa. But the difference between them was she’d always want to come home, and Duncan would spend the return flight planning the next escape. “I don’t get as many sabbaticals as you do.”

She thought a shadow of pain crossed his face, but in the dim light it was tough to be certain. In an effort to lighten things, she said, “I got a phone call today from the family in the house next door to Grandpa’s. Some friends of theirs are looking for a home and might be interested in buying the house.”

Duncan sat up in bed so fast he took the covers with him and a waft of cool air hit her naked body. “You’d sell that beautiful old house?”

“They have a family. They’d make a home out of it again. Haven’t you been listening? I’m going to leave Swiftcurrent as soon as things are straightened out.”

“I think you should take your time. Don’t do anything crazy.”

Crazy was wishing for a future with a man who got hives at the mention of marriage and permanence. That was crazy. But, for now, he was helping her get through a tough time while the murder investigation continued and Gill remained needy. So they were using each other for sex and, in her case, comfort. They were adults. They knew what they were doing. If she kept her heart to herself, no one was going to get hurt, unless she developed an incurable sex addiction.

Marvelous scents were wafting from the kitchen, and she decided it was time to concentrate on a different appetite if they were going to survive the weekend. She rose from the bed and shrugged into his robe. “I’d better serve dinner before it’s ruined.”

She liked slopping around in his bathrobe fixing dinner. It seemed so intimate, with the candles she’d brought, the linen napkins she’d ironed earlier, the wine, and even the sound of the rain pattering outside, making her feel cozy and protected.

“So, how’s your book coming?” she asked, once they were sharing the meal.

“Fine. Mmm. This chicken is fantastic.”

It was, she had to admit. A little of her sexual anticipation seemed to have sneaked into her cooking—a secret ingredient that added extra flavor and richness to the deep, red sauce.

“Is it your first book?” Odd, she’d never really asked him about his work. They usually had other things on their minds.

“No. I published a book a couple of years ago about Gauguin.”

“Really. How wonderful.”

“Not wonderful enough for Swiftcurrent. It’s not in your library.”

She squelched the urge to smile. “Well, I’ll have to look out for it next time I’m ordering books. And this one? You mentioned missing Van Goghs.”

He helped himself to salad. “It’s part reference work and part adventure story about the Impressionists. First, how hard it was for them to be recognized as true artists, and then, how wildly inflated the prices became, and the lengths that collectors will go to own the works.”

“And that’s what you teach? Impressionists?”

He nodded. “Mainly.” He ripped open a piece of baguette and slathered butter on it.

She sipped her wine and regarded him. “Both undergrad and graduate level courses?” Why was he being so reticent? Most people loved to talk about their work.

“Sure. But, like I said, I’m on sabbatical right now to get the book finished.”

“How’s it coming?”

His gaze lifted to hers and regarded her steadily. “It would be coming a lot faster if I weren’t spending so much time trying to get you naked, getting you naked, or fantasizing that you’re naked.”

The moment stretched and she felt the invisible pull that had been there from the start, that only grew stronger the more time they spent together.

What was she going to do when he left? She’d known the first day she met him that this man would be trouble. And yet, looking at his sensuous, intelligent, tough-guy face, she knew she wouldn’t want to miss a moment with him, even though she sensed that more than her passion was involved. “You do that, too, huh?”

He reached across the table for her hand and brought it to his mouth. “Morning,” he kissed her fingers, “noon,” he kissed her palm, “and night,” he kissed her wrist and just the soft brush of his lips had her pulse jangling.

“I want you to do something for me,” Duncan said as Alex finally left his place early Monday morning, tired from lack of sleep but sated from an early morning lovemaking session.

She glanced at him in surprise. Was there anything she hadn’t done for him this weekend? The man was tireless. Good thing. Because so was she. “What?”

“Keep your distance from Eric.”

Frowning, she said, “I already told you I wouldn’t mention the beauty mark incident.”

“I want you to stay away from him altogether. He’s trying to make trouble for us.” He grinned at her, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Put it down to jealousy, but do this for me. Please?”

“Something’s happened. Tell me what it is.”

“Okay, I will.” The hard look softened to the sly sexuality she was accustomed to. “Something’s happened, all right. I’ve turned into a jealous monster and I don’t want any other man near my woman. Promise me. You focus all your energies on keeping it hot for me.”

She didn’t have time to argue now—she had to get ready for work, and she wasn’t prepared to promise until she knew what was going on. Maybe they could talk later. “You’re working in the library again today?”

He leaned closer “Have you ever been taken up against the stacks?”
She swallowed as a rush of lust hit her like a drug. Still, she had some standards. The library indeed.

“Certainly not.”

“Good. I’ll be the first, then.”

“You will n—” His mouth slapped on hers so fast she was sure she’d bruise.
When he’d kissed her breathless, he said, “You have got to stop making statements you know aren’t true.”

Before she could fully restock her verbal arsenal and really let him have it, he’d shut the door. Right in her face.

Well. Well! If he thought he was going to waltz into her library with that smug expression and . . and . . .

Her inner librarian warred with her inner wild woman, and never had the two been more at odds.

Her inner wild woman was crazy about the idea of having noisy, wall-banging sex with Duncan against the stacks, so her carefully ordered books would tumble all over the floor, get hopelessly disordered, and take her days to reshelve properly.

Her inner librarian practically fainted at such an act of disregard for literature. Have sex right in front of Emily Dickinson? Milton? Anne of Green Gables? She didn’t think so.

She ran home for a quick shower and a change of clothes. While there she checked for messages, something she hadn’t bothered to do all weekend. Eric had called. Gillian hadn’t.

She bit her lip. She’d call her cousin later and offer to help her move her stuff to Grandpa’s house.

She applied her makeup with more than usual care, feeling ridiculous even as she dithered over eyeliner, then made a kissy-face in the mirror to apply her favorite, sinfully expensive lipstick, knowing it made her lips look succulent and just-licked.

When she opened her closet door and began judging outfits on their ease of removal, her inner wild woman scoffed. Are you kidding? Make him work for it. And her inner librarian piped up: Not work for it. Make it impossible.
Pushing the one-piece sweater dress back, she dragged out the most severe outfit she could find. A dark navy suit she’d bought for her grandfather’s funeral. In the end she hadn’t worn it. It depressed her and it would have depressed Franklin Forrest, so she’d worn a bright, happy dress he’d always liked.

Hauling on the suit made her feel funereal. She hated everything about it. The color was drab, the fit baggy. If anything would put Duncan off his idea, this would.

But what the hell was she doing dressing down for Duncan any more than she should be dressing up?

Rolling her eyes at her own foolishness, she undressed and stuffed the suit into a bag. She was never, ever going to wear it so she might as well donate it to Goodwill.

She decided to dress as she usually did. For herself.

That decision made, she pulled out a soft red sweater with a heart-shaped neckline, black dress pants, and boots. Then she clipped on the art deco earrings Duncan had given her and decided her makeup was just fine.

At work she went through her usual morning routine while trying to ignore the flutters in her stomach as nine o’clock approached.

Five to nine. He’d be here in a few minutes. She checked her lipstick, fluffed her hair, and took a deep, calming breath. Would he really try and take her against the stacks today?

Quivers danced over her flesh as she glanced out at the neat rows of books rising from the floor. So straight, so staid, so in need of a little shaking up. Like her life, she thought, before Duncan Forbes entered it.

Three minutes to nine and she was wandering the stacks, testing how well they were anchored to the floor while her belly grew heavy wondering . . .

A minute to nine and she was back at her desk, her first cup of coffee half gone, trying to look so absorbed in her computer screen that no one could ever think she was remotely interested in having sex in her workplace.

At nine promptly she unlocked the front door of the library, her heart hammering.

No one waited outside. She put her head right out and glanced around, half expecting to see him running her way with a takeout coffee in one hand, his beaten up leather bag in the other.

But no.

So much for his eagerness to see her.

She made her way back to her office and once more attempted to absorb herself in work. Myrna arrived and Arnold Black arrived dragging in the book bin from outside where people returned their books after hours.

Myrna got busy removing the books and checking them in. “Oh, gross,” she cried. “Somebody put a pizza box in the slot.”

“Probably thought it was the garbage can,” Arnold said, then shuffled his way out. He was a large guy in his forties who lived near town with his parents. It wouldn’t be fair to call him slow witted, but he did everything from talking to moving at a slow pace.

A couple of mothers with small children came into the library, and an older couple who often spent the morning in the quiet room with the paper or a magazine.

She knew the moment Duncan came in, about half an hour later. She felt it in every atom of her being.

Still, he didn’t have to know that. Her gaze stayed riveted to her computer screen as she waited for the shadow at the periphery of her vision to pass.

It didn’t. The shadow vanished and moments later the man appeared in her doorway. “The public is not allowed past the checkout desk,” she told him in her best at-work voice.

He didn’t look abashed or put out, merely mouth-wateringly sexy. “The public’s probably not supposed to bang their brains out among the books, either, but it’s going to happen.”

“It is no—” She caught herself before she ended up once more being kissed to silence.

The dancing lights in his eyes told her he knew exactly what she was thinking and why she’d cut off her own words.

She stared at him and he stared back. The office, already on the small side, seemed to close in on her, far too crowded with all the sexual electricity charging around. And Duncan seemed so large, blocking her exit, trapping her in here with her hot memories of the weekend and her desires.

She felt as though there wasn’t another soul in the library—only the two of them–and all she could think about was his promise/threat. Instead of retreating, he propped a hip on the edge of her desk. “You won’t be the first. I’ve seen the slogan on coffee mugs and t-shirts. Librarians do it in the stacks.”

“My life’s dream is to act out a coffee mug slogan.”

It would probably be horribly uncomfortable; books could fall on her head, she could end up with concussion instead of orgasm, anyone could walk in, and that would be the end of her career and reputation. So why was she so turned on she had to force herself not to squirm?

“You’re thinking about it,” he said, his voice low and husky, so she knew he was thinking about the two of them up against the stacks in as much detail as she was.

“Thinking about what?” she taunted.

He took a step closer. “Me taking you up against those neatly ordered books out there, with your skirt up around your waist and your legs wrapped around me. We could do it in the history section, give those crusty old dead guys a thrill, or maybe in the cooking section. Something about cookbooks always makes me horny.”

She rolled her eyes. “Everything makes you horny.”

“Or, we could do it in the romance section.”

Her first thought was that at least most of those books were paperback so if they came tumbling down it wouldn’t hurt so much.

He angled his head so he could see her lower body behind the desk. “Pants? You’re wearing pants?” He sounded outraged. “Where are those short skirts you always wear? This calls for short skirts.” He wagged his forefinger at her in admonishment. “And no underwear.”

“Maybe it calls for a little more ingenuity on your part.” She crossed her legs. She wore boots under her slacks, a belt around her waist, and on top she wore the red pullover sweater. For her, this was like armor. She was a little over-heated but his outrage was worth it.

She leaned back. “When are you planning this –” What was the word that was appropriate here? She had an excellent vocabulary but if there was a term for taken up against the stacks, she didn’t know it. “This assignation.”

He grinned at her so wickedly that she could barely stop herself from drooling. “If I told you, it would spoil the surprise.”

“If I made it easy for you, it would spoil the challenge,” she taunted right back, hooking the chain of her necklace with her forefinger and running the gold key back and forth across the top of her breasts.

His nostrils flared as he followed the motion with his eyes.

“Have lunch with me,” he said in a tone she didn’t at all care for. It was far too close to a command.

Ten minutes ago she’d have jumped at the invitation to have lunch with him—which undoubtedly meant a quickie at his place or hers, a rushed snack for sustenance, and then a race to get back here within her allotted hour break. But now he was playing control games, and she needed to let him know who was really in charge.

She’d let him take control of her when he’d sketched her on the weekend, and it had been wildly successful, but he was a man who’d dominate everything if she let him. “I’ve got an appointment,” she lied.

If he suspected she’d invented her appointment, he gave no sign of it. “Too bad,” he said. “I was hoping to take you to lunch.” He removed his hip from her desk and headed for the door. “Or take you at lunch.”

“Some other time.” She smiled coolly.

He ambled in his unhurried way to his favorite spot, a table and chairs that gave him a perfect view of her sitting in her office. That table had never before been completely in her line of vision, which made her suspect either that the cleaners had become a whole lot more efficient and were now moving furniture to clean beneath it or that Duncan Forbes had moved the table for his own reasons.

Based on the dust on her light fixture, she knew it wasn’t the cleaners.

She could have twiddled the blinds closed so Duncan couldn’t see her anymore, but she sort of liked the fact that she could glance up at any time and see him pecking away at his keyboard or reading from any one of a number of books, some belonging to the library and some that were his own. She could check that he had plenty of notepaper at hand and nothing more indelible than a number two pencil.

She felt his gaze on her, as surely as she felt her temperature rise, and lifted her eyes to find him watching her, his eyes heavy-lidded and brimming with carnal intent.

She held his gaze for a moment until a flash fire was imminent, then primly went back to her work. She’d never in her life had so much fun, or looked forward so to work.

She was interrupted a second time when Arnold Black shuffled into her office a few minutes later. In his hands was a clutch of maple tree branches covered in fiery autumn leaves. “I thought you might like these for your office,” he said, blushing almost as red as the leaves.

“Thank you, Arnold,” she said, as she always did when he brought her something, from an interesting rock he’d found to a Christmas ornament so old she suspected he’d filched it from his mother’s collection.

As she rose, he backed up a step. “I’ll get a jug or vase to put these into. They are so colorful.” She walked to the coffee room and bent down to the lower cupboard where she kept a few vases and drew out the largest. She added water and returned to her office. Arnold was still there, clutching the leaves.

She took them from him and placed the branches into the vase. The lengths were different, but she didn’t think it mattered. “These will really brighten up my office,” she said, thanking him again.

After the custodian left, she glanced at Duncan and found him gazing at her in a way that suggested he knew Arnold had a crush on her.

Oh, she was so going to find something to do on her lunch hour. He was too sure of her. Where on earth could she go in—she glanced at her watch—an hour and a half that would count as an appointment? Her teeth were recently cleaned. Even if she could get in to see her doctor at such short notice, being ten months early on her annual physical was obsessively organized, even for her.

She had nothing to discuss with the bank manager, no one she really wanted to have lunch with. She’d seen most of her friends at the birthday party Friday night. Gill and she weren’t exactly on lunch terms.

Duncan was the only one she wanted to have lunch with. She glanced across the square. Katie’s Kut ‘n’ Kurl stared back at her balefully. She drew in a breath. Maybe it was time to mend some fences.

She’d ask only for styling. No cutting, perming, coloring, or anything that wouldn’t wash out. How bad could it be?

Duncan smirked at her through the window when she hung up from making her hair appointment, but there was no way he could have heard her conversation.

She left her office and got busy reshelving all the books Myrna had checked in from the weekend drop box. Since the murder, business was up in the library and she was pleased to see some of the patrons she’d shamed into taking out library cards or checking out books were turning into repeat customers.