by Jane Cousins
If memory served there was a kitchen and a bathroom at the rear… oh, and a wine cellar where Gil Torrent had kept his large collection. Which was all irrelevant. Patricia wasn’t here to indulge in past memories, she was here to reclaim her property and give Lester Cullen an ultimatum. Leave her library books alone, or else.
Approaching the shed, Patricia noted all the glass doors were currently folded back, the interior in the beginning stages of being converted into an extremely large office space. There was the frame of a desk being built off to the right. The wall behind it already fitted with a large cork board. Whilst two large white boards leant against another wall, waiting to be hung.
And along the back wall were two very full bookcases, thankfully covered with plastic to prevent any of the books being damaged. Though Southern Sanctuary library books were be-spelled to repel dust, humidity and water, you could never be too careful. At least Lester Cullen wasn’t a complete Neanderthal.
More wood was piled on the ground, the size and cut clearly indicating that more bookcases would be added. Did that mean the sneaky weasel intended to steal even more of her… the Library’s precious books? Grrr. The utter arrogance of the man. He should be locked up. Solitary. Where he could spend his days contemplating the error of his heinous ways.
Patricia stalked up the pathway and stepped into the room. Despite being in the midst of a renovation the place was surprisingly clean. Now, where was… oh, there, up that ladder. “I have a bone to pick with you, Lester Cullen.” Patricia crossed the room, her gaze clashing with intense jade green eyes that scoped her out from her wedge sandals all the way to the crown of her head.
She eyed him right back. Shockingly, Lester Cullen was way younger than she had been expecting, and way more attractive. Which was beyond irrelevant right at this current moment. He was a no good ratfink and she was here to give him a piece of her mind and reclaim her property.
Cullen couldn’t remember the last time he’d been caught off guard. Oh, sure, he’d heard the approaching footsteps, gauging from their tread the visitor’s height and weight, and discreetly slipping the screwdriver into his right hand. Readying himself to launch forward in a surprise attack if needed. Then a scent had teased his nostrils; citrus, passion flower and the faintest hint of Tahitian vanilla.
Cullen’s magic made him the perfect targeting weapon. Filtering information on angles, trajectory, environmental elements, weight, height, speed, concentration of scents, proximity, saturation of colours. His focus was absolute. He was descended from the gifted Archers of Camelot. The ones who never missed their target. Who disappeared upon Arthur’s death into the shadows. Yet they never forgot their duty, to protect the sovereign soil.
Kings, Queens and Governments rose and fell but the Archers remained, working in secret, doing their best to stabilise and protect the country and its people.
Cullen was rarely surprised and never ever discombobulated, until now.
She was walking perfection. A Goddess. Triangular face. High cheekbones. A sweep of sable rich hair, descending in soft waves to just past her shoulders. Dark long eyelashes surrounding pools of hazel shimmering with sparkling flecks of copper. And that mouth, wide, with full raspberry tinted lips. Her body lean, breasts full and high, gently curving hips and long, long legs.
And though Cullen wasn’t a slave to fashion, in his job he understood how it could go very right or very wrong. And this woman dressed very right for her height and lean, yet curvy frame. The cream trousers highlighted those long legs. The scoop neck fitted rust coloured sweater was both respectable, yet at the same time feminine, drawing attention to the smooth bare skin of her collar bone and the chunky gold necklace she wore. The wedge sandals proved she owned her height and wasn’t afraid to add another two inches. Her stance, the way she held her shoulders back, chin lifted, said she was confident and proud.
A bone to pick with him? Her words were tinged with anger. But for some reason Cullen found his libido spiking and his cock twitching. Bloody hell, man, three point two seconds have passed since the Goddess spoke… meaning she’d practically rendered him speechless. “That sounds ominous.” He deliberately shifted his attention back to tightening the screws of the lighting fixture he was in the midst of replacing. Not trusting himself to keep looking at the newcomer, less he make even more of a fool of himself.
“I’m Patricia Bennett. I’m here for my library books.”
“Did you bring boxes? As of this morning there were ninety-six of them.”
“Ninety-six? How did you manage to abscond with ninety-six books?”
“There was no absconding involved. The darn things just keep turning up. Every time I build a bookcase, I walk in the next morning and it’s full.”
“Right.”
“I’ve tried returning them. Twice.”
“Just so you could turn around and immediately steal them back from under our noses.”
“And just why would I do that?” Cullen tightened the last screw, prepared himself and shifted his attention back to Patricia Bennett. Damn, he wasn’t imagining his reaction to her. When he filtered her information it was like a symphony. His heart sped up. His gut tightened. And this alien sense of… rightness calmed him. “What possible motive could I have to abscond with a bunch of library books, only to return them, in good faith, twice, only to supposedly steal them right back again?”
So the man had nice green eyes. A square, clean shaven jaw with an aquiline nose and thick black hair. Big deal if he were handsome. And from the expensive cut of his trousers and crisp white shirt with the rolled back sleeves he was clearly fit, healthy. Patricia chose to ignore all that as she stared up at him. She believed in honestly above all else. “Because clearly you are mentally unbalanced.”
“Excuse me?”
Patricia blinked. Somehow Lester Cullen was down the ladder and standing before her between one breath and the next. Surprisingly the man was short, at least four inches shorter than her own six-foot. Bizarrely, a vague flutter of disappointment rippled through her lower body. Disappointment? How ridiculous she was being, that was anger, pure and simple, at this man’s outrageous antics.
“There is a very good psychiatrist I could recommend who works in the District. But there would be no point in scheduling an appointment with Quinn unless you are willing to first admit that you have a problem.”
“And what problem would that be, precisely?”
“You steal library books. The evidence is right over there.”
“And you immediately conclude that I have some sort of mental imbalance, like those poor people who are driven to eating mattress stuffing or the like?”
“If I find any gnaw marks on my books there will be hell to pay.”
Cullen chuffed a laugh, surprised to find he was enjoying himself immensely. “I was just using it as an example, I have no desire to consume any literary offerings. And I don’t believe I have ever come across a disorder whereby someone is driven to steal library books, return them, only to then steal them again.”
“That’s only because the Institute of Psychiatry hasn’t met you yet.” Patricia huffed, lifting up the collapsible trolley she’d been carrying, giving it two quick yanks, it immediately took shape. Wheeling it over to the bookcases she flung back the plastic coverings and began loading her precious charges into the trolley.
Cullen couldn’t seem to stop baiting the woman, or keep his distance. There was something captivating about being in her proximity. Listening to the husky modulation of her voice. Revelling in her scent. Joy in seeing her graceful limbs move.
Leaning back against the nearest wall he watched Patricia Bennett load her trolley with smooth efficiency. “Look. I believe we may have gotten off on the wrong foot.” He ignored her soft derisive snort as she scooped up another six books. “Maybe if you and I work together, we could get to the bottom of what is going on.” Hmmm, speaking of bottoms, the woman owned a very fine one as she leaned over to place more books in her
trolley.
“Please.” Patricia straightened abruptly, not bothering to hide her contempt for Lester Cullen as she glared at him. Or should that be glared down at him? No, she got the distinct impression that Lester was not a man who felt his height, or lack of it, was a disadvantage. There was something about the way he held himself, back straight, calm, watchful, he radiated… danger? No, that was preposterous.
Lester Cullen dangerous? Besides being a stealer of library books there was nothing to indicate the man was anything other than a retired banker or insurance man, or whatever. Though he looked too young to be retired. Semi, or otherwise. Though ages were impossible to gauge in the Sanctuary, given their long lives. And there was no way Lester had been invited to reside in the Sanctuary unless he had some kind of magic.
If Patricia had to guess she would take a stab that Lester’s magic had something to do with breaking and entering. “Look, Lester-”
“Cullen. Just Cullen. Even my own parents call me Cullen.”
“Lester. I don’t know what ever little game you are playing here. Perhaps you’re bored, if so, I suggest you take up golf or a hobby.”
“Well, it was strongly suggested at my residency approval meeting with the High Council that I get involved with the local community. Perhaps I could volunteer at the Library?”
“When Hell freezes over.” Patricia put the last of the stolen books into the trolley. Standing to her full height she fixed him with her Head Librarian – don’t even think about making a peep – glare that she had used over the years on her sometimes rowdy younger cousins. “And I’ll advise you now that all your borrowing rights have been revoked.”
“I haven’t had a chance to join the Library as yet.”
“Good. Let’s keep it that way.” Patricia tossed her head, grabbed the handle of the trolley and pulled, very grateful for her strong frame, as the damn thing was heavy. “You’re lucky I’m not calling the police in on this matter.”
“Feel free to do so. Perhaps they can work out why your books keep trespassing on my property.”
“Oh, please. What a ridiculous claim.”
“No more ridiculous than your claim that I am repeatedly breaking in and returning library books, only to break back in and steal them again.” Damn, Cullen had to bite back a smile, verbally sparring with Patricia Bennett, it fired his blood. He liked watching the flecks in her hazel eyes shoot copper sparks his way. He could become addicted to being on the receiving end of those looks.
There was something decidedly unsettling about Patricia Bennett, every time he focused his magic on her he was all but overwhelmed by her sheer… perfection. The rightness of this woman all but floored him. It had certainly scattered his faculties. He didn’t deliberately antagonise people. In fact, if possible, he tried to interact as little as possible with others. He moved in the shadows. The observer. The Professor. MI12 operative. Archer. Cataloguing. Analysing. Assessing. Collecting information on his targets until he knew them so well that he was capable of handing them a tissue before they even sneezed.
“I’m warning you now. Cease and desist this childish prank.” Patricia heaved, pulling the trolley out onto the veranda, very aware of Lester Cullen stalking along beside her.
“Or?”
“Or what?” Patricia halted in her tracks.
“Well, usually when someone makes an ultimatum such as cease and desist, there is usually an or else.”
Grrr, he really was a trying, irritating man. “Or… I’ll be seeing you in court. Good day.” Yanking on the trolley Patricia stomped off.
Cullen analysed his own strange reaction to the sight of her walking away, he didn’t like it one little bit. On the other hand, the woman did have a world class butt, so that was some small consolation. And most telling of all was the heat sparking in his gut at the idea of seeing Patricia Bennett again, even if it was across a courtroom.
Now that she was out of sight, Cullen turned his attention back to the Potting Shed. Eyeing the two empty bookcases he couldn’t help but wonder if the books would be back tomorrow morning.
Hmmm, he contemplated the rest of the timber stacked around the large room. What was that line from that movie? If you build it, they will come. Could it really be that simple?
He’d intended to build four bookcases in total, but the room was pretty damn big, it could hold ten. No, he worked the math out in his head, fourteen bookcases, no problem. If he scratched the idea of building a desk.
He didn’t have to convert this space into an office. All things considered, given the highly sensitive nature of his work, tracking down the mole who’d sent a hit squad after him, it would probably be better if Cullen converted the wine cellar into a private office. And up here… up here the space could be designated as… he thought back to the welcome pack he’d received upon taking up residency here at the Southern Sanctuary. He’d read all the documents, storing the information without really taking note of it but now a clause regarding Southern Sanctuary Library Annexes came into sharp focus. Perfect.
He had no evidence to support the library books would magically re-appear back in his Potting Shed. But as he contemplated the two bare bookcases and the remaining wood, Cullen found himself smiling for what felt like the first time in a long time. There would be no harm in building a third bookcase to test the theory. And maybe a fourth, a fifth and so on.
Cullen’s gut settled. He had his target locked and loaded. Now it would just be a question of dedication, tenacity and a little bit of magic. He was an Archer, they never missed their target. Closing his eyes for a moment he pictured Patricia Bennett walking away from him, a bullseye transposed over her delightfully ripe ass. Yes, let the games begin.
Chapter One
Two years later…
Patricia stared at the empty bookshelves and hissed out an irritated sigh. Deep breath. She would not grind her teeth. Or yell. Still, she found her hands resting on her hips, her left toe tapping out a fast rhythm. This was beyond belief. Take her maritime history books. Abscond with every book in the wellness and fitness category, she could live with that. But this… this was going too far.
The line had been officially crossed.
Patricia had one secret indulgence. Every now and then, she would discreetly borrow a book featuring a Warrior hero. Didn’t matter if he wore a kilt, armour, breeches, spacesuit, or a loin cloth. The hero just had to be big, capable, and with a tendency to sweep the heroine off her dainty feet.
It was a ridiculous fantasy, one she should have out grown, but Patricia couldn’t help it. Deep down inside she had always held the belief that her perfect meld mate would be a Warrior. Able to hold his own on the battlefield and in the bedroom. Fair. Loyal. Ruthless when required. Tender when needed. Forceful.
He would be all things perfect, and given her height, Patricia could only surmise her Warrior mate would be incredibly strong. He’d have to be in order to sweep her off her not so dainty size nine feet. And it went without saying that he’d be taller than her.
Of course Patricia knew it was just a silly fantasy. She was turning fifty early next year, for Goddess sake. Though thanks to good genes and the magical longevity of her family she didn’t look a day over thirty-five. But still, it was well past time she woke up, and got over this ludicrous infatuation with a fantasy man who didn’t exist.
Glaring at the two empty shelves where all the recently arrived romance novels should be, Patricia couldn’t help but clench her fists. If she wasn’t allowed to have the reality of her own happily ever after, she should at least be able to indulge in a brief, fictional escape occasionally.
Enough was enough. Promises had been made. Nothing had been delivered. She had been patient long enough. Whirling, Patricia strode out of the Fiction Wing, through the central domed area and then swept past the reception desk. The glass doors just sliding apart in time to allow her to exit.
Her low heeled shoes sounded loud on the marble staircase as she sped downstairs. On the ground
floor she made a bee line for the High Council Offices. The front desk this late in the day was vacant. That was fine. Patricia knew exactly where to go. Rushing down the plush carpeted corridor, turning right at the T-junction, moving along that corridor at a speedy clip. She didn’t bother to knock as she swung into the large office, opening her mouth… the wind effectively knocked out of her sails. The office was empty. Crap.
“Yoo-hoo. Out here, Darling Girl.”
There was a wide veranda that all the offices located along this side of the corridor backed onto, overlooking the nature reserve. Patricia could see through the open glass door that the person she had come here to confront was out there lounging, drinking tea. Grrr, Patricia stomped out onto the veranda. “We need to talk.”
Alma Richart, Southern Sanctuary matchmaker and member of the High Council, smiled broadly in greeting at the sight of her Great-Niece. Looking sophisticated in an ice blue silk wrap dress and silver sandals, Alma patted the ends of her flicked up shoulder length grey hair before leaning over to pick up the teapot. “You’re just in time for tea, have a seat.”
Patricia plonked herself down in the vacant seat opposite Alma. Breathing deeply she allowed the sharp scent of the nearby eucalyptus trees to cool her temper. Ranting like a harridan would achieve nothing but show Alma how much Lester Cullen had managed to get under her skin. “We had an agreement.”
“We did?” Alma passed over the freshly poured cup of tea, then picked up her own, relaxing back into the cushioned comfort of her chair.
“You were the one who approached me, asking if I would do you a favour by interviewing Cara for a position at the Library.”
“And I think we can both agree that decision turned out very well for everyone involved.”
“Yes. She’s been an asset. But we had an agreement. I would interview her, and if she proved suitable, hire her, and you would get rid of Lester Cullen.”
