Rule Breaker

by Barbara Boswell

  “No stereotypes, please.” Jamie came from behind the desk. She saw Rand’s eyes slide over her and fought to ignore the way the masculine hunger in his eyes made her heart jump.

  “You smash the stereotype to smithereens,” Rand said softly, falling in step beside her. “Jamie, I—”

  He didn’t have a chance to finish. A whirlwind in a short denim skirt and jacket came from nowhere to hurl herself ‘ between them. “Hi, Jamie, can I borrow your car?” implored a breathless teenage brunette whose thick dark hair was moussed and spritzed to an awesome width. “I have to go to the mall.”

  “You make it sound like a matter of life and death, Saran,” said Jamie with what she hoped passed as amused affection. Inwardly, she was groaning. Not her cousin Saran! Not now!

  “It is!” insisted Saran. “The black leather skirt I’ve been wanting is on sale at forty percent off. I have to get there, Jamie. I have to have that skirt.”

  “Black leather?” Jamie frowned. “Oh, Saran, I don’t think—”

  “Don’t try and talk me out of it,” Saran interrupted with a scowl. “I read in a magazine that every woman seriously interested in attracting men should invest in a short black leather skirt and wear it with high heels.”

  Rand tried and failed to suppress a laugh.

  Saran turned to stare at him. “Who are you?” she demanded, scrutinizing him from head to toe. Although the young woman’s eyes were a dark, velvety brown, she looked enough like Jamie for Rand to know at once that they were related.

  “His name is Rand Marshall, and he is an insurance claims adjuster,” Jamie explained patiently. “This is my cousin, Saran Saraceni,” she said to Rand.

  “Oh.” Saran shrugged, immediately uninterested. “I thought maybe he was that wacko dentist who’s after you. What’d he send you today, Jamie?”

  Rand’s ears perked. “Wacko dentist?” he repeated carefully.

  “Yeah. What a dweeb!” Saran shook her head, her voice thick with scorn. “He’s been begging Jamie to go out with him since she took Timmy to his office almost a month ago. And you wouldn’t believe all the presents he sends to the library almost every day. Balloons and candy and flowers and stuffed animals. Jamie has the latchkey kids play bingo and gives the stuff away as prizes to the winners.”

  Jamie winced. “Saran, please! That’s enough!”

  Rand’s lips twitched. There was something perversely funny in suave Daniel being viewed as a weirdo whose tokens of affection were raffled off to a bunch of kiddies. “Sounds like you have a dedicated admirer,” he drawled.

  “Only because I said no to him, and he refused to accept it,” Jamie said tightly. “Sound familiar? Anyway, Dr. Wilcox is chiefly dedicated to admiring himself. He’s a self-absorbed boy with an undeserved sense of entitlement. I know the type all too well.”

  “And worst of all, Jamie’s friend Angela works in his office and is madly in love with him,” Saran added, tossing her long, wild hair.

  “That’s an interesting twist,” Rand said lightly. He wondered if Daniel knew that his hygienist was in love with him and decided he probably didn’t. As Jamie had pointed out, Daniel did tend to be self-absorbed.

  “The entire situation has been an embarrassment.” Jamie looked dismayed. “I’d really rather not discuss it.”

  “Okay, we’ll discuss something else,” Saran agreed. Her eyes flicked over Rand and narrowed perceptively. “Are you and Jamie going out?”

  “Saran!” hissed Jamie through clenched teeth.

  Rand chuckled. “We haven’t made a date yet, but I have high hopes. What about Saturday, Jamie?”

  “What about tonight?” Saran interjected. “You can go out for dinner and then I won’t have to get Jamie’s car back here by six so she can drive home. I have lots of shopping to do.”

  Jamie drew in a sharp breath. The thought of muzzling Saran was infinitely appealing.

  “Tonight sounds good to me.” Rand smiled. The kid cousin had given them the perfect opportunity to start over, and he grabbed it. “Will you have dinner with me, Jamie?”

  “No, I’m sorry, I really can’t,” said Jamie.

  “I know a great new Chinese res—No?” Rand stared at her.

  Jamie was shaking her head. “But thank you for the invitation, ”'she added, robotically polite.

  No? The word reverberated through Rand’s skull. No, again? Frustration began to build within him. He didn’t mind playing at romantic strategies for a while, but enough was enough.

  “Why not?” he heard himself ask. “Do you have other plans for tonight?”

  “Nah, she doesn’t have other plans,” Saran said, scoffing. “It’s just that Jamie won’t go out with anybody unless they provide at least two character references and a letter from their clergyman. Doesn’t make for a real lively social life, believe me.”

  “Saran, I’m going to wring your neck,” Jamie promised sweetly.

  Saran grinned, unrepentant ind unalarmed. “If you give me the keys to your car, I’ll be out of here and out of your hair.” /

  “You can borrow my car, but you have to have it back here by six, Saran. I need it to drive home.” Jamie tried to sound firm, but it was clearly a Saran victory. Another one. The young woman had a talent for getting her own way.

  Just as Saran made her triumphant departure, Cindy came flying through the doors in a state of high agitation. “Miss Saraceni, I refuse to stay with those little brats for another minute. One of them bit me!” She held out her arm. “Look at those teeth marks! The little vampire almost drew blood!”

  While Jamie attempted to calm Cindy, Rand slipped out the library door. He saw Saran Saraceni opening the door of a meticulously clean silver-gray Honda Civic. “Hey, Saran!”

  She looked up and waited as he approached her.

  “What kind of name is Saran?” Rand asked affably. “Did they call you after the plastic wrap or something?” Saran looked pained, like she’d been asked the question one time too many. “It was supposed to be SaraAnn, all one word, but my folks dropped one A and forgot the extra n on my birth certificate, so it’s Saran. If you knew my folks, it makes perfect sense. Any other questions?”

  “Just one. Could you be bribed into giving me your cousin Jamie’s phone number?”

  "Bribed?” She gasped. “You mean you’d pay me? Like money?”

  “Cash.” Rand smiled. “Maybe you’d like a new shirt to go with that black leather skirt you’re going to buy?” He reached into his wallet and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill.

  Her dark eyes widened. Because he was thoroughly enjoying the drama, he took out another ten.

  “You’d give me thirty dollars?” squeaked Saran. She extended her hand toward the bills, then drew back. “You’re not a hit man or anything like that, are you?” she demanded warily.

  Rand suppressed a grin. How refreshing that the woman had some scruples about selling out her cousin. “Word of honor, I’m simply an admirer of your cousin’s. Like the dentist,” he added dryly.

  Saran took the money and recited the phone number while he carefully wrote it down on the inside of his checkbook. “Well, I think you’re as crazy as that dentist,” she said, tucking the bills into her purse. “You’re wasting your money and your time going after Jamie. She’ll never go out with you. Once she says no, she means it.”

  “The irresistible force meets the immovable object,” Rand said thoughtfully. “In physics—”

  “Physics? Yuck! I’m out of here.” Saran completely lost interest in him and the conversation. She hopped into the car and drove away with a jaunty honk of the horn.

  Rand returned to the library as the mothers were shepherding their toddlers out the door and down the front steps. Inside, Jamie talked Cindy into overseeing the latchkey kids as they settled in the activity room with scissors, paper and glue.

  Jamie glanced at her watch. It seemed an eternity until six o’clock. She felt her energy lagging and considered running up the street to Millie’s Diner
for a take-out cup of Millie’s infamous coffee. It was so strong by this time of day that it was almost like a straight infusion of pure caffeine.

  A can of cola suddenly appeared on the desk before her, with a hand attached to it. Her eyes flew to Rand Marshall’s face. “You!”

  He smiled wryly. “You’re glad to see me. I’m convinced I saw it in your eyes for one unguarded second. Here.” He shoved the icy can of soda toward her. “This is for you. I thought you could use a pick-me-up. I usually do at this time of day.”

  She knew she should probably reject his offering. After all, this was a man who needed absolutely no encouragement. But she was too thirsty, and he was right. She did need a liquid pick-me-up. So she opened the can and sipped.

  “Did you think I’d gone?” Rand asked conversationally, watching her drink.

  “Yes. I thought you’d finally realized that I meant what I said and—”

  “Five five five nine seven two five,” Rand recited smugly.

  Jamie nearly choked. “That’s—that’s my phone number!” She gaped at him, her blue eyes wide and astonished. ‘ ‘Wh—Where—How—”

  “Cousin Saran. Now don’t condemn her too hastily. She did ascertain that I wasn’t a hit man before she handed it over.”

  “Oh! Just wait until—”

  “Don’t be too hard on her, Jamie. I made her an offer she couldn’t refuse, so to speak. Saran isn’t as implacable and intractable as you are.”

  Jamie glowered at him. “Saran is seventeen, going on thirty. She hates Merlton and considers school a waste of her time. Her goal in life is to go to New York, become a model and ultimately make the cover of the Sports Illustrated swimsuit issue.”

  Rand shrugged. “She’s a striking young woman, if a little on the short side. She might make it.” He should know; he’d dated enough models to run an agency.

  “Please don’t tell Saran that. We’re having enough trouble trying to convince her to endure the final two months of high school till graduation.”

  “We?”

  “My parents and I. They’re her legal guardians. Her mother is dead, and her father is a relic of the hippie era and is forever backpacking to places like Nepal and Morocco, anywhere but New Jersey. My folks don’t mind if she goes to New York after she graduates and turns eighteen. But I think she should further her education and—”

  “I’m something of an expert on conflicting goals and family expectations,” Rand interrupted. “Let the kid make her own choices, Jamie. You can’t expect her to live her life your way. You’re two completely different personalities. Boy, are you different!” he added dryly. “Do you really demand character references from a man before you’ll have dinner with him?”

  “Of course not.” Jamie heaved a sigh. “Saran overexaggerates, overdramatizes and overstates everything.” She fixed him with an unyielding stare. “But it’s true that I don’t go out with strangers.”

  “And I’m a stranger? But I gave you my vital statistics,” he reminded her. “You know more about me than I know about you.”

  “I’m twenty-five years old, have a degree in library science and am not now nor have I ever been married.” She followed his lead from his own glib biography.

  “And you get your kicks giving men a hard time,” he added.

  “That’s not true!”

  “Sure it is. You guard your phone number like it’s a classified document, although I assume you occasionally give it to some noble candidate you deem worthy enough to speak with over the phone. So what comes next in this fixed screening agenda of yours? You talk on the phone to the poor schlemiel and then—”

  “After a few telephone conversations, if they go well, I might agree to meet the person for lunch,” Jamie said, frowning. She glared at him. “Why am I telling you this? Why am I bothering to talk to you at all?”

  “Are those rhetorical questions or do you want an answer?”

  “I don’t think I’d care to hear any answer you’d come up with.”

  “No, you probably wouldn’t.” Rand laughed. “But I’m going to tell you anyway. You’re talking to me because you want me to hang around. You’re attracted to me, Miss Saraceni. I turn you on, I won’t take no for an answer, and you’re intrigued, in spite of yourself.”

  She flushed hotly. “Oh, you really are a/conceited ape, jerk, jackass—” What were those other insults he’d suggested earlier? She was too flustered to remember.

  “Right on cue.” Rand smiled, thinking of every sexy scene he’d ever written. “Now it’s my turn to tell you how gorgeous you are when you’re angry. How hot and fiery and sexy.” He moved with agile grace around the cOrner of the desk to join her behind it.

  He was much too near. Wasn’t there an old song with lyrics portending the dangers of being too close for comfort? Jamie felt as if she was living them. She took a deep, steadying breath. “You’re not allowed back here. It’s against the rules for anyone but library personnel.”

  “And you always follow the rules, don’t you, Miss Jamie?” Rand taunted. He reached out to trace the fine line of her jaw from her ear to her chin.

  Jamie jumped away as if she’d been scalded. “Yes, I do. Rules are made to be followed.”

  Rand’s laugh was low and sexy. “You’ve set me up, baby. You know I have to contradict you on that one. I think you secretly want me to.” He took several steps, nearly sandwiching her between himself and the back of the desk. “I’ll bet there are rules against the librarian on duty kissing a patron, too. But rules are made to be broken.”

  Her heart was hammering against her ribs, her head was spinning, but she managed to slip away. He looked amused, leaving her to wonder if he’d deliberately chosen to let her escape. Her face was flushed, and the blood roared in her ears. Would he have kissed her? Did she want him to?

  “If you don’t get out of here right now—” she began. To her horror, her voice was husky and thick and not at all commanding.

  He cast her another amused glance before sauntering around the long curved desk back to the patrons’ side. “Comfortable now? You’re behind the desk, and I’m not. We’re not breaking any of your infallible rules.”

  How did he manage to sound mocking and seductive at the same time? Jamie wondered, striving to regain her usually unflappable composure. No one had ever made her feel this way before, hot and cold, infuriated and giddy, all at the same time! She had to get away from him.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to check on Cindy and the children,” she said coolly, inclining her chin to an imperious angle as she left the desk to head for the activity room.

  “You’re not excused.” Rand’s big hand closed over her wrist like a manacle, chaining her to the spot. “You haven’t told me what happens on that big lunch date. You know, when you meet the wimp who finally manages to pass your rigid telephone test. I’m not about to leave with that cliff-hanger unresolved.”

  She drew her lips together into a taut, straight line. “Let go of my wrist.”

  “Will you finish the story?”

  “Only if you’ll let me go this minute!” she snapped. Her skin was hot and tingled where he touched her. “And promise to leave immediately afterward!” When Rand let go of her wrist, she unconsciously rubbed it. Jamie swallowed. At this point, she knew she would tell him anything he wanted to know, just to make him go.

  She cleared her throat. “To set the record straight, I don’t date wimps. The men I’ve dated have all been sensitive gentlemen.”

  “Undoubtedly, in the worst sense of the word.” Rand snickered. “I’ll bet they conduct seminars on their feelings and can cry on cue.”

  She shot him an icy look of disapproval. “Do you want me to continue?”

  “Oh, definitely. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

  “Well, after I’ve agreed to meet the gentleman for lunch, we set up the time and place and then arrive and depart in separate cars.”

  “But of course,” said Rand. He flashed a sardoni
c grin. “Tell me, how many lunches with separate arrival? and departures before you get around to something as daring and risque as a dinner date? At night! And—” he simulated a scandalized gasp “—in the same car?”

  Jamie stiffened. “It’s long past the time for you to leave, Mr. Marshall. I don’t have the time or the inclination to stand here and listen to you make fun of me.”

  Rand laughed. “Lady, I don’t think you know the meaning of the word fun. You wouldn’t recognize it in any way, shape or form.”

  With an indignant sniff, her head held high, Jamie stalked away from him.

  At least, she tried to. Rand reached out and caught her by her upper arm, effectively halting her once more. “Now it’s my turn. I get to tell you exactly what I think of your doctrine of dating,” he drawled.

  “I don’t want to hear it.” She struggled to escape, but she couldn’t break free. The power of his masculine strength was affirmed by the fact that he was holding her with only one hand.

  “It’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” Rand continued, ignoring her protests, both verbal and physical. “Even for an outdated, incorrect stereotype of a librarian, it’s rigid and repressive.” He grimaced wryly. “Next to you, insurance adjusters are wild party boys living life in the fast lane.”

  “I don’t care what you think,” she said coldly. She’d stopped struggling in an effort to preserve her dignity and stood still, taut with tension. “My system works well for me.”

  “Were you ever assaulted by a man?” he asked, his voice suddenly filled with concern. “Is that why you feel the need to—”

  “No, I’ve never been assaulted,” Jamie cut in sharply. “And I never intend to be, either. I simply like to control—”

  “You’re a control freak, all right. A relationship with you would be similar to life in Stalinist Russia.”

  Her eyes narrowed to glittering blue slits. “I suppose you think a woman should run around in—in short black leather skirts and high heels and go chasing after any man who crooks his little finger!”