Felicia tugged one of her unruly red curls behind her ear. She lifted a heavy box filled with books, and walked to her desk. Sitting down at the computer, she typed the details of each book into the library’s stock list.
They had received a truckload of books two days ago, from a library in a different suburb which had been shut down. Ever since, she was spending most of the day checking the books for any marks disqualifying them, and entering them into the system of the titles they carried in the library. It was a dreary task despite the odd interesting discovery in between. She didn’t like it that Mrs. Evans, her boss, had more or less dumped the workload on her while she did whatever it was that a library owner did all day.
Felicia had been content like this in the past, but for some weeks now, she had been feeling restless. Thinking too much about her unhappiness made her tremble. The book in her hands grew alarmingly warm. Hastily, she put it on the desk, stealing a glance around to make sure nobody was watching. The back cover where her fingers had been resting until a second ago looked slightly singed.
God, what was she doing? What was happening to her lately?
Dropping her hands into her lap and staring unseeingly at the computer screen, she let her thoughts wander to the incident two nights ago. What on earth had got into her to walk right into the burning house? And why did the stranger have to witness it, risking his life to save her? And more pressingly, why had she needed no saving?
Felicia looked at her unblemished hands in her lap, curling and uncurling them into fists and sensing a dangerous, undefinable strength lurking beneath them. If she looked into herself, listened and watched with inner ears and eyes, she always found one thing inside: fire. Of late, it had grown restless, like a dragon awaking from its long slumber and stretching its wings, sharpening its claws, feeding the fire in its belly to prepare for spitting flames.
It scared her. Would the fire grow and grow and take her over and leave her behind like a burnt-out shell, a dry, lifeless husk? Or was it in her mind? Was she slowly going insane, imagining things?
Roughly an hour later, she was sitting at her desk, lost in a promising book she had discovered earlier. Leaning back in her chair, the book held up in front of her face, she didn’t realize somebody had walked up right to her until a voice broke her concentration.
“If this book teaches how to come out of a raging fire without a single mark, I would like to borrow it.”
Felicia was so startled she dropped the book to the floor. That voice! She’d recognize it anywhere, although she had heard it only on one occasion. Sure enough, when she lifted her head after picking up the book, a man stood in front of the desk. Not a man. The man. The handsome stranger from two nights ago.
He was dressed in blue jeans and a black shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the top two buttons open and revealing a hint at an astonishingly white, hard, hairless chest. With difficulty, she moved her eyes up to his face, hoping the shock she felt inside didn’t register.
God, his eyes were so blue. It should be forbidden to have such beautiful eyes. They shone like precious stones, luminous and with a piercing gaze once again staring into her core. Did he see fire inside her the way he somehow reminded her of ice and glaciers and impossibly turquoise lakes in Canada?
But hold on, what was she doing staring at him and in fact admiring him when she should be alarmed?
What was he doing here at her work place?
And he remembered what had happened that night. Instead of being confused about it or full of suspicion, he was joking about it. Or was he?
One corner of his mouth was tilted upward in a half smile, but his tone had been serious.
Had he spied her out because he was demanding an explanation? If yes, there was more reason for her pulse to be racing and the core of heat inside her to be in turmoil. She had no explanation. Or at least only part of an explanation that would never, ever satisfy anyone because it was too far from reality and what people would accept as true.
Drawing herself up, Felicia fished around for some reaction or other. In the process, she remembered she was looking different from the first night. With her mane of red curls tied back in a strict, no-nonsense ponytail, and dressed in ironed flannel trousers and a white blouse, it was hardly probable that he had recognized her. Maybe he was in search of an explanation for the night’s happenings, and had come to the library for reading material?
“Excuse me, sir. I’m not sure what you mean. Are you looking for some special kind of book?”
There, she sounded pretty convincing to herself. She’d get through this without any trouble.
He dropped his smile abruptly. With another step, he stood so close his body was touching the desk. Leaning forward, an unreadable look in his eyes that never let go of hers, he reached out and tucked one lock of hair behind her ear, much in the way she had to do it several times a day.
“I am looking for something special indeed. Or should I say, someone special?”
His voice, a deep timbre close to a whisper, sent a delicious thrill through her. She could feel the liquid heat in her belly again. His hand that had touched her hair once again emanated coolness, as she knew she radiated heat at times.
When she instinctively moved back in her chair to put some distance between them, she noticed a few rosy welts on the back of his hand.
“You got burned!” she exclaimed, all pretense forgotten because she had never been able to see anyone with burn marks. It triggered memories. Horrible memories of her childhood that she wanted nothing more than to forget because they filled her with guilt and shame and self-loathing and made the recent developments inside her even more alarming.
Glancing at his hand and back at her, the man merely shrugged. A gleam in his eyes acknowledged that she had dropped her fake air of ignorance.
“If one runs into a room chock full of flames, it’s only natural to be injured.”
He emphasized the word “natural” while looking at her significantly, and the alarm bells inside her rang louder. Clearly, he was not willing to let the matter go. What should she say or do?
“Well, some people get lucky while some are less lucky, I guess,” she said, hating how unsure she sounded.
What was it about this man that he made her lose the confidence and self-defense she had so strenuously taught herself over the years?
He frowned and a hint of grey seeped into his eyes, which made him look somewhat older and like a powerful, brooding Norse god.
“Luck?”
He gave it real consideration for a moment, although she had the feeling he understood it in a way completely different from what she had intended.
“I don’t think that’s the right word. But depending on how one interprets luck, maybe you were—are—lucky indeed. And maybe I am too.”
He had lost her.
She had no idea what he was talking about, why his voice was so full of hidden meaning and he was to intent on drawing some remark or other out of her which would give her away.
To clear her mind, she focused on his injuries again, using the queasy mix of emotions inside her to regain her senses. Trying to sound as normal as possible, she said, “I am glad you got your burns treated. I hope it’s nothing serious. I’m so sorry you got injured because of… because of me.”
For a moment, the knowledge that she was indeed the cause for his state and that it could have been much worse for him tugged at her heart strings and brought back childhood memories. Hadn’t she vowed to herself those days to never again be the reason for somebody’s pain or for danger from fire? Then again, this time clearly hadn’t been her fault. He had been at the wrong place at the wrong time.
What must she have looked like to him, walking willingly into the flames? Had he feared she was out on a suicide mission or had lost her mind? He certainly didn’t look at her as though she were raving mad or about to kill herself. Instead, the manner in which he watched her and the choice of his words made it look as though he was expecting a
certain reaction from her.
Who was this man? What did he want from her?
His answer interrupted her thoughts and mounting fear.
“It’s nothing. I guess it’s the price you pay if you try to play the hero.”
A self-deprecating grin made his face more handsome than ever. She could stare at him for hours. But she shouldn’t. Oh no, she shouldn’t.
Drawing herself together, she asked, “So, have you come to borrow some books? Can I help you?”
There was that intense look in his eyes again which made their blue clearer and colder and shinier.
“I’m sure you can help me.”
He stressed the “sure” and let it sink in. When she stared at him, pulse racing and hands getting decidedly warm, he took a step back and assumed a more normal pose.
“Actually, I moved here last week and have been checking places out. I came here because I’m looking for some reading material. Do I have to get a library card?”
He sounded so normal that Felicia had to blink and give herself a mental kick in the behind to act professional and do her job. It was difficult, with him still so close, and with her mind coming to terms with it that she would probably have to face him more often if he lived here and wanted a library card.
“Yes. If you could please fill this form for me, we can get you set up in a matter of minutes, and you can start borrowing right away.”
She handed him a form, careful not to touch him because she still remembered the electric shock their first contact had caused. Handing him a pen and motioning for him to sit at the table set up near the entrance, she waited with baited breath while he jotted down his personal details and took out his wallet to pay for the initial fee.
It shouldn’t cause her so much pleasure to look at this stranger who was indeed strange.
After processing his application, aware that he was in turn watching her now, she rose from her chair.
“Let me give you a quick tour of the library to show you what to find where.”
It was customary, but this time, she felt oddly uncomfortable to walk around with him inside the building. The adjoining rooms, crammed with bookshelves and lacking enough light as well as ventilation, somehow made the air thick. It didn’t help that he walked so close behind her she could feel the coldness he exuded and was again caught up in his unique scent of peppermint and winter and forest.
She hurried through the four rooms, pointing left and right and telling him about main sections like children’s books, young adult fiction, school books, travel literature, comics and non-fiction. Her voice held a slight tremble to it and her words were coming too fast. Being alone with him overpowered her. She was trapped in her own desire for this man, her fascination and fear. For God’s sake, this was just another man, not some demon waiting to seduce her!
Turning on her heel to hurry back to her desk and for once wishing Mrs. Evans were here and not in her office upstairs, Felicia said, “I’ll leave you to your book search now. If there’s anything I can do or you have trouble finding what you’re looking for, let me know.”
“Oh, I think I have already found what I’m looking for,” he said, his deep, purely male, confident, calm voice much too close in her ear and much too full of a hidden meaning again. Why did he make it sound as though he had been looking for her?
She was feeling so much heat now, she was sure he could sense it too. Tiny beads of sweat were forming on her forehead from trying to control herself, and failing.
His gaze held her in place in the middle of the corridor. For a moment, they stared at each other, the electricity palpable in the air around them. He lifted a corner of his mouth in satisfaction.
“I’ll be fine, thanks,” he said before turning and walking toward one of the rooms.
She stared after him, a sense of foreboding growing inside her. Why couldn’t she shake off the feeling that she’d see and hear much more of him from now on, and that he was in some inexplicable way dangerous?
No, she was going out of her mind, imagining things. Better to get this day behind her quickly, and let routine lull her back into welcome—but was it really welcome?—calmness.
Playing with Fire (Book 1 of the FIRE Trilogy) Page 2
