Attracted to Fire
Page 33
“I have banana bread,” Miss Alma said. “But don’t be picking up a book with crumbs on your fingers.”
“We know,” several echoed.
Paige appreciated the comic relief. The rest of the members placed chairs in a circle beneath the massive chandelier while Paige checked in their books.
The library door opened again, and Jason Stevens walked in with his camera. The sight of him erased the pleasantries she’d been enjoying with the book club members. He made his way to the circulation desk and stood at the swinging door, trapping her inside.
Hadn’t she just swept the bugs off the steps of the library?
“Since you won’t let me take your picture outside, I thought I’d snap a few in here. Wow—” his gaze took in the expanse of the building—“this was a bank.” His brilliant whites would have melted most women’s resolve.
Paige approached the swinging door. “No pictures, please. They always turn out looking really bad.”
“How about lunch?”
“Are you coming on to me?” Disgust curdled her insides.
He waved his free hand in front of his face. The man knew just when to utilize a dimple on his left cheek. “I’m simply looking for a story to go along with my photos. This library is charming, fascinating, and so are you.”
Revulsion for the dimple-faced city boy had now moved into the fast lane. “Miss Alma, I’ll help you arrange the chairs.”
“Nonsense.” Miss Alma shook her blue-gray head. “You help this young man. Those old people can do something besides stand around and complain about their gout and bursitis.”
Any other time, Paige would have laughed at the remark. But not today.
“Looks like they have everything under control.” The low, seductive tone of Stevens’s voice invited a slap in the face.
“I suggest you visit with a few other business owners for your newspaper’s needs,” she said.
“I’m very disappointed.”
“You’ll get over it.”
“Can’t we talk?” He leaned over the swinging door.
“You can leave, or I can call the sheriff. Your choice.” She picked up the phone on her desk and met his gaze with a stare down.
“So much for sweet, small-town girls.” He tossed her his best dejected look. Obviously he wasn’t accustomed to the word no.
Her reflexes remained catlike thanks to tai chi workouts still done at home behind drawn curtains. With minimal effort, she could dislocate a shoulder or crash the kneecap of an opponent twice her weight. Such skills were not a part of the job description for most small-town USA librarians, but then again most of them didn’t have a working knowledge of Korean, Angolan Portuguese, Swahili, and Russian. The ability to decipher codes, a mastery of disguise, and a knack for using a paper clip to open locks . . . not to mention a past that needed to stay buried. She had to resist the urge to toss Stevens out on his ear. Calm down.
“I’m sorry we don’t have the book you wanted. I’m sure one of the branches in Oklahoma City can help you.”
A silent challenge crested in his gray eyes, and she met it with her own defiance.
Stevens walked to the door and turned, carrying his camera the way patrons carried books. “Know what? This town would be a great place to hide out a CIA operative.”