Boxed Set: Books & Billionaires

by Nikki Steele

  “Now?”

  I looked down at our game. “Would you rather I beat you at Connect Four again?”

  “You haven’t beaten me. This is the decider.”

  I bent down to slot a piece swiftly. It landed with a clink.

  “Oh.” His lips quirked at the corners. “Point made. All right then, what are the rules?”

  I thought for a moment. “I have until dawn… and the bet can only be cancelled by mutual arrangement.” I narrowed my eyes. “So that means no pulling out if you start to get bored!”

  He shook my hand. “You’re on. Okay, if you can find a romance that I genuinely want to read, dinner’s on me when we get out. Five Star, all the way.”

  “Five Star?” I said, impressed. “Whatever it takes, I’m going to win this bet—even if it means resorting to violence.” I looked at him, a smile creeping across my lips. “How do you feel about being beaten into submission with really thick encyclopedias?”

  He chuckled. “I’m more the Alpha type than the submissive. But if you were doing the beating… well, maybe I’d make an exception.”

  Oh. Suddenly I was grateful for the torchlight casting shadows over my face.

  I cleared my throat. “And… what do you want?” My voice was a whisper. “If you win?”

  He looked at me speculatively, hand reaching for my cheek. “How about you…” He faltered, then his hand dropped. “Romance isn’t my thing, Clara. You won’t win.”

  Why did it feel like he’d wanted to say something else? “How about I cook you dinner then?” I suggested.

  He nodded, lips pressed tight.

  I hesitated, but then decided to charge on. “Come on, I already know the first book I want to show you.”

  We stopped at a shelf toward the start of the fiction section. “Pride and Prejudice. One of the greatest love stories of all time.” I knew this wouldn’t be his final choice, but I was prepping him for something.

  He took the book from me, reading the back briefly, then returned it. “Nope, too boring, not enough action. You’re going to have to do better than that.”

  I walked swiftly to another shelf, playing my trump card. “Then how about this!”

  “Pride and Prejudice… and Zombies?” Booker looked up in confusion.

  “I told you I’d do anything to win this bet. Even if it means having you read the boy version of one of the greatest books ever written.” I leaned toward him, hand to the side of my mouth. “Plot spoiler, there’s ninjas as well.”

  He began to flick through it. “This is actually a thing?”

  I nodded. “So? Do I win the bet?” I asked.

  “Do they still live happily ever after?”

  “Of course.”

  He turned away. “Then it’s a fantasy, not a romance.”

  This time the silence was pregnant with confusion. “Why would you say that?” I asked.

  “It's a long story.”

  “We've got all night.”

  He opened his mouth, then closed it, pain behind his eyes. “It would bring the mood down. Show me something else—I’m enjoying myself, regardless of how it looks.”

  I thought for a moment. “What about Sugarbabe? It’s got lots and lots of sex?”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Trying to turn me on? Keep it up and the dinner you’re cooking will be done in Lingerie.”

  I slapped him on the shoulder. “That’s not fair!”

  “Hey. I don’t make the rules, I just enforce them.”

  Booker was a mystery. He was so sexual—I’d never met a man who could make me blush so easily. But there was romance in him too, regardless of what he said. I could tell it in the way he’d held me in the café. The way his hand had found mine in the dark. What did he read?

  An idea occurred and suddenly I was scampering though familiar isles to another corner, Booker following with a bemused expression on his face.

  I twirled, an excited look in my eyes. “Presenting a tale about sex and love, with all the saucy bits left in.”

  “Casanova?” he asked, reading the title. “That guy from Italy?”

  “Just hear me out,” I said, hands raised. “Yes, it’s about a man that lived 400 years ago. But I think you’ll find him a kindred spirit. He’s the ultimate romantic, though he protests it furiously. Every woman he ever meets falls for him: he’s handsome, intelligent and the most delightful charming rogue you could ever hope to meet.”

  “Kindred spirit. Do… you think those things about me?”

  I looked away, blushing furiously. “That’s not what I meant.”

  “What did you mean then?”

  Word’s failed me temporarily. I stomped my foot. “Look, do you like the book or not?”

  His hands lingered on the spine. Then he gave it back. “Not for me. I'll probably get it out someday soon—if only because it will give me the chance to see you again—but it doesn't make me want to sit down on the floor and begin reading right now.”

  I growled. “You’re not playing fair!”

  He flashed a smile. “You’re pretty when you’re angry. It brings out those cute dimples. Ready to give up yet?”

  I shook my head, reassessing the man before me. What was my attraction to him? And why was it so important to prove that he could enjoy a romance, if only he found the right one?

  My fingers started to drift along the cold shelves, heading to a very particular aisle before I’d even realized what I was doing.

  When I’d first started working for the library, I’d discovered a collection of books that…well, that had been purchased in a freer age, or perhaps by mistake. They weren’t the sort of books you normally found in a library. They weren’t the sort of romance the good citizens of this town normally read. But I’d read them. Every single one. And I’d found a freedom in them I’d never known in real life. Perhaps this was a romance he could enjoy. A romance we could both lose ourselves in. What did I have to lose?

  I arrived at the reference section, the part that abutted the back wall. My hands paused on a large, thick tome.

  “Chemistry 101?” Booker asked. “Look, no offence but if you think that’s going to interest me-”

  I pulled it out, then reached into the space behind. There’d been an old shelf here before these stacks were put up, built into the very wall. It was now my own secret little storage place; a receptacle for 101 dark, debaucherous fantasies. I pulled a slim volume from its hiding place. The torch illuminated a scantily clad woman below the words Deflowering Daisy.

  “Oh,” Booker said, startled. He opened a page at random. “Wow. It’s chemistry all right, but not what I was expecting.” He lowered the book to look in my eyes. “Is this yours? Is this… what you read?”

  I avoided his gaze. “Sometimes. I kind of found it one day and couldn’t stop reading. It’s another world you know? Where people do what they think about, not what the rules say they have to.”

  A glimmer of understanding sparked behind his yes. “And, you always follow the rules, don’t you?” He moved closer. “Is… this,” his hands gestured to the page, “is this what you think about? What you dream of in your head?”

  How could he read me so easily? Like one of my books, plucked right off the shelf. It scared me.

  “You will too, after you read it,” I said, taking the conversation in a different direction. “It’s my secret weapon. The thing I’m going to use to win this bet.” I placed the torch on a shelf, where it would illuminate the aisle. “I dare you to read one scene and not want to keep reading until the very last page.”

  He began to read. Watching his face, I saw the perpetual half smile he held there disappear, replaced first by furrowed brow, then a quick lick of his lips as he glanced up at me. “This is really… umm… descriptive.”

  “I know.”

  “I like it,” he said.

  I glanced down to his jeans. “I can tell.”

  He shifted uncomfortably. “I won’t lie. It’s kind of turning me on. Is that allo
wed in a library?” He turned to me, his next question layered with meaning. “Is it something you would allow?”

  Inside, my inner voice was doing little cartwheels. This was what I’d been waiting for! The man of my dreams was standing before me with a hard-on that would make a stallion proud, asking me how I felt about him being turned on. I wasn’t stupid. I could see where this was leading.

  I shook my head. It was still too soon. Three years, and the hurt was just too much. I wasn’t something I could just forget about. It wasn’t something I could just get over.

  How could I ever? I was the one that broke the rules! I only had myself to blame for the pain that followed, and I wasn’t going to go through that again.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, stepping backward. “I got caught up in the moment. I… I should never have shown you those books. I don’t mean to mislead you.”

  His hand reached out to me, wiping away a tear. “I don’t understand.”

  I shook my head. “I never used to be like this. I used to be… different. But I’m not that person anymore.”

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “We all have our secrets. Tell me yours.”

  I shook my head. “It was a silly idea.”

  “I’ll start,” he whispered. “When I first walked into this library, I was having the worst day in the world. You couldn’t imagine. But that changed as soon as I met you.”

  His hand caught mine. “You’re funny, and though you play at the strict librarian, you don’t fool me. I can see a softer side underneath. So different to what I am normally attracted to. This night with you—the break-in, the clothes box—it’s been so refreshing!”

  His hand squeezed mine gently. “And so here’s my secret. I’m… attracted to you. I want you. And I’ve been trying hard all night to stay away because you’ve got a boyfriend, but I can’t.”

  He turned away from me. “I’m sorry. I should never have said anything.”

  I was so stunned I said the first thing that came to mind. “What boyfriend?”

  “Your boyfriend. The footballer.” His hand went to the back of his neck. “God, I’m such a fool. The last thing I would want to do is cause trouble between you two.”

  “There is no boyfriend,” I whispered.

  “What?”

  “I made him up.”

  “No boyfriend?” he asked. He spun back, a spark of hope on his face.

  I nodded.

  “Then… I can do this?” He leaned in, gently, toward me, to kiss me tentatively on the lips with the barest of brushes.

  It was like a butterfly’s touch—one that left you just hoping, wishing, for it to come back and alight properly.

  My lips parted. His hand came to the back of my head. And then he was kissing me with a fire such that I’d never experienced before. Passionate, tender and so full of longing and promise that I came gasping back up for air and then dove straight back down, like a woman drowning in a sea of desire.

  It felt so good. It felt so right. My hand went to his neck and then his broad, strong back; feeling the musculature beneath his shirt, fighting the desire to rip it off him. I gave in, fingers fumbling for buttons as his did the same to my dress; running his hands over my curves with a moan, seeking out the means with which I might be freed.

  It was different this time. Different to the last. Finally, I’d found someone worth breaking the rules for.

  All these years, I kept my promise. Now I’m breaking it with a man whose last name I don’t even know.

  My lips froze. It was true. I didn’t know his last name.

  Suddenly a wave of fear swept through me. Fear that it would end like last time. Fear, and horror, and… and shame.

  I pulled away. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”

  Booker’s hands went to my shoulders, his body trembling with desire. But then he saw my face and suddenly his eyes held only concern. “Clara? What’s wrong?”

  “I can’t. The last time this happened… well, I made a promise to myself that it would never happen again.”

  “But it feels so right!”

  “So did last time.”

  His hands gently cupped my face. “Tell me Clara. Whoever it was—he can’t hurt you now.”

  I shook my head. How could I tell him he had it all wrong? That I had been the one at fault? “I don’t do one night stands. I don’t have relationships at work. I don’t give someone my heart, ever again.”

  He looked at me softly. “You really feel that way?”

  It still felt like yesterday—that moment, three years ago, when the man I’d thought I was beginning a new life with had laughed in my face. He’d said marriage was a contract, and if I’d broken it, why should he keep his promises?

  He’d been right. I didn’t deserve love. Not after what I’d done.

  I shook my head sadly. “It’s the rules.” Keeping them was my penance.

  Booker’s hand gently brushed a strand of hair behind my ear. “Rules have their place, yes. They protect us; they stop us from making mistakes over and over again.”

  It was like he had read my mind. I nodded, tears welling.

  His eyes locked with mine. “But here’s the thing. Sometimes rules grow outdated too. We grow up, and move on, and no longer need them. When that happens, keeping them becomes the mistake.”

  “I can’t risk it. Not again.”

  “With the right guide, you can walk a new path. With a connection this strong, some rules are meant to be broken.” He kissed me gently. “Let me be that guide. Let’s explore that connection.”

  I wanted to believe him. I really did. I’d been unhappy for so long. But even if I didn’t like the woman I had become, could I change?

  The cage was sealed too tight. “I’m sorry,” I said, turning away. “I can’t. It was stupid to think I ever could.”

  “Clara!” Booker called softly.

  I shook my head. “It’s over, okay?” I gestured around us. “Make a pile—we’ll burn books to keep warm, starting with the one in your hand.”

  There was silence as I left the stack. Silence as I made my way to the front of the library.

  Then I heard a voice.

  “Wait!” Booker came running after me; his face, desperate, wild. “Wait. The competition isn’t over yet, is it?”

  I turned. “You win, okay? I don’t want to find you another book. I don’t want to play this game.” I started walking again.

  “So you’re going to break your own rule? I thought we had till dawn.”

  I stopped, still not facing him. “That’s not fair.”

  “I know. But I’m doing it anyway.”

  I spun. “Well then I’m just not going to find another book! There was never any rule that said I had a quota to meet.”

  He walked toward me. “What if I find a book?” he asked. “The rules were never just about you. They were about us. We had to find the romance together.” He looked at me, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “You’re not a rule breaker, are you?”

  I shook my head, furious and impressed at his logic all at the same time.

  “Well then come on. I’ve got one last thing I want us to try. But you’re going to have to help me—you’re the librarian, after all.”

  He took my hand and now it was his turn to pull me toward the stacks. “I guess I’m looking for your reference section. Social Sciences? No wait. Probably Physiology. Something like that.”

  Despite myself, I was curious. Who was this man pulling me through my own library? Who was this man that could take my tears, and make them disappear as if they had never been?

  “Here we are.” His fingers trailed dusty, disused spines until they stopped on a large, thick book wrapped in non-descript green leather.

  I pulled it from the shelf, knowing the title before I had even seen it.

  “The Kamasutra,” he said, turning toward me. “A romance I can read. A book of rules you can follow.”

&
nbsp; CHAPTER SIX

  Could I do it? Could I forgive that girl from three years ago? I wanted to be happy. So desperately.

  Booker drew me to him. I knew I should protest, should pull back, but suddenly I didn’t want to. My inner voice needed this. My body needed it too. The memory of his kiss on my lips was still too fresh. The vision of him as I pleased myself too real.

  But still I protested. “I can’t Booker. I can-”

  He cut me off with a kiss. Forceful, passionate, full of everything he could have said but hadn’t, full of everything I had ever gone without. “It’s the rules Clara. You have to.”

  His lips moved over my cheek to graze against my ear, then move down to the hollow where my neck met my shoulder. “You see, I’ve discovered your weakness. You’re mine, now.”

  I moaned as his lips sent goosebumps flying in little shivers all over my body. Could I do this? Could I follow the rules I myself had set? If I followed them for bad, could I now follow them for good?

  My body arched as his hands ran down my back. They were strong hands; safe arms. This could be different from last time.

  “I did agree to do whatever it takes,” I whispered. I seized his head and brought him back to my mouth, kissing him with all the hunger of ten years lost. He was salty on my lips, his cheeks lightly stubbled. We stood in the library, clutching each other, hands exploring each other’s bodies, mouth’s exploring each other’s souls. Hands went for the second time to his shirt, unbuttoning it with a haste born of fear that I might stop myself before it was complete. I was three buttons down before I tore the rest, wrenching it open with a ripping sound that sent matching shivers up my fingers.

  Oh yes. Hairless chest rippling with slabs of muscle – not overdone, just perfectly formed and defined. Abs that washed down his stomach like river stones on a stream of tanned skin; a trail of hair that started at the waist, inching down to hidden pleasures below. It was better than I’d imagined, better than the glimpses between the bookshelves.