by Olivia Dade
He’d also made sure to direct a copy of his book to the library, but it might take a while for Penelope and Angie to see it. That is, if Angie even bothered to tell Penelope it had arrived. And Penelope was willing to look at it. And she noticed the dedication page.
He hung his head, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers. It was all so uncertain. But he’d done the best he could to show Penelope how he felt about her in terms she would understand and appreciate. Terms that would hopefully convince her to give him another chance. All he could do now was wait.
To his shock, he opened the door to find Penelope standing on his front stoop, his book clutched in one small hand. She was even paler than she’d been on New Year’s Eve. There were dark shadows beneath her eyes, and her short hair was rumpled, as if she’d been running her hands through it. Her plain white shirt hung in wrinkled folds, and her pants were wet around the hem from melting snow.
She looked wonderful. Perfect.
“Please tell me you haven’t blinded yourself to recreate Jane Eyre more faithfully,” she said. “Though I wouldn’t leave you, it would make our daily life much more challenging.”
Our daily life. What did that mean? Was she making a joke, or was she seriously proposing a future together? He edged a little closer to her, and she didn’t back away.
“That was my next step,” he replied. “Right after acquiring a crazy wife, installing her in the attic, and setting my house on fire.”
“Glad I caught you early in the process.” She looked up at him with a tentative smile. “May I come in?”
Had she forgiven him? He couldn’t see any anger in her eyes or posture. No defensiveness. No betrayal.
He moved aside and watched her walk into his home, the place where he’d imagined her hundreds of times. Thousands. He’d pictured waking up with her in his bed each morning, talking to her throughout each day, and reading side by side each evening.
He couldn’t think about how he’d pictured their nights, or else he was going to embarrass himself in front of her. “You got my book in the library delivery already?” he asked, waving her toward his couch.
Her brow creased. “No. You sent one?”
He nodded.
“Oh.” She smiled again. “I’m glad. No, I got this from your mother. She visited the library this morning.”
His heart sank. Was that why she was here? To get Brenda to back off?
“I’m sorry she bothered you,” he said. “If you came to tell me she should leave you alone, I’ll take care of it. I promise.”
Instead of sitting, Penelope took his hand in hers, carefully twining their fingers together. He stared down at their clasped hands, afraid to assume anything. Afraid to hope that she wanted the same thing he did.
When she replied, her voice was firm. Sure. And she met his eyes directly.
“I’m not sorry. Talking to her gave me the kick in the ass I needed. So did reading this dedication.” She held up his book with her free hand. “I can’t believe you still want me, after I sent you away again and again.”
“Of course I still want you,” he told her. “I’ll always want you. You’re the woman I’ve hoped to find since . . . always. Before I even knew I was searching.”
Her big, brown eyes grew bright with tears. “I’m not the best partner for a man in the media spotlight. I’m shy, Jack. Reserved. I’m not poised or polished.”
“I’m not either,” he said, sliding his arm around her back to pull her close. A tear fell down her cheek, and he kissed it away. “And if I wanted to court the media spotlight, I wouldn’t be living in rural Maryland and telling people I’m an accountant.”
Her lips quirked at that.
“I want you. Just you. My shy, intelligent, funny, honest, beautiful Penelope. Even though you’re mouthy in bed and prone to tying my hands behind my back.” He leaned his forehead against hers. “Do you believe me?”
The deep breath she took made her entire body shudder. “I believe you. I love you, Jack.”
“I love you too, sweetheart. God, do I love you,” he said fervently.
Her mouth felt so soft under his. So welcoming. He took his time kissing her, becoming reacquainted with the way she responded, the way she felt pressed against him, the way she smelled. Like lemons, tart and sweet at the same time.
“Jack?” she murmured against his lips. “I brought something else with me today.”
He edged back only an inch, reluctant to relinquish her mouth. “What is it?” he asked.
She bent down and dug in her monster-sized purse. When she stood back up, she was holding a length of soft rope in her hand. It looked familiar.
“I found this beneath a stuffed elephant in the children’s area the other day,” she said with a wicked grin. “Very inappropriate.”
“Only inappropriate in the kids’ section of the library,” he countered. “In the privacy of my bedroom, however . . .”
She tugged at his hand. “I think you need to demonstrate how appropriate this rope is when used in bed. Right now.”
“Do you have a particular book cover in mind?” he asked, guiding her down the hall.
“Nope,” she said. “Let’s take some creative license. But if you want to pretend you’re Rochester, I’m totally on board.”
She kicked off her shoes and leaped onto his bed. At the sight, his heart almost stopped. He couldn’t contain the joy and relief that swept over him at the knowledge that she was really here. This was really happening. She was his. Finally.
He paused before joining her on the bed, wanting to ensure he never forgot this moment. Wanting to tell her how he felt seeing her laid out before him like a treasure. He had a million words trapped in his head, just waiting to be freed. Words of love, lust, and admiration. Words that would express how completely he revered her and wanted her.
But she was getting impatient. So he only had time to say one more thing before she pulled him on top of her.
“Very well. Your will shall decide your destiny, Miss Eyre.”
And then he proceeded to claim his Jane.
Things are just starting to heat up at the library! Be sure not to miss Olivia Dade’s second romance in the new Lovestruck Librarians series
MY RECKLESS VALENTINE
Keep reading for a special sneak peek.
A Lyrical e-book on sale January 2016!
1
“One more complaint and the library will have to fire you,” Tina told Angie. “We don’t want to. I don’t want to. But I will.”
Angie met the assistant director’s solemn gaze without flinching. “None of the complaints came from patrons or the staff of my branch. Not one. They’re all from Administration. And none of them have to do with my demeanor, my work ethic, my management of my staff, our circulation statistics, budgetary concerns, or anything substantive.”
What she didn’t say, though the words pounded through her brain: Please don’t take this job away from me. I love my work. I love my library. I belong here.
Tina pushed a strand of her steel-gray bob behind her ear and reached for the most recent letter of reprimand. Turning the paper around on the workroom table so Angie could read it, she pointed to the first complaint. “You created an erotica display labeled ‘Spanking-New Books.’ Your sign featured a huge fake book cover the color of someone’s backside. It had a pink handprint on it.”
“It wasn’t the shape of an ass,” Angie pointed out.
“I think the ass-like nature of the cover was implied,” Tina said.
“In the display, you labeled different categories, one of which involved bondage—”
“Learning the Ropes.”
“Another of which involved threesomes—”
“Ménage and More. I didn’t want to exclude groups of more than three.”
“Yet another of which involved shape-shifting creatures having sex—”
“Horny Like the Wolf.”
Even though Angie knew the situation didn’
t call for a smile, she couldn’t suppress a small one. That particular category name had entertained her for the entire week the display stood in the library. The number of holds on shifter romances had jumped significantly too, even after the display came down.
Tina threw her hands in the air. “Angie, I’m not questioning your ability to come up with clever names for different types of erotica. I’m questioning your judgment in creating the display in the first place. What if a child saw the cover of”—Tina glanced at the letter—“Ride Her, Cowboy? Or, even worse, Two Men Enter a Bar . . . maid? How are those titles appropriate for anyone under the age of eighteen?”
At that, Angie wiggled a bit in her rolling chair. “I put the display at the back of the adult section, where no kids could accidentally see it. And if anyone underage wandered in that area, I shooed them away unless they had parental permission to see those books.”
“Are you telling me you watched who went back there every minute of every day this branch was open?” Tina asked.
“Well, no,” Angie admitted. “Sometimes I had to go to the workroom to get something. Or I had a lunch break. And obviously I don’t work every day.”
“So you have no idea how many kids saw that display.”
“I guess not.” Angie stared down at the nubby gray carpet, blinking back incipient tears. When she spoke again, her voice wavered. “But again, no one complained, and the circulation statistics for the books in that display were killer. Even after two months, patrons ask me all the time for a list of those titles.”
Tina’s eyes darted behind Angie to the door separating the workroom from the main library. A small hand settled on Angie’s shoulder. Penny’s hand. Evidently, her best friend and coworker had heard part of the discussion from the circulation desk.
Penny rolled Angie’s chair back from the table and inserted her tiny frame in front of her friend. Which, to be fair, left a good chunk of Angie still exposed to Tina’s view. Angie appreciated the thought, though.
“Anything in this library is the responsibility of the entire staff,” Penny declared. “Don’t just blame Angie. Also, everyone who works here watched over that display. We made sure no children saw it unless their parents gave permission.”
Angie gently nudged Penny, edging her back from the workroom table. “Penny? I think you need to go back to the circulation desk.”
“But I should be here to—”
“No, honey. This is my responsibility. I made the display, and I’m the manager.”
“I’d rather stay and—”
“And I appreciate it,” Angie said. “But now I’m telling you to go to the circulation desk. Not as your friend, but as your supervisor. You don’t need to attend this meeting.”
With a final worried glance Angie’s way, Penny returned to the public portion of the library. Angie knew without looking that her friend had stationed herself next to the door, barely out of sight, ready to intervene again if necessary.
Angie reached out an arm and closed the workroom door. She didn’t want to expose Penny to this discussion. Despite her valiant attempt to shield Angie, Penny typically shied away from conflict. It upset her. And she didn’t deserve a second of discomfort over that damned display. God knew, she’d warned Angie about it enough times.
Angie, I don’t want you to get fired, Penny had cautioned the day Angie had unveiled the display.
Angie, I’m not sure a masturbation-themed book called Just Beat It is appropriate for the library to showcase, she’d noted the next morning.
Angie, she’d declared five days later, your display is amazing. Hilarious and eye-catching. But it’s going to get you in trouble. Can’t we take it down before we open today?
Later that particular morning, the director of the Nice County Public Library system had made an unexpected visit to the Battlefield Library, and Angie had found herself on probation for a month. She’d ignored her friend’s repeated, impassioned warnings. So Angie alone needed to take whatever consequences were coming down the pike.
“Then there’s your New Year’s Eve singles event,” Tina said. She pointed to the second complaint in the letter. “Am I to understand that you used library money to buy chaps? And a harness? And a French maid outfit?”
“They were props for couples to recreate book covers, an activity the Library Board approved,” Angie said, defending herself. “Plus, I used discretionary funds from the sale of donated books. Haven’t you told me I could use that money for any library-related purpose, no receipts necessary?”
“Technically, that’s true. But I think it was understood you wouldn’t use the money to buy a whip.”
“The library actually made money on that event,” Angie reminded Tina. “We also inspired several happy relationships, including one for Penny.”
“That’s not really the point of—”
Angie held up a finger. “Wait a minute. I didn’t ask administration for reimbursement for those props, and no one complained. So how did you find out about them?”
Tina sighed and plucked another printout from her black leather briefcase. “We got a request to hold a similar event Downtown, only with more buccaneer-themed props and activities. From someone named Clarence who signed his e-mail”—she straightened her wire-rimmed glasses and read the next line in a resigned tone—“ ‘Still lookin’ for booty, so thank ye kindly, Clarence.’ ”
Angie hung her head and heaved her own sigh. Pretend Pirate Clarence. Her favorite—and only—swashbuckler-obsessed patron. Of course.
“Angie.”
She glanced around the workroom, cataloging the changes she’d made since becoming branch manager seven years ago. When she’d arrived, the staff-only space had overflowed with random papers, books, and supplies. Because of the clutter, the regular cleaning service hadn’t been able to do their job. Every surface in the room had rested under a blanket of dust and grime. Within Angie’s first week, she’d bought additional shelving and bins from her own savings, organized the chaos, and disinfected the whole damn area.
In the past seven years, circulation numbers at the Battlefield Library had skyrocketed. The number of holds had increased exponentially. Because of special events like the New Year’s Eve program, the branch even contributed a little extra money to Downtown’s coffers. The programs held at Battlefield boasted the best attendance of any county branch. Angie and her staff received thank-you notes, baked goods, and frequent hugs from their visitors.
But it wasn’t enough, apparently. Angie’s knowledge of her patrons and what they liked was irrelevant in the face of complaints from administrators who rarely stepped foot in her library. So here she sat, marveling at how little her life had actually changed over the years.
A familiar sick feeling knotted her stomach and rose, bitter, into the back of her throat. Once more, she’d disappointed someone whose opinion she respected. Once more, she’d been reprimanded like a naughty child. And not in a hot way, either.
“Angie,” Tina repeated. “Look at me.”
She obeyed. The assistant director leaned forward and laid a gentle hand on Angie’s arm.
“Angie, I’m the one who hired you. You know I like and respect you. After the debacle with the erotica display, I fought for you to get probation rather than a pink slip. But I can’t protect you anymore. You need to be smart and protect yourself.” She gave Angie’s arm a final pat and stood.
Angie rose too. Even though she stood almost half a foot taller than Tina, she felt about a millimeter high. Shades of her childhood. “Okay,” she said. “I appreciate the warning.”
“Is there anything in the branch that needs repair? I could take a look and contact maintenance for you when I get back downtown.”
“No,” Angie said. “No, nothing needs to be looked at. Nothing at all.”
“Are your shelves getting too crowded? Do you need help weeding the collection?”
“Nope.” Angie stood in front of the door to the main library, her hands braced on eithe
r side of the frame. “Thanks, though.”
“All right. I’ll be off, then. Don’t be late to the staff meeting tomorrow morning,” Tina said.
“I’m never late,” Angie replied. “You know that.”
Tina gave her a genuine smile. “I know. You’re a hard worker. I meant you should be on time because there’s an announcement tomorrow that will affect you. I’m hoping the change will help you keep your job.” She headed toward the back door of the workroom, the one leading to the staff parking lot.
An announcement affecting me? What the hell does that mean?
“Should I be worried?” Angie called after her.
Tina turned and gave her an assessing look. “Maybe.” She flicked a glance at Angie’s clothes. “And no jeans.”
Before Angie could say anything else, the assistant director let the door close behind her.
Angie waited until she heard Tina’s car pull away from the parking lot. Then she staggered back into a chair, planted her elbows on the workroom table, and covered her face with her hands.
The door to the main library opened with a protesting squeak. A slim arm surrounded her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. Penny again. Angie covered Penny’s hand with her own and leaned into her friend. The soft cotton sweater on Penny’s shoulder cushioned Angie’s hot cheek. Breathing in her friend’s familiar, lemony scent, she relaxed a little bit.
“Oh, thank God,” she said.
“Don’t get me wrong,” Penny said. “I’m glad you’re relieved. I’m just not sure why you’re so thankful. From what I could tell before you closed the door, Tina was reaming your ass. In the nicest possible way, but still. Are you simply thrilled to have continued gainful employment?”
“Not that gainful,” Angie muttered.
“True enough. But you didn’t answer my question.”
