Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 79265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
He speaks in an accent I can’t quite detect. Something European? “Can you help me find the biography section? There are several I’m looking for.”
His accent gives him an air of power that takes me by surprise. He’s a man fit to rule armies. Fight battles. He’d look every bit at home dressed in a soldier’s uniform wielding a sword and commanding his men to victory as he does here. Perhaps more so.
“Oh, yes,” I tell him. “Of course. Which do you want? Allow me to see what we have.”
I ignore the trembling of my hands while I type the names he gives me into our search database. I should be able to handle a man looking at me. I shouldn’t let it scatter my nerves and mess with my head.
I really should read fewer romance novels.
When I locate the books, my stomach drops. I forgot our catalog system lists the biographies at the very back. Though few people come here at this time of day, this section of the library is completely isolated. I usually escort our patrons to find the books they’re looking for, but I don’t want to be alone with him.
“It’s in the 900s, and easy to get to,” I tell him, feeling the heat of my cheeks travel all the way to my neck. I can’t be alone. Not with him. I don’t trust myself not to make a fool of myself.
“Ah,” he says. “I see. Thank you.” But he doesn’t go.
I swallow. I really need to control my imagination. My hand travels to my throat and my fingers graze the tender skin.
“Yes, sir.” Damn. There’s that sir again.
He smiles, making my belly warm and my breasts tingle. God, I’m a mess. I inwardly scold myself for being such a fool.
“Your name?” he asks.
“Sadie,” I whisper.
“Sadie,” he repeats. Oh I like hearing him say my name. “Show me, please?” Though he asks me, it sounds more like a command.
No. He wants me to walk with him. I groan inwardly.
“It’s very easy to find,” I stammer, which isn’t quite true. I’m trying to dismiss him, and I fear I sound rude. The biographies are fairly hidden. I wave my hand in the direction of the of the back of the library. “Just all the way down, take a left at the elevator, then a right at the periodicals. It’s the fourth section on the right, behind the local maps.”
He raises a brow, and I’m not sure if it’s my imagination, but his look grows a bit stern, and when he speaks, there’s an edge of austerity that makes my heartbeat race. My cheeks flame.
“Are you too busy to take me there?” His lips thin, and he crosses his arms on his chest, raising a brow questioningly. The simple question feels like a scolding, but any correction I’ve gotten before never made my pulse race like this.
“Of course not, sir,” I rasp in a voice just above a whisper. “I—I’ll take you.” Do I have a choice?
He graces me with a smile that warms me through. “Very good,” he says, his voice lowering just a bit. “You’re a very good girl.”
I like how that makes me feel, and I smile softly to myself.
I grab a stack of books that need to be put away so I have something to do with my arms, but when I turn to him I promptly lose my grip. The books slip and cascade down around me, onto his feet and mine, scattering along the floor in a helpless mess.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I moan, tears pricking the backs of my eyes. I’m such an idiot. Who cries over such a stupid thing?
I swallow hard and lean down to pick up the books. He kneels and gathers the ones nearest him.
“No need to apologize,” he says. “Allow me.”
I can’t very well sit here and watch him pick the books up on his own.
“I can help you—" I begin, but he gently grasps my wrist, just the press of a thumb and forefinger.
“I said allow me,” he says, his voice lowered. My mouth is stuffed with cotton, my head spinning in a dizzy confusion of excitement and fear.
This man is used to being obeyed.
I want to obey him.
Has he hypnotized me?
Tempering his stern gaze with a half-smile, he gives a curt shake of his head, then reaches for the book in my hand and stacks it with the rest in his left hand.
My mind reels. I’ve met a man out of one of my books. His commanding stature. Powerful presence. A voice that could melt ice. I’m enamored and terrified all at once.
I watch him in silence, my arms dangling awkwardly as I squat beside him, watching him collect the fallen books. I don’t know how to handle being in his presence like this.
After he’s stacked the books, he reaches for my hand and lifts me to my feet. Awareness courses through me at the warmth of his hand.