Chapter 32
JULIET
Maybe it’s weird, but I’m certain I can sense when Roderick enters the library. Not that I know it is him immediately, but more like I feel a shift in the air. Like his power is a physical presence, pushing outside his skin and taking up all the extra space.
Up on my stepstool, which I’m using to return books to their spots on the upper shelves, I spot him over the heads of other patrons. His eyes scan the library, and his chin tilts up. Like he’s scenting the air.
Who am I kidding? He definitely is. And for some reason, that fact has me blushing.
When our eyes meet, I raise a hand in greeting.
He doesn’t do the same. Instead, he makes a beeline to my location.
In fact, he comes at me with such determination on his face that I’m a little worried he’s going to scoop me up and toss me over his shoulder, caveman-style.
I might enjoy a little Neanderthal play at my house, but this is my workplace.
Luckily, Roderick halts a few feet away, even as his eyes devour me in a not-at-all-appropriate-for-work manner.
“Are you free tonight?” he asks without a proper greeting.
“Well, hello to you too.” I finish shelving the book in my hand before fully turning to face him. A feat of self-control I’m immensely proud of.
A twitch at the corner of his mouth looks like the beginning of a rueful smile. “Hello, Juliet.”
With a quick movement, he scoops up my hand and brings it to his mouth. I wonder if he’s going to kiss the back, like we’re in some historical drama.
Instead, Roderick brushes his lips against the meaty part at the base of my thumb, a much more intimate hand kiss. Then I hear the slight intake of a breath as he presses his nose to my wrist.
When Roderick lets me go, my skin is vibrating with a shockingly erotic amount of pleasure. All from what he did to my hand.
It’s been three days since the night Roderick slept over at my house. If not for a large electrical job that had him working late into the evening, we probably would have gotten together sooner. But this way, I’ve had time to meet with a physician in town and check up on my physical health.
And what this werewolf just did to my body with a seemingly innocent touch has me wanting—desperately—to share what I’ve learned.
How do I tell a man I don’t have any STIs in a sexy way? Do I slip him the letter from my doctor with a suggestive wink?
No. That’s weird.
Just say it, I demand of myself. Try being just a little bit vulnerable with the guy. You danced in front of him!
“We can have sex,” is what I end up blurting.
His eyebrows curve up as I clap my hands over my mouth.
With a frantic glance around, I’m relieved to discover there aren’t any patrons nearby.
My gods, I can’t be saying X-rated stuff like that at my work.
Especially when my job exists in a small-town library, frequently visited by people who love to gossip.
“Forget I said that. That was not what I meant to say.”
“You can be sure”—he takes a step closer, gaze level with mine—“that I will never forget you saying that.”
I try to glare at him. I really do. But the playful crinkle at the corners of his eyes has me fighting off a grin. When I shove Roderick in the chest, he’s nice enough to rock back on his heels like I successfully moved him.
“Hush.” Hopefully, my cheeks don’t look as hot as they feel. “To answer your original question, yes, I am free tonight. But I still have a half hour of work.”
“I can wait.” Roderick shuffles back, then walks deeper into the library, as if he’s browsing.
Damn it. Now I want to follow him around for the last part of my shift. What if he picks up a book? What if he starts reading the book?
There’s nothing much hotter than a gorgeous man reading. I have an entire Pinterest page devoted to images of it.
Trying to be responsible, I return to my normal tasks and do my best not to glance at the clock every five seconds.
Somehow, I make it through the next thirty minutes without stalking the werewolf. At six o’clock exactly, Roderick arrives at the circulation desk with a thriller and a book on seasonal desserts.
“You read?”
My voice holds more disbelief than I have the right to, and he raises an eyebrow at me.
“You thought I couldn’t?”
“Sorry!” I grab for his books, starting to scan them. “That came out wrong. I meant, you read for fun?”
Roderick’s lips twitch. “Yes.”
“Oh. Good.” I swallow, accepting his library card. “And … where do you read?”
A look of confusion creases his face. “In my office. During lunch. At home.”
“Mmhmm.” I can picture it now, him lounging behind his desk, book open in his lap, concentration on his stony face, forearms flexing as he flips a page. “Where do you read at home? In your bed?” My voice went super breathy on that last question, and Roderick’s nostrils flare.
“Juliet,” he rumbles, “what are you thinking?”
“Nothing.” I neatly stack his books on the counter. “Just picturing what you look like … reading.” Goose bumps prickle over my arms at the fantasy, and my eyes may go slightly foggy.
The werewolf is quiet for a moment, and I busy myself grabbing my purse, stepping out from behind the desk when the next librarian arrives to take over.
Latifa is a nice woman, approaching her sixties, and she likes to gossip as much as most of our patrons.
Her eyes flick between me and Roderick, an excited gleam in her stare.
Before she can start with the probing questions, I grab the wolf’s arm and tow him out the front doors.
The sun is on its way below the horizon, and there’s a coolness to the November day.
“Will you go for a ride with me?” the wolf asks as he tilts his head toward a shiny motorcycle.
“I’m not sure I’m dressed for that.”
I didn’t wear a coat today. Despite the chill in the air, I figured my thick cardigan was warm enough for the short walk from my house to my car and the parking lot to the library. When I dressed for the day, I didn’t expect to climb on the back of a motorcycle.
At least I’m wearing jeans and not a skirt.
“Here.”
Roderick shrugs out of his leather jacket, the one proclaiming him as a member of The Dark Moon Riders, and drapes the massive thing over my shoulders. Immediately, I’m engulfed, and I live in a happy cocoon of warmth.
“Isn’t it against biker rules for me to be wearing this if I’m not a part of the club?”
Cory never let me wear his leathers. Not that I was begging to or anything, but he made a point to tell me that it wouldn’t happen.
Roderick only shrugs. “You’re with me,” he says, as if that’s the golden ticket.
Whatever keeps me from freezing.
When we reach his bike, Roderick opens one of the saddlebags and removes a helmet, which he sets on top of my head, and a pair of leather gloves, which he grips in his teeth as he accepts the stack of books I’m still carrying and slides them into the satchel.
“Wear these too.” Roderick hands me the gloves after I slip my arms into the sleeves of his jacket.
I’m all decked out and suddenly a lot more excited for this ride.
There’s a certain thrill to speeding down a road with nothing in between me and the asphalt. Like skydiving. I know it’s not exactly responsible, but it’s exhilarating.
The werewolf swings his leg over the machine, and he waits until I settle behind him to coax the engine to life.
As the vibration starts, I move closer until the center of me is pressed directly against his lower back.
Maybe the move is a bit wanton, but when Roderick grips my arms and tugs, guiding me to tighten my hold, I grin against the warm cotton T-shirt stretched over his back.
I’m off the clock and ready for this evening to begin.