No Shelf Control (Book of Love #4)

Chapter One

Jasmine

The public library is the literal worst place to stalk an author.

First, it's public. Says so right there in the name.

Second, it's full of distractions…like virtually every book on the shelves, except for the one about keeping only a few books in your home.

Honestly, fuck that book. Third, it's too quiet.

I'm only an hour into my quest to convince River Jamison to speak at Dirty Book Club, and I'm already bored. Ordinarily, this wouldn't be a problem—see item two on the list. But since I can't actually read and actively stalk at the same time, you see the problem. I'm bored.

Loralei Grey, the librarian and my friend, knows it. She keeps grinning at me from behind the chest-high counter as if she expects me to snap at any moment.

"You could help me, you know," I remind her for the fifth time, my elbows planted on the marble counter as I glare at her over the top. The stack of books beside her is almost as tall as she is, but she just keeps adding to it, humming some rock song to herself.

The musty smell of thousands of books lingers in the air around us. Behind me, a group of school kids types away at the public computers, whispering back and forth. Their teacher flips aimlessly through a magazine at a work table beside the computer station, one careful eye on the kids.

"Nope." Loralei's smile grows as she checks in another book before neatly placing it on her stack to be shelved later. I swear, she's been weird lately. Something's up with her. "I'm not risking my job by giving you River's home address."

I knew she was going to say that.

I've been trying to convince her for the last ten days straight, but she's been woefully unhelpful.

I get it, really, I do. She loves her job, and it's not like I want her to lose it or anything.

I'd feel awful about that. But her work computer has the information I need to do my job.

And she won't even walk away and leave me alone with it for two minutes.

It's not like I'm going to murder him in his sleep or anything. I just want to help connect him with local readers. If it weren't for that, believe me, I wouldn't be here. I do not need to meet my heroes. Ever, actually.

"What's he like?" I can't help but ask Loralei.

She hasn't been particularly forthcoming about what she knows about the man.

All she's really said thus far is that he reads a lot, doesn't say much, and is tall.

How any of that is supposed to help me entice him into speaking at Dirty Book Club, I don't know.

"Well, he's—" she breaks off and then nods toward the massive double doors. "See for yourself."

I whip around, my gaze landing on a man standing on the raised dais just inside the library's entrance.

Sweet baby Jesus…

I expected an over-caffeinated, middle-aged man who looked like a cross between a college professor and an anxious introvert. That's the picture I painted in my head.

I was wrong.

River Jamison is the physical embodiment of my dirtiest fantasies.

Messy black hair sweeps across his forehead, ending just above startling green eyes and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses.

His beard doesn't hide his full lips, which are currently pursed like he's annoyed with the world.

The way he's got his arms crossed over his broad chest screams "standoffish".

He's younger than I expected, closer to thirty-five or forty than the fifty or sixty that I believed. He's also got the body of someone who spends a lot of time at the gym rather than behind a desk all day.

This is a problem. Actually, everything about him is a problem. Hot and grumpy is my weakness, and I am not a size twenty-two with a litany of failed business ideas and a sheaf of speeding tickets in my past because I have self-control, okay?

Maybe asking him to speak at Book Club is a bad idea.

"That's River Jamison?" I whisper. At least, I mean to whisper, but the library has vaulted ceilings and an echo…and I say it far louder than intended.

He hears me and immediately glances my way. His gaze rolls over me like a wave, his expression darkening slightly before turning downright arctic, as if my very existence is an annoyance he could live without.

Rude.

I square my shoulders and scowl right back at him. Probably not a great way to convince him to do what I want, but he started it.

For some reason, scowling at him seems to amuse him. He actually cracks a smile and nods at me before he jogs down the steps into the main library, then makes a beeline down the center aisle before disappearing between two stacks, like he's on a mission.

I bounce to my feet, determined to follow him. I did not waste my whole day waiting for him for nothing.

"Want a word of advice?" Loralei asks.

"Nope," I say, rolling up my sleeves. "I'm catching this grump all by myself."

"If you say so…" She doesn't sound convinced. Doesn't really look it, either. "Just…be careful. He can be a grouch."

"You don't say." I give her a dirty look. "You could have mentioned that at any point before right now, you know."

"Oops, my bad." She laughs a little too loudly, then clamps a hand over her mouth, glancing around like she isn't the one who enforces the rules around here.

I spin on my heel and march down the aisle, following behind him. It might be my imagination, but the whole aisle smells faintly, deliciously like amber. His cologne? Maybe.

I let the scent guide me through the reference section, past the history section, all the way to the mythology section in the back.

River is at the end of the aisle, crouched on his heels while scanning a row near the bottom, the muscles in his thighs bulging. Jeez. He's built like a linebacker. Who needs all those muscles to write books?

"Excuse me, Mr. Jamison?"

"I don't have time to sign autographs today," he growls, his voice a little rusty, like he rarely uses it. "I'm working."

"I'm not here for an autograph," I say, leaning up against a shelf.

I think about leaving it at that, but when in the history of ever have I left things alone?

Never, that's when. "And, for the record, if a reader wants to say hi when you're at the library, you really should take two minutes to say hello without being a jerk.

You're able to do what you do because of them, and the library is a bookish space.

It's not like you're being accosted at dinner. "

He stops scanning the row, his head snapping up until our eyes meet. "If you don't want an autograph, what do you want?"

"My name is Jasmine Knudsen. My friends call me Jazz.

I work at Book of Love, the new spicy romance bookstore in town," I say, refusing to get lost in those eyes.

They really are incredible. The glasses are doing it for him.

"I'm here to invite you to speak at our monthly book club meeting next month. Our members would love to meet you."

"No."

I wait for more, but that's it, just a singular, emphatic no.

For a man who writes so eloquently, he sure doesn't speak the same way.

His books are full of beautiful prose and the most erotic sex scenes.

His heroines are real, genuine, as if he plucked them off the streets and dropped them into his novels.

And his heroes are literal perfection, as if they instinctively understand how hard it is to be a woman in this world, even when they aren't from this world.

In person, he's…annoyingly abrupt. And kind of rude, actually. His heroes would never.

I narrow my eyes at him. "No?"

"No." He goes back to scanning the row. "It is a complete sentence."

"I'm aware that it's a complete sentence, Mr. Jamison." I make a point to emphasize his name. "But—"

"No."

"You didn't even let me—"

"No."

I actually stomp my damn foot like a toddler throwing a tantrum. I don't know why! He's hot, cranky, and annoying as hell. He just brings it out of me.

"Stop saying no!"

"No." Is that a hint of a smile I see?

Oh my gosh. Is he actually enjoying being this infuriating?

I glare at him for a long, silent moment. "Has anyone ever told you that you're annoying?"

He pauses his search to cock a brow at me. "Jazz, isn't it?"

"I said my friends call me Jazz. You aren't my friend. Ms. Knudsen will do just fine."

He actually smiles this time. And damn, he's beautiful when he smiles…which I'm guessing the crabby bastard doesn't do often. "Fine, Jasmine," he says, emphasizing my name the same way I did his, "has anyone ever told you that it's rude to continue pressing someone when they've already said no?"

"It's also customary to give an explanation when rejecting an offer to meet the very people who buy the books you write," I snap. Maybe I'll have a bonfire with my copies of his books tonight. I don't stan book burning, but for him, I might make an exception.

"Explanations imply that I might be swayed into changing my mind. That isn't going to happen, so why waste the time when, again, no is a complete sentence?" He glances at me again. "Have you ever heard of boundaries?"

"Yes, and you know what?"

"What?"

"I've decided to stomp all over yours. I'm not giving up until you agree to come to Book Club," I growl at him, my expression savage. "And, for the record, I can be far more stubborn than you're being right now. Consider this war, River Jamison."

Declaring war on the author I'm trying to entice to come speak isn't my finest moment, but I have no regrets.

None. He's far too full of himself. He needs to be humbled, and I've got time.

Actually, I don't, but I'm more than willing to clear my calendar to make his life difficult. It'll be my gift to humanity.

I'm not sure what I expect him to say in response to my declaration, but "How'd you know I'd be here today?" definitely isn't it.

"What?"

"How'd you know I'd be here today?" he repeats.

"I'm psychic." I lie. As if I'll ever tell him that Loralei told me that he comes to the library every other Wednesday. He seems like the type who would try to get her fired. "It's how I know you're constipated right now, too."

That actually catches him off guard. He blinks at me. "Uh…"

"Emotionally," I say, rolling my eyes. Jesus. Some things, no one needs to know about their favorite authors. "You're emotionally constipated. It's why you're such an insufferable ass."

He throws his head back, his rusty laughter echoing around the library. "Emotionally constipated?"

"I said what I said. Also, this is a library. You're supposed to be quiet."

"Not wanting to meet readers at events doesn't make me emotionally constipated, princess.

It makes me sane," he says, snagging a book from the shelf before rising to his feet.

He towers over me, but keeps a polite distance, almost as if he doesn't want to crowd me.

Or maybe he's afraid I'll bite if he comes too close.

Do feral authors carry rabies? Asking for a friend.

"However you found me, do me a favor and forget I exist."

"Sure…just as soon as you agree to come to Book Club."

I'm not even sure I want him at Book Club anymore. But at this point, I'm willing to die on this hill, just because he's rude.

"You know stalking is illegal, right?"

"This is a public library."

"Right." He looks me up and down, with this look in his eye like he isn't sure what to do about me. He's partially annoyed, partially confused, and judging by the way his gaze keeps dropping to my boobs, maybe a little interested, too. Crap. "If you keep harassing me, I will have you arrested."

Yeah, right. Talking to someone isn't illegal.

"Fine," I retort, tossing my hair over my shoulder as I spin on my heel, retreating before that interested look in his eye goes any further.

No way am I going there. Ever. Hot and grumpy, I can do.

But rude and borderline insulting? Absolutely not.

"I'll have you arrested for being a pain in the ass. "

His lips twitch. "That's not a crime."

"It's a crime against humanity!" I call over my shoulder.

His rusty laughter follows in my wake. I hear it all the way to the front desk, where Loralei is waiting with wide eyes.

"Well?" she asks.

"That man," I growl," is the devil."

"I tried to warn you."

"Not hard enough." I massage my temples. "Can you believe he basically said that meeting readers is insane? That's so rude!"

"That is rude," Loralei murmurs. "But maybe there's a reason he doesn't want to meet them?"

"Oh, I'm sure there is. The reason is that he's an arrogant, condescending, self-important jacka—"

She slaps her hand over my mouth, muffling the insult before the whole library hears it…but the point still remains. He's insufferable. And insufferably hot.

And now, I'm at war with him.

This does not bode well for me.