Chapter Three
Connor
M y penthouse was full of bad decisions tonight, bad decisions I was about to make because of the sweet girl who’d invaded my mind and planted herself there.
I stared at my laptop screen, its glare cutting through the dim light of my living room. The cursor blinked in the search bar like it was mocking me.
Sierra .
That was all I had. No last name, no address, just a first name that tasted too sweet on my tongue and a library logo on a box that had somehow become the most important thing I’d carried in years.
Sierra, whose license plate I’d memorized because my brain had decided it was a fucking haiku.
I cracked my knuckles, the sound echoing through the sterile expanse of my apartment.
“Okay. How do you stalk someone without ending up on a true crime podcast? ”
The search bar stared back, and I knew the little shit was judging me.
I tried a search: “Sierra librarian, Oak County.”
The results were as thrilling as a tax audit. A PDF about library funding cuts. A Yelp review complaining about the quiet atmosphere of a fucking library.
I slumped in my leather chair, custom-made to hold my bulk. This was terrible. I could bench-press a motorcycle, but ask me to navigate the internet? Might as well hand a fucking flamethrower to a toddler.
Or to Adrian.
He would’ve howled.
I took a swig of bourbon and tried another angle: “Sunset Public Library staff.”
Bing-fucking-go.
The library’s staff directory popped up, complete with headshots of people who looked like they’d never thrown a punch in their lives.
There she was, third from the bottom: Sierra Willows, Assistant Librarian.
The photo was grainy, like it’d been taken with a fucking toaster. It was blurry and washed out, but it didn’t matter. It was her, the same dark curls and soft smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.
She looked... tired, like she carried the weight of the world on those small shoulders and didn’t know how to put it down.
I zoomed in until her face filled the screen, tracing the lines of her jaw with my eyes like she were the treasure I’d been searching for my whole life.
Sierra Willows.
The name fit her. Soft and unassuming but with an edge of secrets she’d never tell. I wondered if she’d ever said it while biting her lip, if she sounded different when she was angry or scared, how she’d whisper into someone’s ear. My ear.
The bourbon burned deliciously down my throat as I clicked on her name, falling deeper into the rabbit hole like an idiot chasing after something he couldn’t have. But I wasn’t an idiot, because I would have her. It was just a matter of time.
Hours passed, and here I was. Screenshotting her tweets about cats like they were classified Intel.
By three in the morning, I’d mapped her commute from work to her apartment. The place was unacceptable, and that would be changing soon.
She’d graduated from a small liberal arts college with a degree in English literature, sweet and endearing. My smart little bookworm.
Her Goodreads account though, that was a fucking ride. Two hundred and twelve books read alone last year… Her determination was fucking hot.
There were highlighted passages about “yearning,” “soft touches,” and “healing broken men.” I snorted. Broken men didn’t heal; they festered. They broke other things instead.
Yet here she was, leaving five-star reviews for novels where billionaires fell in love with baristas. “So hot!” She’d written under a book called ‘The CEO’s Secret Baby.’ “I wish he’d pushed a bit more!”
My lips quirked, curiosity peaking even more, if that were possible. I could do that. If I were him, there’d be no secrets. No boundaries. Just her sweet little body pressed against the nearest wall, my head between her legs, and her learning exactly how loud she could scream.
The thought left me rock-hard and furious.
If only she knew what kind of man she’d caught the attention of.
The scent of rain drifted around me as I leaned against the railing, staring out at the city below, a sprawling mess of lights and noise that never seemed to sleep .
Somewhere out there, Sierra Willows was probably curled up in bed with one of those romance novels she loved so much, completely unaware that a man who’d cracked ribs for sport was piecing her life together like a puzzle he couldn’t stop solving.
And I’d never fucking stop solving it.
I still needed to know more. I’d never know enough. Tomorrow, I’ll visit the library. Tomorrow, I’ll watch her sweet, perfect self like the predator I was.
But tonight? Tonight, I traced her name on the fogged glass door and let the obsession sink its teeth in deep.
At 5 AM, the city began to wake up. I was already up; I’d never slept. I’d found her Pinterest, which was a fucking gold mine.
My gym bag by the door taunted me as I clicked open the next rabbit hole. I should be there in a few hours, pounding my frustrations into a heavy bag. Instead, I was elbow-deep in her Pinterest boards, titled “Cottagecore” and “Romantic Date Ideas.”
I continued to sit in the dark, her playlists humming through the speakers. I scrolled to the bottom and found a quote she’d “pinned.” Look at me, learning fucking Pinterest lingo.
It read, "Sometimes I wonder if anyone will ever look at me and see something worth keeping.”
I traced the words on the screen like they were sacred, bourbon bitter on my tongue.
She had no idea.
No idea of the things I’d do if it meant she’d never doubt it again.
My Audi growled beneath me like a caged beast, its sleek black frame parked strategically across the street from the library.
I’d been here for twenty minutes already, watching the staff entrance like it held the answers to every question I’d ever asked.
Subtly was everything until my sweet Sierra was fully mine.
And then she appeared .
Sierra Willows. My sweet little librarian. The girl of my dreams.
She stepped out of her beat-up blue sedan, clutching her pink thermos like the only thing tethering her to this planet.
Her tight pants clung to her hips like sin, and that ridiculous yellow cardigan with bees on it, fucking bees , made her look like she belonged in a picture book about woodland fairies.
I liked that picture way too fucking much.
My chest tightened as I watched her fumble with her bag, curls bouncing over her lower back as she hurried inside. She didn’t look up. She never seemed to. Always staring at the ground like she was afraid the sky might fall if she dared to meet its gaze.
I wanted to grab her chin and tilt it up. Make her look at me. Make her see me. I’d hold the entire sky on my shoulders for her.
But not yet. Patience wasn’t my strong suit at all, but for her? I’d wait. I’d wait as long as it took to make her mine.
I gave it exactly fourteen minutes before stepping out of the car and crossing the street. Long enough for her to brew the tea she had on her Pinterest page. Long enough for her to think she was safe from small talk.
The library doors slid open with a hiss, and the scent of lemon cleaner and old paper hit me hard. It smelled like her, soft and familiar, but she had a hint of something sweeter underneath.
I followed that scent through the aisles, my boots heavy against the tile floor. The place was practically empty this early in the morning, save for an older woman at the front desk who barely glanced up as I passed.
A fucking WBC champion in a public library at seven in the morning. I could hardly believe it myself.
But I sure as fuck did when I saw her.
She was crouched low in the romance section, shelving paperbacks with her adorably small hands. Her cardigan hugged her petite frame, and I had to resist picking her up and tucking her against my chest. She was way too fucking soft-looking all the damn time.
She mumbled softly under her breath, and my chest tightened at the sound. She didn’t notice me until I was close enough to see the faint pilling on her cardigan. I suddenly wanted to give her more clothes than she could ever wear; she needed everything the world had to offer at her feet.
“Sierra.”
Her name fell from my lips like a prayer, low and rough and entirely too quiet for someone like me.
She startled immediately, dropping a few books scattered across the carpeted floor. Her head whipped around, curls flying as she stared up at me with wide brown eyes that made something primal trickle into my chest.
She was so fucking cute.
“C-Connor?” she stammered, blinking like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. “You’re… here?”
“For you.”
I knelt, putting us eye-to-eye. Her gaze focused when she saw my eyes, nearly black, sharp enough to flay skin, softened only for her.
“I need a library card.”
I definitely did not need a library card.
“Oh,” she breathed, clutching the book to her chest like a shield, her fingers drumming a nervous rhythm on the cover. “The front desk can help you with that.”
My lips quirked. My sweet girl was funny; she thought she could run and hide from me so easily.
“No.” My voice came out sharp, and I softened it, barely. “I want you to help me.”
Her cheeks flushed a dark pink, and she stared up at me, silent for a few seconds. She looked so adorably conflicted, yet couldn’t find the words to say no.
“Okay,” she whispered finally, standing so quickly she nearly tripped over herself. “Follow me.”
I rose to my full height and watched as she led me toward the front desk, her steps quick and nervous like a rabbit trying to outrun a wolf.
My wolfish grin stretched wider as I followed close behind, tracking every sway of those sweet hips wrapped in pants that left little to my filthy imagination. I didn’t know what they were called, but I knew I’d be buying her more of them.. Whatever they were.
A boner at seven in the morning, after an all-nighter, was a feat only my girl could pull off.
At the desk, Sierra fumbled with a stack of forms before finally finding what she needed, a library card application printed on cheap paper that crinkled under her shaking hands.
“Name?” she asked without looking up. Her soft voice was shaky, and I could only imagine how much she’d tremble if my hand were in those pants, the fabric soaked with her sweet arousal.
“Connor Graves.” My heart thumped in my chest as I watched the seed I’d planted bloom .
Her pen froze mid-shaky-stroke. Slowly, hesitantly, she lifted her gaze to mine, and for the first time since we met at that godforsaken book signing, no sunglasses or baseball caps were hiding my face.
Recognition dawned in stages as she connected my name to my appearance: first confusion, then shock, then something softer, something closer to awe, that made my chest ache in ways I didn’t have words for.
“You’re…” She swallowed hard, her voice barely above a whisper as she said, “You’re Connor Graves.”
Thank fuck she’d heard of me.
“That’s what they tell me.” My lips twitched into something resembling a smile, a rare occurrence for me. I had to feign indifference when all I wanted to do was devour her.
Her breathing hitched as she stared into my eyes, dark and sharp but softening just for her, and I wondered if she could hear how fast my heart was pounding beneath all this muscle and bulk, just for her.
“You look… different without your hat,” she said finally, blinking rapidly like she was trying to process what was happening. “Familiar.”
My lips quirked, praying she wouldn’t be scared of me.
“Yeah?”
I leaned forward slightly, testing the waters as I braced my elbows on the desk until we were at eye level again. That seemed to do something good, given how her eyes flicked down to my mouth, wide and searching.
“Maybe you’ve seen my face on TV.”
Her cheeks darkened further as realization set in, the kind of realization that came with knowing you were standing inches away from someone who could crush you without breaking a sweat, but chose not to because he liked watching you squirm instead.
“I-uh—your address?”
She cleared her throat awkwardly and gestured toward the form in front of us. “For… overdue notices.”
Her hands were still trembling, but she seemed to have a better grip on her nerves now.
“Yours,” I said without missing a beat, just to see what she’d do.
Her eyes widened comically before narrowing in confusion, or maybe defiance, and it took everything in me not to laugh at how fucking adorable she looked. Me, laughing. Only for my sweet girl.
“That’s not how this works,” she muttered under her breath before scribbling something down on the form that definitely wasn’t her address but would do for now. I let myself smile this time.
“Good girl,” I murmured low as I straightened up again, watching with satisfaction as her entire body tensed at those two little words, the same ones that had unraveled her completely during our first meeting.
She shuddered, thighs pressing together under the desk. I could make her come just like that, back against the stacks, my hand under that fucking bee cardigan, whispering good girl until she screamed.
All we had to do was wait.