by Jane Cousins
“What’s wrong?” The blonde snapped, gripping the edge of the desk with white knuckles.
“Well… it’s just… you’ve already extended these books twice already… that’s the limit.” Damn, Cara fought not to flinch at the glare her words provoked. The blonde looked as if she wanted to clamber over the desk and go for her throat, being so short of stature she was probably a biter.
“Are you saying that I can’t borrow these books?” Just like that the anger seeped out of the plump blonde as her eyes flooded with water and big fat tears began to roll down her cheeks and splash onto her cleavage.
“Um… err.” Okay, not a biter, worse, a sobber.
The blonde’s bountiful chest started to jiggle up and down as ragged sobs tore through her frame. Oh God Cara, don’t look, it will be like following the bouncing ball. Maintain eye contact at all costs.
“You know what? I’m just going to….” Frantically she clicked away at the keyboard. “…to change a few dates…” She stabbed at the buttons harder. “And… there, they’re all yours again…”
“Really.” Big blue eyes awash with tears looked her way with shining gratitude.
Eeek, now the blonde looked like she was going to launch herself across the desk and hug her, Cara wasn’t sure if she’d survive the experience. Hurriedly she turned back to the screen and clicked a few more keys. “Plus, I’m extending the return date… but you have to promise not to tell anyone, okay? It will just be our little secret.”
“Thank you, you don’t know how much this means to me… how can I ever repay you?”
“Just don’t tell anyone about this, I’m new, so if anyone finds out I broke the rules for you… in fact, why don’t you just grab your books and head home. Before anyone notices you were even here.”
The blonde nodded, piling the books hurriedly back into her trolley. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”
“Don’t mention it.” Cara released the breath she was holding as the blonde grabbed the trolley handle and headed for the exit. Oh God, that was a close call. Looking down at the floor she contemplated kicking the female cowering at her feet. “You can come out now Patricia, she’s gone.”
Patricia raised haunted hazel eyes. “Sorry, it was just an automatic response. You have no idea what the last few months have been like with Gaia trying to get pregnant. She tends to be a little manic on the subject…” Patricia slowly stood upright. “We’re all praying for her to fall pregnant sooner… rather than later.” Patricia brushed down her cream coloured trousers and matching coloured knit top.
“Have they been trying long?”
“Since they melded I assume, a little over a year. Nell finally caved in last month and ran some tests. The results came back perfectly normal. Personally, I think it’s the competition factor that’s blocking her.”
Cara smiled, bemused. “There’s a race going on to get pregnant?”
Patricia shook her head fast. “Only in Gaia’s head. Honestly, I think if the girl just chilled for a while she’d be pregnant in no time.”
Cara laughed softly. “Okay, so you’re suggesting next time she comes in I slip a copy of the Karma Sutra into her book bag?”
Patricia untangled the ends of her art deco amber necklace. “Couldn’t hurt.”
Cara wasn’t sure if her boss was joking now or not. “So you want me to order a copy for the library?”
“No need.” Patricia waved a careless hand in the air. “We have bookcases devoted to sexual practises in the human studies section.”
Cara shook her head. “Um… I was in that section earlier in the week and there are only empty bookcases there. I thought… thought perhaps the books had been moved or we were waiting on an order to arrive.”
Patricia’s hazel eyes flared uncharacteristically with copper sparks, her lips flattening as she grit out one word, a name… that made absolutely no sense to Cara.
“Lester.”
* * *
Half an hour later Cara and a handful of other library employees followed Patricia as she stormed into the conference room.
“Where are my books on the Karma Sutra?”
The man sitting patiently at the conference table observed Patricia with intent dark green eyes, the barest hint of a smile lurking at the corners of his mouth. “You’re personal copy of the Karma Sutra, Patricia, or…?” His British accent crisp, tinged with a hint of wry humour.
“You stole all the books on personal health and well-being, didn’t you? I want them back and I want them back now. No more games, Lester.”
Cara followed the example of the other five librarians present and hurriedly took a seat at the table, wincing at the way Patricia said Lester’s name… part threat, part mocking. Damn, she was glad she wasn’t on the end of Patricia’s hazel eyed glare at the moment, copper sparks flaring in their depths. Patricia was mad… steaming mad, high colour staining her cheeks.
“Games, me? Patricia, you’re the one who refuses to call me Cullen, my own parents call me Cullen. You’re the one who has changed either the time, venue or day of the last nine monthly staff meetings, ensuring that I have, as a result, missed attending every single one. Why, this would be the first time you and I have come face to face since the court case… you do remember the court case, don’t you? Where my little reading nook was officially declared an annexe of the Southern Sanctuary library?”
“Your potting shed is not a fit place to keep my books, Lester.”
Lester Cullen shook his head, clasping his hands together on the table in front of him. Lean of build, dressed in a dark grey suit he looked more like a successful banker than a librarian. His face all angles, clean shaven, his black hair short, sweeping back from his forehead bringing those arresting observant dark green eyes to the fore. “Annexe, and I’ve made all the modifications required in the by-laws plus a few others to get the rooms up to code.” He picked up a tattered faded pamphlet, holding it up for Patricia to see.
Cara squinted trying to get a look at the cover, that date couldn’t be right, that pre-dated the arrival of the first settlers in Australia. Hmm, maybe she should add researching the history of the Southern Sanctuary to her list.
“Rooms? What do you mean by rooms?” Patricia huffed from her position at the head of the table. “How many of my books do you have now? And how the hell are you smuggling them out of my library?”
The Brit shrugged carelessly. “It’s been hard to keep track actually. I put up a bookcase… by morning it’s full.”
“So elves just arrive in the night?” Patricia’s tone dripped with sarcasm. “Bringing my books and shelving them for you?”
Lester Cullen idly fingered his onyx stone cufflinks, his gaze never wavering from the head of the table where Patricia sat. “Maybe elves, I can’t say. Whoever it is, they have a good working knowledge of the Dewey decimal system. I can’t fault their filing system.”
“I want those books back in my library.” Patricia enunciated each word as if she were dealing with someone drunk or dim-witted.
“Technically… according to the law, they haven’t left the library.”
Cara felt like she was at the finals at Wimbledon, her head swivelling back and forth as she watched Patricia and Lester Cullen fire words back and forth across the table. Damn, it was like arriving at a play half way through, the plot was murky and she didn’t have a full understanding of who all the characters were yet.
“Who is Lester Cullen?” She directed her question to Marta, sitting on her left, whispering out the corner of her mouth.
Marta, keeping her attention fixed on the verbal wordplay leant towards Cara and whispered back. “We don’t really know. He’s a retired… semi-retired, rocket scientist or something. He just turned up here at Haven Bay about ten months ago and soon after books started disappearing from the library and mysteriously turning up in his… potting shed. Patricia had him arrested.”
“Arrested?” Wow, Cara’s mouth dropped open in surprise. It seemed Les
ter Cullen had the unique ability to rattle Patricia’s cool serene demeanour and she sensed that he kind of enjoyed doing so. “What happened?”
“He produced the library by-laws in court and the next thing you know his potting shed was declared an official Southern Sanctuary library annexe. Patricia still hasn’t gotten over the shock… or forgiven Cullen.”
The reason for this meeting and Patricia’s reaction to Lester Cullen suddenly became clear, Cara sat back to enjoy the verbal volleys and hits… though no misses, she noted, from either combatant. If anything the two were almost too equal, neither giving an inch of ground in their verbal match.
Cara was unsurprised when the meeting finally wound down at the end of the hour that there had been no winner, or for that matter, no loser. What did surprise her though was watching as Lester Cullen got to his feet to depart, he was only five foot eight. Funny, from his demeanour, the quiet strength he exuded, she’d assumed he’d be much taller… closer in fact to Patricia’s six feet in height.
Still, despite the disparity in their heights she couldn’t help but think that if Patricia could put aside her animosity to Cullen and really see the man, she would be the one surprised, for there was real interest… admiration, lurking in those dark green depths every time the man looked Patricia’s way.
Cara had a sneaky suspicion, given the steely determination the man radiated that it wouldn’t be too long before Cullen figured out a way to back Patricia into a corner and get her to really see him… and she didn’t think he’d be polite or civilised in how he went about it. He might dress like a staid banker and lack the height of a warrior but the man beneath that cool façade reeked of danger.
* * *
Cara jerked upright, her pulse pounding, where… oh, the library, she’d fallen asleep at her desk. She straightened her glasses and wiped the corner of her mouth, not quite drooling but it had been a near thing. Glancing at her wrist watch she huffed a small disappointed sigh, just after midnight, ugh, she was so tired. Her eyes ached, her bones felt leaden and her brain was starting to take on the consistency of pudding.
She thought about getting something to eat from the fridge in the staff break room but couldn’t dredge up enough enthusiasm. Besides, even if she tried to eat she’d be lucky to get down two mouthfuls, everything was beginning to taste like sand to her.
Absently she turned her attention to the big book of fun she had open in front of her; Death Rituals and Dark Practises in Ancient Egypt. It was a very old book, probably should have been in a museum somewhere and it was not for the faint of heart. Several chapters were devoted to the art of preparing a body for burial, including instructions on how to pickle major body organs and kill unwilling slaves so that they might continue to serve their master after death.
The section Cara had fallen asleep over dealt with avoiding death altogether, advising of several methods to prolong life by transferring the dark energies of death on to others and imbuing ones’ Chi into objects to be used like a storage container for the soul until a suitable alternative could be located. Cara read between the lines to guess the author meant finding a younger, more handsome vessel to take over body duties. Smart… but a really scary idea.
Why hadn’t Apep done that? He was a God, wasn’t he? Just how had he ended up in a sarcophagus… dead? And the bigger question, if he’d been embalmed, how did his sons expect to bring him back to life? Was the blood of the ancestor and a witch supposed to magically reform major organs as well as restore life?
What she needed to do was get her hands on the exact ritual used on Apep, surely that would provide her with some answers. Great, more research.
Oh, she was so tired she was beginning to hear things. Heavens, she didn’t want to be delusional on top of all her other problems. Hold on, it wasn’t just random sounds, it was music, jazz… Cara frowned, it wasn’t just her imagination, she recognised the artist, Ben Webster. Where in the hell was it coming from?
Getting up she walked slowly towards the central domed area, it was definitely getting louder. In the domed area she turned in a circle until… there… right there, the music was coming from behind the thick opaque plastic blocking off the children’s wing work site. Oh, what a relief, she wasn’t going crazy. Dave or one of his boys must be working late.
She contemplated heading back to her research, but what would be the point? Her tired brain was past the point of being able to process the written word. Perhaps instead she should check on the progress of all the great ideas Dave had been coming up with lately. Carving fantastical creatures into the wooden columns of the stage was a clever idea. Along with adding wooden dragon and gargoyle sentries to sit on top of the bookcases. Honestly, she hadn’t considered her foreman to be the creative type but over the last few days at their daily meetings he’d been full of clever ideas that would help make the children’s wing a magical fun place for children to discover books and learn new things.
Lifting back a corner of the heavy plastic, Cara ducked underneath, inhaling deeply as the smell of sawdust filled her nose. Her shoes sounded loud as she clicked across the bare concrete, but she doubted anyone else would hear over the music. It was a large space, and in the process of being divided up for the different age groups and their differing needs. The spacious entrance area was mostly dark, but over in the far corner, where the little kids reading nook and stage was going to be built she could see lights, the glow of mobile heaters and it was definitely where the music was coming from.
Carefully, Cara made her way across the work site. Because of all the equipment in here she tended not to visit too often, the potential for any number of disasters was unlimited. But it was just Dave tonight, harmless, gruff but sweet, Dave. No chance of any mayhem erupting.
There was more plastic to navigate under as she neared her destination, she was guessing it had been hung to contain the heat and keep the mess to a minimum in this section. Her shoes crunched over sawdust and what looked like marble chips as she ducked under the plastic and instantly came to a halt, frozen to the spot. Oh, no, no, no, no.
This was not Dave. So not Dave.
What was Erik Valhalla doing here? Sitting at a small table, his feet up, drinking wine from a plastic cup? It was such a surreal picture she wondered if she still wasn’t sleeping and this was all a dream, a horrible dream.
Merda, this was not good. Her disaster powers may have morphed since she’d arrived at Haven Bay but the one thing all the incidents that had occurred so far seemed to have in common was lounging directly in front of her wearing a too tight sawdust smeared black t-shirt that did insanely good things for the rippling muscles of his arms and the hard planes of his chest and abs.
It seems Erik Valhalla was the trigger to the explosive keg that was her chaos curse, and here he was relaxing amidst scaffolding, power tools, an array of sharp knives and chisels and let’s not forget those mobile heaters that would probably end up exploding and setting the whole library on fire.
Oh God, please, please… internal powers of mayhem, don’t kill Erik and don’t destroy the library. The low-edged pulse between her legs began to buzz more erratically. Cara shifted uncomfortably, closing her eyes so she wouldn’t see what was coming… any moment now, kaboom, nice knowing you Erik Valhalla. Pity you were such a big jerk.
Chapter Ten
Erik couldn’t relax. The wine had seemed like a good idea but he still felt wire edge taut. Or perhaps he just needed to finish working on that damn piece of marble that despite currently being covered with a sheet of tarpaulin was insidiously whispering enticements in his head, taunting him… haunting him.
It wasn’t enough that the image of Cara, sprawled naked on the floor, remained burned into his mind’s eye, overlaying everything else he looked at, but the damn piece was exerting influence over his actions and that was kind of disturbing. He had to fight for every clear headed moment. His hands and back ached constantly now but the unfinished piece didn’t care about his physical well-being or th
e fact that he could only sleep when he dropped of exhaustion.
In a desperate attempt to distract himself he’d volunteered to create a bunch of wood carving additions to decorate the library. That offer had thankfully helped sweeten the pot in convincing Dave to let him stay on site and work on his marble when he wasn’t working on the setting up of the stage or carving decorative fantastical creatures.
To be truthful, when it came to completing the half-finished marble, he was digging his heels in, balking. Not because the pull was so strong and he was just being obstinate for the sake of it. What was niggling at the back of his mind was the worrisome level of obsession he had with this piece… with the model. What if when he finished, his obsession with his subject didn’t end?
It felt kind of hypocritical to be fighting his attraction to Cara Devigne in the flesh when he couldn’t seem to fight the inner battle with his artistic nature.
Of course, he’d been tempting fate by thinking about her, though when wasn’t he these days? The odds were definitely stacked against him because suddenly there she was, his buttoned-up shy librarian, standing a few feet away.
Goddess, what was it about the modest outfit she had on that made his cock harder than stone? The knee length dark grey skirt was sensible to the extreme. The light grey cardigan she had on could only be described as demure, the pearl buttons fastened up all the way to her throat.
Everything about Cara tonight screamed no nonsense, with her hair tightly braided back and those glasses… yet, he was more turned on than he’d ever been in his life… then it hit him, she was every man’s fantasy. A present to unwrap with the knowledge that underneath the packaging lurked silken smooth skin, luscious curves and a banked fire waiting to be stoked by the right touch, the right man.
Fuck, this woman was his kryptonite.