by Olivia Dade
With one more perfect stroke of his hand and his body, the pleasure she felt exploded into a hard orgasm. She choked out a cry, grinding against his hand and his cock. Within seconds, he followed her, planting himself deep before shuddering behind her with a loud groan. His weight settled against her back as he collapsed, held up only by his forearms on the table.
After a minute of recovery, she turned her head and saw the clock. Nine fifteen.
“Shit.”
“Hmmm?” he said, softly kissing the nape of her neck.
“Penny’s going to be here any minute. She comes in early on Tuesday mornings.”
He trailed his mouth down the top of her spine, making her shiver. “Tell her you’re closed. Boss’s orders.”
She laughed. “No can do, boss man. Battlefield needs to open today. We have a special Valentine’s Day storytime.”
He slid out of her with a reluctant grumble. “Fine. Be that way.”
Her panties had somehow landed on the computer monitor. She plucked them from on top of the screen and yanked them up her legs. Finally, she smoothed down her skirt. There. Good as new. Except for the fact that she felt wet between her thighs. Also, her chignon probably looked like a man had buried his hand in it to pull back her head in the heat of passion. Most likely because he had. The sting of it had made her gasp with pleasure and tighten around him.
She resisted the urge to wrestle Grant back down to the table and make him repeat the move. “What happened to my uber-professional supervisor?” she managed to ask in a somewhat normal tone. “Wait, I know. You’re going to blame the body-snatcher again, aren’t you?”
“I think you achieved your goal of fucking me senseless.” Wrapping the used condom in a tissue, he tucked it inside a small interior compartment of his briefcase. He zipped his pants back up. “Think about it this way. We spent an entire day acting professional yesterday. We deserved a reward.”
“You went down on me after we closed.”
“As I said, it was an entire day of professionalism. I didn’t mention anything about the night. It’s dark by the time Battlefield closes.”
She shook a scolding finger at him, and then headed for the women’s room to make any necessary adjustments. The woman in the mirror didn’t look like she’d spent the early morning checking in DVDs and paperbacks from the book drop. Her cheeks glowed pink, and her hair fell in messy strands around her face. Wrinkles marred the smooth cotton of her skirt.
No, she didn’t look like a woman who’d shelved picture books for an hour or two. She looked like a woman who’d spent the morning with her thighs spread and a man between them. And as dangerous as she knew that was, at the moment she couldn’t bring herself to care.
Nevertheless, she splashed water on her hot cheeks and finger-combed her hair back into a semblance of order. Better. Now she looked like she’d maybe taken a brisk walk before work. With her skirt around her waist.
“Angie?”
The familiar voice came from outside the bathroom door. Quickly, Angie tugged her sweater and skirt down one last time.
Penny poked her head inside the door. “Are you all right? You’ve been in here for a few min—” She stopped. “Never mind.”
“Just checking to make sure I don’t have food in my teeth,” Angie said blithely.
“Bullshit.”
“Would you believe I took a nice, long walk around the playground before work?”
Penny rolled her eyes. “No. I’d believe you were screwing your supervisor in the workplace. Even though doing so could get both your asses fired.”
“At least I didn’t do perverted things on top of the poor stuffed animals in the children’s area.”
“No, you saved that for the poor stuffed animals in the storytime room at Downtown.”
“That’s fair,” Angie conceded.
“Angie, this can’t go on. I understand that it’s hard to keep your hands off of each other. Hell, that’s the main reason why Jack doesn’t visit me here.”
“I thought he didn’t want to get recognized.”
“That too. But mostly I’m afraid we’d end up naked in a pile of Amish romances.”
Angie wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. Papercuts. And oxen.”
“Back to my original point,” Penny said. “If you two want to keep this relationship a secret until Grant finds another job, you need to cool it.”
“I know.” She sighed. “I guess I’d expected him to serve as the voice of reason, but it’s not turning out that way.”
Penny patted her on the arm. “The man’s crazy about you. He’s not thinking straight. For the sake of his job, you need to think straight for the both of you.”
“You know that’s not my forte.”
“I know. He’s worth it, though, right?”
Angie sighed again. “Yes. Okay. Time for the debut of Angela Burrowes, Font of Sanity and Sound Decision-Making.”
Penny grinned and turned back toward the circulation desk. “I can’t wait to meet her.”
“Me too,” Angie muttered, and followed her friend out the door.
“Grant,” Angie hissed, slapping his hand away from her ass. “We’re at work.”
“No one can see,” he said. “The library’s empty, and Penny went to lunch.” His fingers returned to their previous occupation, trailing down the curves of her backside and giving the cheeks a firm squeeze. It felt amazing. It made her want to remove his tie and—
No. No. Font of Sanity and Sound Decision-Making.
“Not the point,” she said, moving away from the workroom computer where he sat. “We can’t do this here, and you know it, Grant.”
He leaned back in his chair and sighed. “I know.”
“If our situation were any different, I’d be thrilled to have your hands all over my ass and every other body part. I won’t risk your job, though.”
“You’re worth it.”
She smiled at him. “I’m delighted you think so, though I’m not sure I agree. But even if I did agree—”
“What do you mean, you’re not sure—”
She overrode his protest. “—I’d still need to say this. If you feel like you should, risk your job for me. Risk it for us. But don’t risk it for sex in the library. That’s a stupid reason to get fired.”
“You’re right. I’ll do better,” he said, scrubbing his face with his hands.
“Promise?”
“Promise.” When he lowered his hands from his face, she could see that a naughty gleam had reentered his eyes. He rolled his chair close to where she stood leaning against the workroom table. “After one last kiss.”
She bent down and pressed her mouth to his, glorying in the feel and taste of him. After several seconds, she reluctantly lifted her head and stepped away again. “That’s it. Your last taste. You’re now officially cut off until we leave library property tonight.”
“Cruel woman,” he said, turning back to the workroom computer after one final longing glance at her breasts.
She went back to the circulation desk and answered a few work e-mails. When she heard the door open, she looked up to see one of her favorite patrons.
“Hello, Angie,” Brenda said. Opening up her large leather satchel, she plucked out a few paperbacks and put them on the circulation desk. “I enjoyed everything in this last batch, but I particularly loved Knittin’ with a Whip. Who’d have ever thought of writing a book about a knitting circle-slash-dominatrix club?”
“Not me. I have a pretty filthy imagination, but it never occurred to me to use knitting needles that way.” Angie took the books, scanned them, and put them on the shelving cart. “You have some holds in the back. Let me get them.”
As soon as she rounded the corner to the workroom, Grant caught her eye.
“Knittin’ with a Whip?” he whispered. “Really? Is it the sequel to Spanks for the Memories, with that kinky scrapbooking group?”
Ignoring him, she grabbed Brenda’s holds and brought them back to the circ
ulation desk. “Here you go. How’s Carl doing?”
“Home with a cold, poor thing. But I’ll read some of these books aloud, and that’ll perk him right up.”
Angie raised her eyebrows. If Brenda chose to read the book she’d just checked out—Big Girls Do Cry (Out in Pleasure): A Big, Beautiful Woman Anthology—to Carl, she imagined the older gentleman would perk up. One part of him, anyway. And from the devilish twinkle in Brenda’s eye, that was precisely the part she’d meant.
Angie eyed Brenda closely, evaluating the fluffy blond curls and the flattering, formfitting clothing she wore. She needed to remember every detail, because she planned to become Brenda’s clone in about thirty years. The woman kicked ass. If Penny ever married Jack, she’d gain one hell of a mother-in-law.
“When will we hear about the Valentine’s Day contest?” Brenda asked.
Angie thanked God Brenda hadn’t specified which one. Luckily, she could give the same answer for both. “We’ll contact winners the night before Valentine’s Day.”
“Which reminds me,” Brenda said. “What happened to that lovely sign you made? All the shiny flesh reminded me of those teenage vampires.”
Shit. She knew Grant was listening from the workroom. How could she deflect Brenda without giving the game away?
“We took down the old signs to make room for the new ones.” Angie gestured toward the posters advertising the Valentine’s Day Facebook contest. “The old ones no longer seemed appropriate to leave up.”
She made eye contact with Brenda and tilted her head toward the workroom, willing the older woman to understand. Brenda knew why the erotica display had come down and had heard about Angie’s resulting probation, so maybe she’d catch on.
“Why would the old ones not be . . .” Brenda started, and then her eyes grew wide. “Oh. Yes, it’s good you switched them out.”
Angie exhaled in relief. “That’s what I thought. The library needs to keep abreast of changing times.”
“So, do you have a visitor today, dear?” Brenda asked. “I’d love to tell someone what great work you’ve done for me over the years.”
“As a matter of fact, I do. My new supervisor, Grant Peterson, is in the workroom.”
“Imagine that.” Brenda winked.
Grant appeared in the doorway and strode forward to shake Brenda’s hand. “You must be Brenda Williamson. Penny has told me wonderful things about you and your son.”
“My, my, my,” Brenda murmured, looking up at Grant. “Aren’t you a tall, delicious drink of water?”
Grant blinked, appearing unable to think of an appropriate response to that statement. Angie had one in mind, but she couldn’t share it. Oh, yes, Brenda. Just like a tall, delicious drink of water, Grant goes down very easily. As he proved once again last night, right after closing.
“Oh, yes, Brenda,” Angie said. “My new supervisor is one of the few men I can look up to.”
“Did you say something about shiny flesh on the old posters?” Grant asked curiously. “What were they advertising?”
Brenda winced, sending an apologetic look Angie’s way.
“We planned programs about New Year’s resolutions. The posters had lots of sweaty people exercising,” Angie improvised. “Very popular initiative.”
“I don’t remember seeing those programs in your records,” Grant said with a frown.
“I was out those days, and the substitute forgot to write the numbers down,” Angie said. “I didn’t want to guess how many people came, so I didn’t count those patrons in our statistics.”
Drop it, Grant. For once in your data-driven life, drop it.
“So, Grant,” Brenda said, leaning toward him. “Tell me more about yourself.”
Angie seized the obvious attempt at distraction, sending Brenda a grateful smile as she took the shelving cart and hustled it across the library. Through the front door, she could see Penny returning from lunch. Good. Someone needed to cover the circulation desk until Grant forgot all about glistening people on card stock.
She buried herself in the adult fiction collection, shelving books and straightening the stacks. Slowly, her heart rate decreased. Jesus Christ, if she managed to keep the sex-scene contest a secret until the end of the week, she’d consider it a miracle.
Then again, she’d already experienced one miracle recently. At the thought of Grant, her personal Miracle Man, she couldn’t stop a smile from spreading across her face. Maybe after all these years, she was due for more good luck.
And then, as if her thoughts had summoned him, he appeared in her aisle.
“Angie, we need to talk,” he said. He looked serious. Grave, even.
Oh, God. Please don’t let this be the end of everything. She couldn’t say a word. Instead, she took a long, last look at the man who might very well fire and dump her, both in the same conversation. A bittersweet smile curled her mouth. It would all be very efficient, which she knew he’d appreciate.
“Penny said she’d take the desk for a while. Why don’t we meet privately in the workroom?” he asked.
So she walked back to the workroom, feeling as if her feet belonged to someone else. Someone who wasn’t on the verge of bursting into tears and running in the opposite direction. But they kept walking without her conscious direction until they reached the chairs at the workroom table. As he closed the door to the main library, she eased down into a seat as if it might break beneath her. As if everything she touched might shatter into pieces.
He settled into the seat across the table. “Angie . . .”
His hesitation before speaking seemed to stretch and stretch, until she couldn’t take it anymore.
“Go ahead and say it,” she blurted. “For God’s sake, Grant. Spit it out.”
He sighed, but he looked directly at her as he finally spoke. “I know you don’t want to talk about this. God knows, I don’t want to sound like your parents. But we need to discuss how you make decisions at work.” The chair squeaked as he absently rolled it back and forth. “I know that after my recent behavior, I’m hardly one to talk. But I care about you.” He leaned toward her. “I want you to be happy. So I hope we can work through this issue without too much conflict.”
Had he found out about the contest and forgiven her? Just like that?
“I don’t want you to lose your job here,” he said. “After I find another position, I won’t be able to protect you. So maybe if we start making some changes now, they’ll become second nature to you before my replacement arrives.”
She couldn’t stand it anymore. She had to know. “Is this about the posters and the contest?” she asked, her voice hoarse.
He tilted his head. “No. What about them?”
“Nothing,” she said. Another miracle. Who’d have thought it?
“The reason we’re having this talk now is because I just got an e-mail from Winona at HR. She reminded me that I’m supposed to discuss professionalism with you and report back to her. So here we are.” He swept a hand, indicating the two of them sitting at the table.
Angie let out a slow breath. “Fair enough.”
“I’ve watched you these past few days with patrons, and you’re wonderful. I mean, you should have heard how much Brenda admires you and appreciates your hard work. You’re warm, helpful, dedicated . . .” He smiled at her. “The library couldn’t have a better branch manager.”
Her face flushed at the praise. It felt doubly sweet coming from both her supervisor and the man she loved.
Holy shit, she thought. I do love him. I’m not falling for him. I’ve fallen. Full stop.
Grant steepled his fingers on the table in front of him. “From what I can tell, the fundamental problem is this: The things that have gotten you into trouble in the past are also the things that bring you the most joy at work. I don’t want to strip that joy from you, but I also don’t want you to get fired. Because losing your job would also strip away that joy, just in a different way. So I’ve come to the conclusion that we have to f
ind a good way to balance your joy and your job.”
He was right. She didn’t particularly want to talk about this. But at least, unlike the millions of similar conversations she’d had with her parents and other authority figures over the years, he was coming at the problem with a real understanding of and respect for her. A desire for her to be happy, not simply a need to steer her into what he considered appropriate behavior.
For that reason and that reason alone, the knee-jerk rebellious instincts that always overpowered her whenever someone questioned her behavior . . . didn’t. They didn’t rise like a poisonous wave in her gut. The usual harsh buzz of humiliation and defiance didn’t fill her ears. She could listen.
And for the first time in years, Angie began to consider the possibility of compromise.
“Keep talking,” she said.
He shifted uncomfortably. “Again, I understand that my pontificating on good judgment at work seems ridiculous and hypocritical, given how I’ve acted the past few days. Almost everything I’ve done since meeting you has put my job at risk, not to mention yours.”
“I appreciate that, Grant. But let’s get down to business.” She braced herself. “What do you need to say?”
“Okay, here goes.” He appeared to brace himself too. “You’re impulsive. Reckless at times. Can you talk to me more about why? I want to make sure I understand what’s going on in your head.”
She clenched her hands together beneath the cover of the table. “Okay,” she said, and cleared her throat. “Sometimes I do things I know might get me in trouble.”
Grant smiled at her, affection clear on his face. “You don’t say.”
“But there’s a reason for that. I don’t want to follow someone else’s advice and end up depressed and huddled in bed for months again.” She shifted uncomfortably in her chair. “Also, I guess part of me wants to send a big fuck-you message to the world after years of constant disapproval. My instincts tell me to rebel, and you know I follow my instincts.”