Busted

Chapter Two

Week Eleven

Just breathe, man.

That had become his mantra any time he was even in the general area of the library.

Trey sometimes felt like Pavlov’s dog or something, but instead of salivating every time he heard a damn bell, he got hard every time he was close to the library. Didn’t matter if he went inside, didn’t matter if he knew she was here.

Because he was used to seeing her here.

Which was why he was now in the condition he was in. He’d gone for a run, but not anywhere around home. No. He’d come downtown. Close to the library and as he crossed onto Ocean View, he caught sight of the sun shining off the glass and, right on cue, his gaze locked in on the second floor, the children’s library, where she worked.

And predictably, his blood started to pump harder and hotter. It didn’t have jack to do with the fact that he was two miles into his run, or that it was barely ten o’clock and it was already pushing up on ninety degrees out.

He found his feet slowing down, an idea spi

He could go inside.

The air conditioning would feel good.

No, he didn’t have Clayton with him, but he could wander around. Maybe wander upstairs, say hi . . . let one thing lead to another.

If the opportunity presented itself, would it hurt to ask her out for coffee sometime? Maybe di

If he had an hour or so alone with her, maybe he could take a chance and see if he could do the one thing he’d been dying to do for almost three months now.

Take that lush, sexy mouth with his, tug that amazing body close—

Feel her moving against him . . .

And then the same thing will happen that happens whenever a woman touches you. Your brain is going to lock down and your dick is going to play dead, just like always.

Closing his eyes, he turned away.

Yeah.

Better to just keep things in fantasy land.

But hey, at least he had fantasy land back.

That was better than nothing . . . right?

*   *   *

“That is him, right?”

All but pressing her nose to the glass, Ressa jabbed her elbow into Farrah’s . . . err . . . boob? That’s what happened when your best friend kept jabbering on in your ear and stood about four inches shorter than you. “Hush,” she said irritably, watching as the muscled back, barely covered by a threadbare, heather gray tank top started to pound down the sidewalk, the ru

“Ress!”

Heaving out a sigh, she looked over at her best friend.

“I couldn’t see his face.”

“Nobody can ever see his face. The man seems to have two looks. Either his hair is in his face or he’s hiding behind those glasses.” Farrah pursed her lips. “Maybe he’s a criminal.”

“Get out.” A

That man had a body on him, for real. Skin stretched tight over long, rangy muscles, and while she had a weird need to feed him a sandwich—or ten, that long and lean look fit him. And the tattoo . . . She hadn’t been able to make out what it was, but it was something dark and dense and it appeared to cover his entire back.

Echoing her thoughts, Farrah murmured, “You saw the tattoo, right? I wonder what it is.”

“Hmmm.” Out of habit, Ressa traced the triquetra inked on her chest between her breasts. “Oh, yeah. I saw it.”

Farrah snorted. “So, let me guess, you still haven’t gotten his name, have you?”

Ressa moved away from the window. “Don’t you work? You’re the big gun around here. You should be doing whatever they pay you the big bucks for, not bugging me.”

“How is it possible that you still haven’t gotten his name?” Farrah ignored her completely.

“I don’t know!” She winced as several of the kids in the area looked up at her. Lowering her voice, she shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s like he . . . he . . . he’s tormenting me. I’ve tried every way other than just outright saying, Buddy, just what is your name? Nothing subtle works.”

“Why don’t you ask him outright?”

Ressa moved to the cart. “You know, even if you don’t have work to do, I do. I like my job.” She sniffed. It was summer and that meant more kids in the library, more kids reading . . . the summer reading program . . . man, if she survived another summer of it, she considered herself lucky.

“Obviously. That’s the only reason you’re here,” Farrah said, lifting a brow. “It’s not like you have to be.”

Ressa ignored that comment.

“You didn’t answer me. Why don’t you ask him? And hey . . . just bite the bullet and ask him out on a date?”

It’s too obvious. She kept that answer behind her teeth. Then, with a sidelong look at her boss, she lifted a shoulder. “I just . . .” She grabbed a couple of books and went to shelve them, pausing as she studied one. “I can’t explain it. He’s crazy hot. He’s crazy sexy. But something is holding me back.”

“You’re not a timid woman, Ressa. What gives?”

Unable to explain, she displayed the book to Farrah. “Did you read these as a kid?”

“Boxcar Children.” Farrah smiled. “Oh, yeah. That was more my speed than the crazy psycho bu

“I’ll have you know that the psycho bu

“Yeah.” Farrah picked up a few books. “The weird ones. And you’re in dodge-mode, girl.”

“No. I’m in I don’t know what’s up mode. There’s a difference. But since I haven’t been able to find it in me to make a move, then I’m not going to push it.” She slid the first two books in the series up on the shelf. They were probably only going to go out another few times before they had to be replaced. They were getting pretty worn. “If it ever feels right, I’ll know.”

“If you say so.” Farrah heaved out a sigh. “I’ve been wondering . . . Mr. Hot and Sexy—”

“Mr. Hot and Sexy?” Ressa cut in, amused.

“He’s gotta have a name,” Farrah said, a smile curving her lips. She wore bronze lipstick today—a bronze that almost perfectly matched her silk shirt, and the color glowed warmly against toffee brown skin. “Tell me, does he look at all familiar to you?”

Ressa stopped and stared at Farrah. “You, too?”

Arching a black brow, Farrah pursed her lips. Then she nodded. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“Yeah. That’s a yes.” She huffed out a breath and grabbed another book, slid it on the shelf below the Boxcar books. “I just can’t figure out why. You?”

“Nope. I was kind of hoping you’d tell me he reminded you of some hot football player or something.”

“As if.” Ressa snorted out a laugh. “Like I know the Cowboys from the Orioles.”

“You moron.” Farrah bumped her with her hip. “The Orioles play baseball.”

“See? That’s just what I mean!”

“Hopeless. You’re hopeless.” Farrah sighed. Then she pushed away from the cart. “So . . . anyway. The main reason I came here?”

Ressa glanced over at her and then turned, recognizing that glint in her friend’s eyes. “Yeah?”

“I just got this, right when I was getting ready to head to lunch.” Farrah brandished her phone.

The name practically leaped from the screen. It was a book cover—she knew that because she recognized the author’s name.

The cover was pale green. The woman on it was mostly naked, save for the miniscule panties that covered the important bits, and her breasts were covered by her arm.