~*~
She was off. Way off.
Daphne had shelved three books in the wrong section. Three. She’d placedHow to Pickle Anythingunder ancient mythology, andA Beginner’s Guide to Lichdomin gardening. Those sections weren’t even close to each other.
And for the love of sweet heaven,whywas she checking the clock like some tragic character in a Hallmark knockoff? It was mortifying.
She should punch him again. Just on principle because obviously, it was his fault. Somehow, some way, he’d hijacked her dreams and turned them from terrifying to...God help her... hot. Scald-your-soul hot.
He’d felt so real under her hands. He’d been all heat and muscle, heavy weight and hard edges. Her body had reacted like it knew him, needed him. Her nipples had gone traitorous as she’d pressed against him, wanting him with something way too close to desperation. And the man. Demon. Whatever he was, he waspacked. Which was not surprising and deeply infuriating.
And okay, she hadn’t been on top of a man for a while. A long while. Still, there was enough technology out there to get satisfaction all by herself, so it wasn’t like she was starved. And yet here she was. Starving.
Damn him all the way to hell.
When he finally waltzed through the library doors at nearly lunchtime, Daphne was ready to chew his damn head off and mount it on the “Quiet Zone” sign. All megawatt smile, easy swagger, and charm potent enough to derail sound judgment, he had the audacity to stroll in like he had no care in the world.
Hell no.
“Daphne,” he drawled, leaning casually on the main desk like sin incarnate.
“Hunter.” She’d wanted her tone to be flat. It came out as murderous. Whatever.
“How are you doing on this sunny winter day?”
I want to peel those stupid clothes off, throw you on this desk, and ride you till closing time.She couldn’t say that, obviously, which only irritated her more. “It’s the week before Christmas. The kids are out of school. I’m busy.” Her voice was clipped, her hands moving with deliberate efficiency over the stack of returns.
He watched her for a beat too long. Then swallowed, as if choking on a question he hated to ask. “Are you okay?”
No. And it’s your fault, you smug bastard.Instead, she reached for the first half-truth that wouldn’t involve sexual confessions or emotional vulnerability. “Didn’t sleep well.”
Something flickered across his expression. Hot. Dark. Hungry. If stares could devour, she’d be a memory. And part of her, some overheating part, would’ve let him.
But he cleared his throat again. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
And again, she was caught between wanting to smack him and kiss his impossibly beautiful lips to see if they compared to the dream. She kept her eyes down, busying herself with scanning books. “Being nearly mugged might do that to you.”
That snapped him out of whatever slow-burn hell he was in. His shoulders straightened; his focus sharpened. “Right. Right, of course. So... may I take you to lunch? Help take your mind off... things?”
No.
Yes.
Damn him.
If only she could put last night’s dream aside and look him in the eyes. But no. All she could think was his fingers in her, his mouth hungry and demanding.
“I assume you eat,” he said, voice tipping toward the devilish again, all honey and midnight. “Might as well eat with me.”
She arched a brow. “Since when do demons eat?”
“I can’t speak for the others, but this one does. Enthusiastically.” He leaned in closer, and the smell of him was intoxicating enough that her pulse stumbled. “Come on, Daphne. Have lunch with me. Unless you’re afraid my charm might slip past those iron gates of yours.”
“Really? You think challenging me is going to work?”
“I guess we’re about to find out, aren’t we?”
She huffed out a laugh. “You’re an asshole.”
