My brows shoot up. “You read romance?”
“I don’t think librarians are supposed to judge people’s taste in literature, Miss Cooper.”
I shouldn’t like the way he says my last name, all low andgravelly like I’m being chastised, but it’s doing fucked up things to my already heightened libido.
I tug on my ear and avert my gaze, lest Jaxon see the flush I’m certain is creeping into my cheeks as we speak. “I don't, as a rule. I just didn't expect someone like you to be interested in romance.”
He stalks toward me, each step slow and deliberate. I mirror his movements until my back hits the bookshelf.
Bracing himself above my head, he murmurs, “Wanna know what else I’m interested in?”
I shove against his hard chest, but he doesn’t budge. I’m cornered. If my history is anything to go by, I should be cowering in fear at the precarious position I’ve found myself in, but I'm not. I’m impossibly at ease despite his startling closeness. Somehow, trapped between Jaxon’s arms and a wall of books, I’ve never felt safer. It doesn’t make any sense, but then, the way my body reacts to Jaxon has always been nonsensical.
“Personal space?” I deadpan.
“You, Callie baby. Have lunch with me.”
His face drops lower. So close, I can barely make out the subtle ring of gold around his irises, and the faintest worry lines creasing his brow. My eyes dip to his mouth with its perfect cupid’s bow and that plush bottom lip. I’ve never wanted to bite anyone until now.
“You look like you’re about to eat me alive,” he grumbles. “I don’t know whether I should be turned on or terrified.”
My lip twitches against the urge to smile. “Maybe both.”
A sound, somewhere close to a growl, rumbles through his chest. “Is that a yes?”
“What?”
Jaxon laughs. It’s smooth and guttural, and it sends an electric current zapping through me. My body responds likeit’s his to command. Jaxon Hayes could melt an iceberg using only his voice, I’m certain of it.
“Miss Cooper, would you do me the honor of joining me for lunch this afternoon?” he asks in a strange accent that is decidedly not British, though I think that might've been his intention.
The smile I’d been trying to hold back slips free. “What the hell was that?”
He points to a book on the shelf directly behind me: A History of Great Britain.
I duck under his arm and return to my cart, shuffling through the books. “I already have lunch plans with Mo.”
Jaxon peers around the shelves. “You sure about that?”
I follow his line of sight to the now-empty desk.
“Mo doesn't seem to think so.”
“That sneaky little bitch.”
Jaxon takes the book from my hand and places it on the shelf.
“Hey! You can’t just move shit around all willy-nilly.” My face falls as I check the numbers.
He crosses his arms over his chest and stares at me smugly. “It’s in the right place, isn’t it?”
“How did you?—”
“I’m good with numbers.”
In an effort to distract, I point to the romance section. “The M.W. Hartley book is over there. I have to get back to work.”
“If you won’t go to lunch with me, how about I pick something up for us?”
