Touching him was dangerous, but she couldn’t seem to resist no matter how hard she tried, and every touch brought something new. She couldn’t get to him, couldn’t uncover him or strip him in layers like she did others, but something connected them so strongly, melding them so tightly together that there was no going back, and she knew it. Every time he was close to her, he melted away that shell of a hardened human being that wasn’t real and, for a moment, she felt alive and genuine—and vulnerable.
Right now he sat in her library, disturbing her beyond all measure. She hadn’t thought it possible. She thought she was stone-cold when it came to the opposite sex, but she lit up around him. On fire. Hot as Hades. She apparently had red hair for a reason, and it wasn’t her temper. Okay, maybe it was that too. She hadn’t made up her mind how she felt about Mr. Aleksei Solokov. That was the name on his library card. She didn’t know if her body coming to life was a good thing or a bad thing. If fantasies were wonderful or a curse. There was a lot to think about, but then she had a lot of time to think.
“Miss Foley?”
She jerked her head up, her breath exploding out of her lungs. No one had managed to sneak up on her in years, and yet just by perving on Aleksei Solokov she had failed the first lesson in survival. She turned slowly, already knowing who was behind her, identifying him by his voice.
“Hi, Tom.” He was sixteen and trying desperately to learn to read at his age level. His English teacher was no help, giving him assignments far beyond his comprehension. It made Scarlet angry that the man couldn’t take the time to help the boy.
“I was hoping you’d come in today. I have plenty of time to help you.” She flashed him a reassuring smile.
The boy’s face flooded with relief. “Thanks, Miss Foley.” She waved him toward the table where they often worked together, and where she was most comfortable. She could see out the windows, but no one could see her or the boy she tutored. She was always careful just in case, so no one could ever harm any of the teens just because of her. She put aside the rest of the evening’s work and settled down to help Tom do his homework. She would have plenty of time to finish her own work before the close of her shift.The librarian moved, drawing Absinthe’s attention. It was growing late, and she walked the boy she’d been helping with his English paper to the door, reassuring him he was getting better with every paper and she was proud of him. She moved like someone who could handle herself, always balanced, even when she was carrying stacks of books. He’d noticed that about her almost immediately. When you were as fucked up as he was, you always assessed the men and women around you to see who the fighters were. Under that sexy prim-and-proper librarian façade she could handle herself.
She wore her hair up in an intricate, twisted bun, but twice, after work, he’d seen her let it down. It was bright red, shiny red. There was no other word for the color. Just red, and that color hadn’t come out of a box. It was a waterfall of true, thick, silky red. Her hair, once let loose, refused to be tamed. It snaked down her back to her waist, drawing attention to just how small her waist and rib cage were and how curved her hips were. She had an ass, and tits that were high and firm, and very generous. Her curves were deceptive considering she was very fit.
Absinthe’s entire body reacted to her in an entirely unprecedented way. He didn’t have normal erections. Those had been beaten or raped out of him when he was a child. To achieve one, he had to command his body to cooperate, and why the hell bother? To sit in the library—that quiet and peaceful place—and feel his body respond to a beautiful woman was a form of magic. He enjoyed the feeling, knowing he would never take it for granted—and it happened every damn time he looked at her.
He had experimented after he’d had a reaction to her, going to various bars and even the market, in the hopes that his body would respond to someone else after it had come to life, but it seemed it was only the little librarian with her bright red hair that did it for him. That was just fine with him. He liked her. He liked the way she was so gentle and calm—so patient with the kids who came in asking her homework questions. If she noticed there was a much higher percentage of boys than girls, she didn’t make a big deal out of it. She spoke in soft, melodic tones, but hushed, in keeping with the library rules.