Logan (Carolina Reapers 4)

“I’m in,” I answered.

“Follow me.” She led me from the children’s reading room through rows of books on the second floor, and then took a smaller staircase that led to the third floor.

“It’s all boring up here,” she told me as we reached the small, gray cart that held at least thirty books. “All reference materials. There’s hardly anyone ever up here, which is kind of why I like it. Give me space to think.”

“You work in the quietest environment known to man without doing a solo mission to the moon, and you still need room to think?” I teased.

“Hush and push the cart,” she chided, walking ahead of me. I quickly did as she ordered. “The library is busier than you’d imagine. And we only ask the patrons to be quiet, but trust me, they’re always talking to me. Always seeking out new books, explaining the loss of others, or just needing an ear.” She plucked the first book from her pile and slipped it into the stack.

“It’s kind of soothing,” I admitted as we started walking again. “Usually I like noise. It drowns out the thoughts.”

“Why would you want to drown them out?” she asked as we turned the corner. Damn, how big was this place?

“They’re not always things I want to dwell on.”

She turned to take another book but paused to look at me. “Logan, have you ever thought that maybe you’re dwelling on them because you never let them think through entirely?”

My eyebrows lowered in confusion.

“Maybe if you gave yourself a little time and quiet, the thoughts would work themselves out. They’re going to keep pounding at the door until you let them in.”

She spun and filed that book before I could answer, which was a good thing since I didn’t really have a response to that.

“What if they’re thoughts that I don’t want? Things that don’t deserve the space in my head?” I followed after her, pushing her little cart, doing my damndest to keep my eyes off her ass and failing miserably.

“Well, they’re your thoughts, aren’t they? No one else is stuffing themselves inside your brain. Give them the attention they need, work out whatever is eating at you, and they’ll leave. Simple as that.” She snapped her fingers so softly that the noise was barely audible.

“Not that easy.” We turned another corner, and she filed two more books.

“You’ll never know if you don’t try,” she shrugged and led us back toward the far corner. Once we’d reached the tallest set of shelves, she took a behemoth of a book and rose on her tiptoes to file it. “Damn, I’m going to need the step—”

I moved around the cart and took the book from her hands, easily reaching the empty slot she’d been trying for a second earlier. The book slid home with the soft, satisfying sound of canvas against canvas.

“There we go,” I muttered, pushing it so it stayed level with the other covers.

“Thank you.” Delaney’s words came out in a breathless rush.

I lowered my arm as she turned toward me. God, she was close enough that I caught her scent. It was light—a little flowery, with lemon verbena, maybe? Whatever it was, I wanted closer.

Our eyes locked, and her lips parted as if she had noticed just how close we were, too. Just how alone we were up here.

She was inches from me and a foot from the bare wall. It would only take one step and a good grip, and I’d have her back against that wall. Her skirt would have to slide a little, but her thighs would wrap around my waist, and her arms would do the same at my neck.

And then I’d kiss her. I’d know exactly how she tasted, or if her lips were really as soft as they’d felt against my cheek. I’d lock one hand under her ass to make sure she felt safe and supported, and I’d send the other into her hair. Shit, I could almost feel those auburn strands between my fingers.

“Logan?” she questioned, shaking me free of the daydream.

“Delaney.” My voice sounded like I’d swallowed sandpaper.

Her gaze dropped to my lips, and my control frayed. Was she thinking about the same thing? No. She’d been the one to suggest that we be friends. She swayed forward slightly, and her breasts grazed my chest.

I inhaled sharply, and she jumped a little, backing herself into the same wall I wanted to—

“Just friends,” she squawked.

My eyebrows rose for a swift second, but I got my features under control quickly. “Right,” I agreed.

Her hands clenched and unclenched as her gaze flickered between my eyes and my mouth. “Just friends.” She was saying it more to herself than to me.

“Just friends,” I echoed.

She nodded, then slid sideways to skirt around me, back to the cart. “Right. I’m going to go file these in the shower—shelves! On the shelves! I’ll call you tomorrow? Sound good? Sounds great to me! I left a new book for you at the desk, so grab it on your way out! Bye!” She took the cart and nearly ran for the other end of the room, not that I blamed her.