“Ewww, Trish.” Betty slapped her arm, but couldn’t resist taking a peek. Trisha rarely lost her composure over a man that way.
And though she was hating men at the moment, that didn’t mean Betty was blind. Hot was hot and she liked to look. She was surprised when all she saw was a man, scowling face all covered in scratches, staring at the kids bookshelf in front of him with the look of a man intending to do it bodily harm.
“Him?” She pointed.
Trisha licked her lips and nodded. “The voice, Betty.” She grabbed her arms and shook. “He iz, how do you say,” Trisha said in her best Lauren Bacall growl, “zee French.” She smirked and Betty was pretty sure her friend had lost it. She’d finally cracked under the strain of late returns and the stress of cataloguing.
Betty looked back at him. Sure he was big. He shifted, his thick muscular thighs obvious behind the thin scrap of brown fabric. What in the world was he wearing anyway?
The cream shirt with the laces in front and black Santa Claus looking boots, jeez, he looked like some stupid pirate right off the pages of a Halloween Emporium magazine.
Looking beyond the stupid clothes, and the multitude of scratches and bloody lip, he was kind of okay looking.
Square jawed with a light dusting of hair. Her pulse thumped. She always did have a thing for the five o’clock shadow.
“Look at his hair,” Trisha sighed.
Sighed?
Really?
Wow, Trisha had it bad.
Betty’s gaze went back to him, Trisha was right though, his hair was… for lack of a better word, beautiful. All thick and wavy and brown, like a dark roasted chestnut and her fingers twitched.
As if sensing her stare he looked up.
His eyes narrowed and she stopped moving, stopped breathing. From her vantage point his eyes looked deep black. But instead of them being lifeless and flat like a shark’s, they gleamed like oil in moonlight.
Her heart beat hard and her mouth went dry. Then he lifted a brow and reclined, reminding her of a loping panther the way his massive body relaxed on the chair. One large leg sprawled out, skin peeking out from behind his ripped shirt. The words power and grace popped into her head. His lips curved into a slow liquid grin and it was like getting smacked in the face.
She bristled. James had done the same thing. Thinking he was God’s gift to all womankind. The bastard. She rolled her eyes and purposefully turned her back on him.
Trisha clapped her hands. “Hot, right?”
“Whatever,” Betty huffed, “he’s got womanizer written all over him. You can have him.” She went back to work, shoving the books in with force.
Trisha sighed. “Can’t. Date tonight. Too bad.”
“Besides,” Betty continued, irritated at herself because all she wanted to do was turn back around and look, “he’s clearly violent. He’s been in a fight and why haven’t you called the cops, anyway?” She rounded on Trisha with a snarl.
Trisha’s eyes widened and she held up her hands. “Whoa there, little lady. Slow your role. I didn’t call the cops, because he’s not a threat. He said he’s waiting for his ride to come get him.”
Betty rubbed her nose. It wasn’t Trisha’s fault, she knew that. It was just aggravating that even after the nightmare that was James she found herself turned on by a red hot mess. She sighed. “I’m sorry. Not your fault.”
Trisha’s lips thinned as she nodded.
“It’s just, he’s all beat up and,” she sniffed, “I smell alcohol, even here. He’s been in a bar fight, Trisha.”
“Yeah, so? Small town, it happens.” Trisha’s eyes were wide.
Betty tapped the spine of a book. “The closest bar is twenty miles down the road, thataway,” she pointed over her shoulder, “and secondly, drunks don’t make it a habit of raiding the library afterwards.”
Trisha rolled her eyes. “You worry too much. Look, I’m sure his friend is coming.” She punched Betty’s arm playfully. “Besides, it’s not like he’s here to rob us. Right? No cash.” Shaking her head, she walked back to the front desk, laughing as she went.
Betty frowned and eyed the stranger hard. Trisha was right. Lebanon, Missouri was many things... big, it was not. Not like she’d know everyone in town, but she’d have noticed him.
His eyes blinked, his hard gaze never turned from her face.
“I’ve got my eye on you,” she muttered low enough that there was no way he should have heard it five bookshelves down.
He chuckled and Betty’s spine went rigid as her legs grew soft.
Stupid men.
Chapter 4