He watched the library coming closer as he thought of dancing with Faye after midnight to a fantastic fucking song while she smiled at him and let him hold her close. He’d sat in her truck, smelling her perfume, watching her expressive face, hearing her sweet voice using a variety of different tones that were as expressive as her face.
He’d bought her coffee. He’d watched a kid who had nothing grab five bags full of what he would consider gold that Faye Goodknight gave to him out of nothing but kindness.
He’d had a good morning, his first good morning in a really long time that his father and his bullshit had turned to shit.
And that was exactly what he felt as his long legs ate the distance from his truck to the library. Shit. He smelled it. He felt it. He tasted it in his mouth.
He had to get rid of it.
He knew only one way to do that. Only two times in fucking years he’d smelled nothing but sweet, felt it and, only once, tasted it.
Dancing with Faye and kissing her.
The library wasn’t open yet but he still wrapped his fingers around the handle of the front door and pulled.
It opened.
Thank fuck, she was in and hadn’t locked the doors.
He walked in, vaguely seeing the layout, the shelves, the books, smelling that smell that only libraries had but his focus was on scanning the space.
To the right, the long checkout desk.
From a door behind it at the back left, Faye came out.
“Hey,” she greeted in her sweet voice. “Did you see where he went?”
Chace didn’t reply, he stalked to her.
When he started moving, she dipped her ear to her shoulder, her head jutting slightly forward, her face going from curiosity to scrutiny.
“Are you okay?” she asked quietly.
Chace rounded the side of the counter.
Cute, tight skirt that skimmed her hips, cupped her ass and hit her knees. Her low-heeled, brown boots. A scoop-necked tee under a cardigan. Skin displayed above the neckline of the tee highlighting an unusual and attractive three-tiered necklace. Auburn hair falling in sheets over her shoulders and down her chest, a hank of it at the top, right of her forehead pulled to the side in a cute bobby pin. Makeup subtle and appealing.
She looked like a librarian who had good taste in clothes and a light but expert hand with makeup. Her own style, a style that did nothing to emphasize the obviously attractive features of her face or frame and because of that, they contradictorily accentuated them. It was a style that worked for her in a huge way.
And it had been working for Chace the same way for a long fucking time.
“Chace,” she said, still talking quietly, “did something –?”
She stopped talking abruptly when it came clear to her that he wasn’t going to stop coming at her.
She took a step back.
Too late.
He was on her, he rounded her waist with an arm and twisted them so he was moving her backwards toward the door she’d come out.
“Oh God,” she whispered, hands coming up to rest light on his chest, eyes wide and staring in his. “Is the boy okay?”
He didn’t answer.
He moved her through the door, reached out a hand, grabbed it, slammed it, turned her sharply then moved in so she was pressed to it.
“What are you –?”
She stopped talking abruptly this time because he tightened his arm around her waist and yanked it up, yanking her into his body. His other hand drove into her silken hair at the back of her head. Then his fingers cupped her head and tipped it to the side. He slanted his head to the other side and slammed his mouth down on hers.
She made a noise of surprise, her body tense against his and he thrust his tongue between her lips. Without a choice, they opened, another noise of surprise filled his mouth but he ignored that one too, carried on with what he was doing and took her mouth.
She tasted like bubblemint again. This time he knew why since his tongue encountered the gum.
Sweet, fresh, clean. Fucking clean. Beautiful.
God, nothing more beautiful.
He deepened an already deep kiss, needing it and she gave it to him. The tension flowed from her body, it melted into his, her hands slid up his chest, one curving around the back of his neck, fingers going into his hair. The other one slid around his shoulders and held on tight.
Then she gave more, pressing deeper, her tongue timidly sparring with his, her fingers flexing into his scalp, her arm holding tighter. He took it, pulling her close even as he pressed her back into the door, forcing her soft curves to mold to his frame.
When he felt it start to take over, when he knew he’d lose control if he didn’t stop, he stopped.
Tearing his mouth from hers, he tipped his head to rest his forehead on hers, his eyes opening to see, up close, hers drifting open in a cute, sexy flutter and he whispered, “Bubblemint.”
She blinked slowly. No, languidly. Like she was shaking off a dream she didn’t want to let go.
Then she whispered back, “I’m addicted to it.”
Chace couldn’t bury the groan that escaped his throat as he slid his cheek down hers and buried his face in her neck.
Her perfume was flowery but there was a hint of vanilla mellowing it. Sweet and fresh.
And clean.
The woman in his arms was addicted to gum. Not crack. Not kinky sex. Not booze. Not shopping. Not nagging a man or controlling him.
Gum.