Chapter One

“And will we be seeing Giselle this weekend?”

Tyler McKay winced, hearing a thousand shades of nuance and expectation in his mother’s question. Mrs. Lowell appeared in the doorway to his office, her reading glasses in her hand, and gave him an intent look. He nodded, understanding that his appointment had arrived, and his secretary pulled the door to his office so it wasn’t quite closed.

Ty spun his chair so that he was looking out the window at Manhattan in all its spring glory. “I really have to go, Mom. My client is here.”

“But I just wondered, dear. You know that we’re finalizing the table settings.”

“It’s a potluck buffet,” Ty protested and forced his tone to turn teasing. It was better than letting his mom guess the truth. “You just want to know.”

“Of course, I want to know,” Colleen McKay huffed. “You’re not getting any younger, Tyler, and I want to see some grandchildren one of these days.”

“You have one.”

“I want more.”

“Ask the girls.”

“A son of a son, Ty. You know it would make your father happy. And Giselle is just lovely. So glamorous and charming…”

Ty interrupted the list of Giselle’s attributes. He’d made a serious mistake letting her survive in his mother’s imagination after their single date, although it had seemed like a good idea at the time. That’s what he got for taking advice from Kyle. “Are you seeing Aunt Maureen any time soon?”

“She’s coming on Sunday. Of course! It is a family bridal shower, Tyler. You know, Katelyn is so worried about everyone getting along, but I think it will be just fine. It’s been a year since Stephanie’s shower, after all. Don’t you think your cousin Maxine will have forgotten the toilet paper stuck to her shoe?”

“Not in this lifetime.”

“Well, she should.”

“She might, if Paige stopped reminding her.”

His mother ignored that comment. “These things happen, and there was no cause for making such a scene…”

Mrs. Lowell cleared her throat. Mr. O’Neill could get impatient, and rightly so, given how much capital Ty managed for him. “Gotta go, Mom. I’ll talk to you later.”

“You certainly will, young man. You might have grown up but that doesn’t mean you can evade a question…”

“Bye, Mom.” Ty ended the call, telling himself he’d given his mother fair warning. It was only 9:30 in the morning, after all, and this had been her third call of the day. He hesitated only a moment before sending all incoming calls to voice mail.

Then he turned off his cell phone. He might not turn it on anytime soon.

What was he going to do? Giselle was long gone from his life, but if he went alone to any of the events leading up to Katelyn’s wedding—never mind the wedding itself—an entire army of well-intentioned female relations would be determined to play matchmaker.

Ty had been there and done that, and he wasn’t going to endure it again.

He certainly wasn’t going to ask Kyle for advice again.

Ty needed a date. Fast. For self-defense.

What about the Librarian?

What about Mr. O’Neill? Ty straightened his tie and strode to the door of his office, giving his client a welcoming smile. “My mother,” he said, then shook his head. “My sister is getting married in a month and everything is a crisis.”

Mr. O’Neill chuckled as he rose to his feet, a leather portfolio tucked under his arm. “I thought you were going to say that you were getting married.”

Ty shook his head. “Not soon.”

“Maybe that’s your mother’s plan.”

“Probably. I’m willing to wait for the right woman, though.”

Mr. O’Neill nodded agreement. “That’s sound thinking.”

“Have you given any thought to our discussion about risk?”

“I have,” Mr. O’Neill acknowledged. “Your argument was persuasive but I have a few questions. I watched those stocks you mentioned…”

Ty ushered the older man into his office, then exchanged a glance with Mrs. Lowell who had returned to her desk.

Thirty? She mouthed, guessing how long he wanted to be undisturbed.

Ty wiggled his hand that it might take longer. He’d been suggesting a change of perspective in the management of Mr. O’Neill’s portfolio and knew that his client would have a lot of questions. His secretary nodded agreement, then her phone rang. Ty shut the door and gave the older man his undivided attention.

Except for his one thought about the Librarian. Would she do it? Or would she think he was insane? Maybe he was nuts. He didn’t even know her name.

The worst she could do, Ty figured, was to decline.

He could survive that.

And if she agreed, he wouldn’t be at the mercy of his family for the next month.

* * *

There he was.

Finally.

Better late than never.

Amy peeked over the top of her book and watched the guy from the wealth management firm on the top floor come into the common area, just the way she did five times a week. Her heart was beating faster, even though that was stupid. She was too old to have a crush on a stranger.

Even one who looked like this. The object of her attention could have stepped out of the pages of one of the books she gobbled up like candy. Tall, athletic, handsome, wearing yet another killer suit that probably cost as much as she earned in a month. Make that two months. No pretension. He was totally at ease and moved with an athletic grace that made her salivate. Confident. Maybe even masterful.

Amy bit her lip. He was almost too good to be true. She watched him surreptitiously, yet again, seeking the inevitable flaw. She didn’t find it on this day either.

Perfectly knotted silk tie, French cuffs, Italian shoes. There was no business casual dress code in this guy’s world, and Amy liked it.

A lot.

Of course, if he had been like her recent book boyfriends, he’d be emotionally scarred, hiding his wounds from the world. He’d be ruined inside, a wreck of a man who could only be cured by the love of the right woman. She’d be the one to see past his scars and trust him enough to surrender fully to his darkest fantasies. To his needs. He’d give vent to his deepest desires because of that trust, and by the end of the book, he’d be healed.

True love would conquer the obstacles and win the day.

Amy sighed at the perfection of it all. It was a story she never tired of reading. Beauty and the Beast, with a little pain and a lot of pleasure.

In reality, this guy would never notice her, except maybe to excuse himself if she stepped into his path. He’d certainly never talk to her, and maybe it was better that way. She wouldn’t have to lose the fantasy, and this one was good enough to defend.

Still, Amy was curious. Even without knowing his name, she’d gleaned a few details. She knew he worked at Fleming Financial, the private banking and investment firm on the top floor of the building, not because she’d stalked him or anything, but because she’d been in the elevator with him once. Fleming Financial had expensive offices, presumably to encourage the sense among their clients that they could be trusted with the management of enormous sums of money.

It seemed to work.

Amy’d nearly had heart failure when she’d realized they’d be the only two in the elevator that day and forgot to push her floor. He’d reached past her to push nine, giving her a delicious whiff of sexy masculinity. Her toes had curled in her shoes. She’d been achingly aware of how rare that scent was in her life and had been ready to just enjoy, but he’d cast her a questioning look. She’d hurried to push five, nearly falling over her own feet, and blushed like a teenager for being an idiot.

That he’d bitten back a smile had only made her feel like more of one. The silence had been painful and the ride eternal, especially since she’d been too mortified to breathe. There’d been a time when she hadn’t been a complete moron with other people, or even with gorgeous guys. She could barely remember it.

Maybe his aura of power had unnerved her.

No, it was what he did in her imagination that made her blush.

It was probably a blessing that he’d barely noticed her.

Amy propped her chin on her hand and kept reading about Melissa’s misadventures with her new dom. These erotic romances were like crack. Amy couldn’t get enough of them. They offered vicarious sexual adventures, ending with the promise of eternal happiness. They were her addiction and she read dozens of them. She wrapped them carefully in book covers, the way she’d done in school with her textbooks, to disguise her reading taste.

That meant she could read anywhere.

She liked print books too much to use her e-reader, even though the keepers had taken over her bookshelves at home. So many of them had a great juicy bit—or twenty. Her dad, the English teacher, had spoken often about censorship and the right to make your own reading choices. The way Amy saw it, buying print books with cash meant that no one could track what she was reading or take her books away.

She’d die if she lost these stories.

Amy’s particular weakness was when the master said something tender and hot that it turned his submissive’s knees to butter, and her own knees got a bit weak. She liked the trust and capitulation—and the transformation. It was magical how the characters gave each other just what was needed to make them both whole.

Who could resist a happy ending? Not Amy.

The really intriguing thing about Mr. Private Banking was that he read, too. Scottoline, Grisham, Cornwell, Patterson—pretty much always a mystery or suspense story, but she liked that he read women authors as well as men. Was it the violence? The mystery? The knowledge that justice would triumph? Did he see himself as the serial killer or the intrepid hero, ensuring that villains got their due? It was easy to imagine that he was living vicariously too, having an adventure with his choice of fiction. She wanted to ask him why he read what he did. It would have told her a lot about him.

It was also reassuring that at least one other person was as rabid a reader as she was. Observation had revealed that it generally took him two days to read a book. She liked that he didn’t cover his up, so she could spy on his tastes. She peeked again to see what today’s choice was, but he was in the line at the sandwich bar.

Weird. He usually brought a lunch, just like she did.

Maybe the staff at the mansion had called in sick.

She smiled at that and returned to Melissa’s cries of agony and ecstasy. The poor girl was in major trouble this time, having been locked in the dungeon in her master’s house. No one knew where she was, and he had her blindfolded and shackled in nothing flat. Of course, she’d been very, very naughty in defying his express command.

And now she was at his mercy. Mmmm. Amy already knew this master didn’t have much of that commodity, but Melissa was loving it. Who wouldn’t?

Oh, the nipple clamps. Amy bent over the book, fascinated by the description of how they felt. Would he use the riding crop? She tried to savor the sensual build-up, admiring that the author had done a good job, but she turned the pages all too quickly. God, the master was doing that tender-tough thing that just about finished her! Would a man ever talk to her in a gravelly voice? Amy shivered at the prospect and turned the page, desperate to know what would happen next.

“Is this seat taken?” The man’s voice was low enough and gravelly enough to start a shiver deep inside Amy.

She looked up to find none other than Mr. Hot standing behind the seat diagonal to hers, sandwich and book in hand. (It was the newest Patterson.) In the common area and food court, the seats were bolted to tables in fours. She had claimed her customary seat by the fountain, where she could see a patch of sky through the atrium overhead. The other three seats were available, as usual.

She was astonished to find him not only addressing her but waiting for her to answer. She pushed up her glasses and cleared her throat. The food court was really full. He just needed somewhere to sit. It wasn’t personal.

Of course not.

“No. Go ahead.” Amy gestured, trying to make it look like a casual invitation. She thought her move looked clumsy or, worse, indifferent.

“That’s what I get for being late,” he said with an easy smile, then sat down. He had a great voice, just growly enough to make her tingle, even when he said something pedestrian. He could read the telephone book to her and she’d be transfixed. Amy decided to imagine him saying other things later, when she couldn’t give herself away. He put down his book, gave the sandwich a skeptical glance, then started to unwrap it. The corner of his mouth tightened in a way that made her want to reach out and touch him.

Gotta flog that mansion staff, spank a few maids, get lunch made on time.

She’d get his lunch packed on time.

Or maybe she wouldn’t, just to be naughty and get disciplined.

Amy fought her urge to giggle.

He cracked open his book, conversation over, and Amy returned to the torment of Melissa. Thank God for book covers. My master has such powerful hands, Melissa thought, stealing a glance, and nearly swooning…

Amy took a covert look at his hands. They were excellent, as men’s hands went. Strong, slightly tanned, long-fingered. No rings.

Maybe he was the kind who didn’t wear one.

He couldn’t be single, could he?

It would be criminal if he was gay.

Her gaze slid over the same sentence seven times but she had no comprehension of what she was reading. His cell phone rang, and Amy gripped her book as if she hadn’t noticed.

Of course, she was listening. Any human would have done the same.

“Hi, Mom,” he said, his patient tone making Amy smile. “No, Mom, I’m not busy.” He sat back to listen, his gaze fixed on the distance, a study in tolerance.

Control. Oh, he had it, that was for sure.

Amy could hear his mom’s chatter coming through the phone. Even without being able to discern the words, she could tell that his mother was wound up about something.

“I think it will be fine, Mom,” he said firmly.

Mom clearly disagreed, her voice rising a little higher.

“I’m sure Katelyn doesn’t expect any different, Mom.” His tone became soothing. “You’ve done it three times now and beautifully. The fourth will be easy.”

Mom declined to be convinced. Her voice rose another notch, although Amy couldn’t make out the words. Who was Katelyn? His wife? His girlfriend? His mom knew her, so she had to be close.

As “Mom” continued, Amy’s lunch companion straightened ever so slightly. He’d had this conversation before. Maybe a lot of times.

He was becoming vexed.

What was he going to do about it? His eyes flashed a little and his lips tightened. Amy crossed her ankles tightly.

“I don’t want to talk about that, Mom.”

Mom clearly did. She was talking faster.

Mr. Yum inhaled sharply and frowned a little.

Amy could have eaten him up with a spoon.

She stared at her book, but had no idea what Melissa was enduring.

And didn’t much care.

To her surprise, her companion picked up the cellophane from his sandwich and began to crush it in his hand, making a crinkling noise. Amy peeked to find him holding it close to the phone. “Lots of static all of a sudden, Mom,” he said, sounding concerned. “Can you still hear me?”

Amy gasped that he would lie like this to his mother.

Although she could totally understand it. Her aunt was infuriating when she was worried about something and wouldn’t abandon the issue.

Maybe she’d steal this trick.

“I can’t hear you,” he said, holding the phone away from his mouth. Their gazes met for an instant and she saw the wicked twinkle in his eyes. Something quivered deep in Amy’s belly at just the implication that they were co-conspirators. “Look, if we get cut off, Mom, I’ll call you back tonight.”

Green eyes. He had green eyes. Thick dark lashes. A little gold halo around the iris. They looked awesome with his chestnut hair. Amy swallowed and forced herself to look down at her book again. She had a full body blush going on and hoped he didn’t notice.

He also had firm lips, the kind that look like sculpture when one corner lifts in laughter. Like his was doing right now. Bite-able, sexy, kissable lips. God, she was a sucker for crooked smiles.

Amy stared at her book, her palms damp.

Even though she wasn’t looking, she was aware that he frowned, mostly because he crackled the cellophane louder and simultaneously dropped his voice. “Yes, yes, I know why you’re worried…”

Then he abruptly ended the call, turned off his cell phone, and dropped it into his pocket. He looked at his sandwich as if he’d rather eat road kill, then picked up his book with a sigh.

Acting like he hadn’t just hung up on his mom.

Amy couldn’t keep silent. “You did that to your mom?”

“An act of desperation,” he confided with a grimace. “Don’t worry. I’ll pay for it later.”

“But she’s your mom!”

“She’s also driving me insane.” He looked exasperated, which was both unexpected and cute.

“Some people say it’s part of the job description.”

His smile was quick and genuine, a flash of perfect teeth that caught Amy by surprise. “There is that,” he admitted ruefully. Her heart skipped as he leaned closer. Amy was transfixed to be the focus of his attention, and that was before he dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

It gave her shivers, that whisper.

“My sister is getting married,” he confessed.

“So’s my cousin,” Amy said. “Stressful times for moms.”

He held up four fingers. “My fourth sister is getting married.”

“Four?”

“All younger than me, one married every spring for the past three years. My mom has been in wedding preparation mode non-stop for more than four years.” He sighed, and she sympathized.

“Ouch,” Amy said, unable to imagine how she’d endure her own aunt’s agitation for any longer than the remaining three weeks until Brittany’s wedding.

Let alone Brittany. Her cousin had a serious Bridezilla infection.

“The thing is that it doesn’t take a psychic to know what comes after that.” He gave Amy a steady look, inviting her to guess.

She did. “You’re the last one.”

“And the oldest.” He shook his head and picked up his book. “I’ve had a crappy morning, and just don’t have any spare patience for unfounded concerns about the weather four Saturdays from now. It’ll be what it is, even if the plan is for the ceremony to be in the garden.” He flicked her a look. “If it makes you feel better, I’ll call her after lunch and apologize, then listen patiently to the whole monolog again.”

Amy liked that he told her that. “Perfect son?” she found herself teasing.

“Far from it.” That smile made a brief return appearance. “But since there’s only one son, she has to make do with my shortcomings.”

He started to read, no doubt finding Alex Cross’s adventures more intriguing than Amy found Melissa’s predicament to be in this particular moment. She was amazed that he’d not only talked to her but she’d been reasonably coherent.

She hadn’t talked to a lot of men in recent years, especially sexy ones. Doctors. Care facilitators. All conversations had been without sexual charge.

But she’d talked to him, the object of her fantasies, and even made him smile.

It had to be because he seemed nice, nicer than one would expect a billionaire book boyfriend to be. Unscarred. Not tormented beyond getting annoyed with his female relations in the last days before a wedding, which Amy could completely understand.

His interest in her had to be non-existent, so she could continue to employ him in her fantasies. He’d just needed to vent and she’d been convenient. He’d probably forget all about her as soon as he’d had his lunch.

That was a bit of a deflating realization.

The strange thing was that living vicariously through Melissa no longer held Amy’s interest. She was intrigued that Mr. Yum had sisters and family tensions, because that made him more real than the men in her books.

Of course, he was real.

Even more incredible, she and he had something in common. Weddings on the horizon, and mothers of brides knotted up with concern. But he was reading and the conversation was done, and Amy couldn’t think of a clever way to get it started again.

Her mom would have known exactly what to say, which just made Amy miss her even more. Social skills weren’t genetic, apparently. Amy would think of the perfect comment in about five hours or maybe in the middle of the night. She smiled a little, thinking of her mom teasing her about that, and felt more alone than ever.

She checked her watch, realized she was due back upstairs, and packed the last bit of her lunch away. Mr. Yum was so engrossed in his book that he didn’t even glance up as she did so, which proved all her predictions true.

That might have been the end of it, if Amy hadn’t dropped her book.

It slid out of the protective cover when she made a grab for it, as slippery as a fish, then landed face up, right on his expensive and polished shoe.

The cover image left no doubt of the contents.

He looked.

He stared.

Amy was sure she’d die of mortification.

But then he smiled.

* * *

Tyler had always known that you couldn’t really judge a book by its cover, but he never expected the Librarian to be reading something like the book on his shoe.

He’d never heard of it, or the author, but the handcuffs lined with pink fur dangling from the black stiletto shoe on the cover pretty much said it all. He’d noticed earlier that she was nearly done, so there couldn’t be any doubt in her mind what she was reading.

And here he’d imagined that she carefully wrapped her Jane Austen editions to keep them pristine while she read them over and over again.

She gasped when the book fell and then froze when the slipcover came off. All the blood left her face, leaving her pale and horrified, then she blushed redder than he might have believed possible.

Ty was right about the book’s content, then. He bit back the urge to laugh at her reaction, but knew that would only mortify her more.

It was cute how flustered she was. She had to be close to thirty, and he didn’t think there were that many virgins of that age in Manhattan. He would have expected her sexual appetites to be moderate, even predictable.

Which just proved the old adage of books and covers to be true.

Although he called her the Librarian in his thoughts, Ty had no idea what she did for a living. Chances were pretty good that she wasn’t a librarian as there weren’t any libraries in the vicinity. Her appearance just fit the stereotype. Those horn-rimmed glasses. That hair wound up tightly. The conservative separates in navy. Always a white blouse and minimal jewelry.

And the loafers. God, the loafers.

Her shoes were a crime against humanity, given the perfection of her legs. He’d noticed her in the first place because of her legs, then become intrigued by how voraciously she read. It had become a habit to check on her presence, to wonder what she was reading, to be reassured in a curious way that she was so constant. Always the same seat. Nearly the same outfit. Every Friday, she bought a coffee, but only on Friday and just one.

She bit her lip when she read. It was impossibly cute.

She crossed her legs repeatedly, presumably when she got to the good bits. He’d surreptitiously watched her legs more than once. Now that he’d seen the book cover, Ty could guess what those good bits might be and her agitation was even more sexy.

In fact, he could imagine her in a pair of shoes just like the ones on the book cover.

Maybe nothing else.

That was an exciting idea, one that he couldn’t dismiss as quickly as he should have.

In a way, it was funny. In his desperate need of a date, the Librarian seemed like a good and reliable choice. Safe. Predictable. But she was already anything but predictable.

When she’d first glanced up at him, Ty had been struck by her eyes. They were thickly lashed, like the eyes of a doe, and of a rich golden brown color. He could see that her hair was auburn, even with it tightly pulled back, and noticed that her complexion was creamy. She looked more exotic than he’d expected, and he realized it was because her eyes tipped up at the outer corners.

With a little eyeliner and a different hair style, she’d look like Sophia Loren.

She might not have been entirely comfortable in his presence, but she had warmed up quickly. She’d taken him to task over his treatment of his mom. She’d even given him the ideal reason to present his plan to her. He’d intended to mention it casually, just as she was leaving, in the hope that she might just quickly agree.

Too bad the book had fallen before he could open his mouth.

Ty wasn’t used to having his carefully laid plans unravel before his eyes, much less change into something else. That his scheme to get a date for his sister’s wedding had done just that, when he would never have expected otherwise, captured his interest and held it tight.

The book was still on his shoe.

She still looked horrified.

This had to be a moment that called for a gentlemanly touch. Ty picked up the book, as if unsurprised, and glanced at the back copy. “Is it good?”

She exhaled in a rush. “Not bad. I’ve read better and worse.”

Not a new genre for her then. Ty offered the book to her, unable to think of a good segue to what he wanted to ask her.

He wished he could put her at ease. She swallowed visibly, thanked him, and just about snatched the book from his hand. She jammed the book into the black purse she always carried, which was massive enough to be considered luggage. The slip cover was then smashed into the bag on top, then she turned to leave. She was so shaken that Ty had to try to make her smile before she left.

“You’re not going to tell me that you bought it by mistake?” he asked lightly. “Or that your sister insisted you read it?”

Her gaze met his, then she straightened slightly. “No. I don’t have a sister.”

“Lucky you,” he teased but she didn’t smile.

She looked away, then back at him, bristling. “It’s currently a very popular genre.”

“So I’ve heard.” Ty spoke slowly, drawing out the moment, hoping she felt compelled to linger, if only to be polite.

She flicked a suspicious look at him, the way one of his sisters might have done when thinking he meant to give her a hard time. “From your sisters?”

Ty nodded. It was true. “One of them reads those books, too. I don’t understand why, even though she convinced me to see that movie with her.”

“You saw the movie?”

“I hated it.” He gestured to her seat. “Care to enlighten me?”

“Why would I?” She was as suspicious as Paige on being invited to explain her taste in reading.

“Because women are the last great mystery,” he said because he believed it. “Unless it’s just about the sex.”

The Librarian’s eyes flashed and he thought she might give him a piece of her mind. He was more than ready for it. Embarrassment and anger were doing great things for her.

“It’s not about the sex,” she said fiercely, then sat down hard. He wondered whether her indignation would fog up her glasses, then she leaned across the table. She dropped her voice to a murmur that he doubted she knew was sultry. He would have bet that she also didn’t know she was giving him a glimpse of her cleavage.

She had Ty’s undivided attention.

Now he was the one changing how he sat.

“It’s about the healing power of love,” she said with fervor. She tapped a fingertip on the table, conviction in her gaze. “It’s about someone who is ruined and scarred and tormented finally finding peace and salvation. It’s about a woman making a difference to a man because of her love.”

Ty thought of that movie. He braced his elbow on the table and his chin on his fist, leaning closer to her. “How is it sexy for a guy messed up enough to be a serial killer to be obsessed with a woman?”

“Because she can heal him.”

“You believe that?” Ty shook his head. “A guy like that belongs in jail.”

She exhaled. “You don’t get it.”

“No, I don’t. No means no. Unless all that garbage about no meaning yes is true.”

She frowned and pushed up her glasses. “It’s not.” She bit her lip, seeking a way to explain. “It’s because she’s the focus of his world, to the exclusion of everything else. It’s sexy that he can’t think of anything or anyone else, that he becomes obsessed.”

“There’s a justification for every stalker on the planet.”

“No!”

“What’s the difference?”

“She’s complicit. She wants it, that’s the difference.”

“That’s the rationalization of every stalker and rapist,” Ty felt compelled to note.

She eyed him. “You really don’t get it.”

“No, I don’t. Why would a woman with any self-respect want a stalker? Why would a woman want a guy to tie her up and ‘discipline’ her, or keep her as his sex slave? What kind of relationship is that?” Ty flung out a hand, his own protective instinct toward women feeding his exasperation. “Why would anyone fantasize about that?”

She exhaled and regarded him, her expression so prim and disapproving that he might have been the one arguing in favor of kinky sex play.

“‘We don’t see things as they are, we see them as we are,’” she said and Ty blinked.

He didn’t recognize it, and that made him feel as if he wasn’t keeping up his end of their discussion. “Is that a quote?”

“Anaïs Nin.” She shook a finger at him. “You’re looking through the lens of your own assumptions, which affects your perceptions and your conclusions.”

Ty was struck to silence. She was quoting an erotica author to him.

And he had no comeback.

This was easily the most interesting conversation he’d had in years.

The Librarian took another breath and her gaze was steely. “It’s not a fantasy, and it’s not about the sex,” she said flatly. “It’s about the connection and the healing. It’s about trust.”

Ty arched a brow. He couldn’t help it.

Her disgust with him was clear by how quickly she stood up. “Enjoy your lunch.” Before he could continue the argument, she pivoted and marched away.

Chin up

Cheeks still crimson.

And she never looked back.

Ty watched her the whole way to the elevators, just to be sure.

She did have fabulous legs.

Although Ty would welcome the chance to burn those loafers.

He opened his own book, but couldn’t follow the thread of the story. His sandwich was even less compelling. He recalled the high heel on the cover of her book. Those heels had to be six inches high. He had to think they’d do awesome things for her already fantastic legs.

It was her eyes that haunted him, though, as well as the way she’d surprised him. It had been a while since a woman had challenged him—at least, a woman who wasn’t related to him. He couldn’t even remember having a woman set him straight.

It was sexy as hell.

Especially as she was probably right.

Ty drummed his fingers, thinking. So much for his easy solution. He hadn’t even learned the Librarian’s name. He wasn’t daunted, though.

No, he was intrigued.

Well, there was an easy step he could take next.

He would do some research and revive their discussion at lunch the next day.

* * *

The truly amazing thing was that Amy hadn’t been struck mute in the presence of Mr. Yum. She hadn’t spoken in tongues or otherwise been incoherent. She’d even scolded him.

The reason was obvious: it was because he was nice. He was the kind of guy who talked to his mom when he was at work. The boy next door, not the billionaire BDSM aficionado with the dark past and more emotional scars than she could count. His fourth sister was getting married. He was helping to keep his mom calm. He’d been pushed too far and had lost it, just a little bit.

There was also, regrettably, no sexual interest on his side. That was why she could talk to him. If he’d been interested in her, she would have been at a complete loss.

Amy would just bet that he was a great older brother. He probably could fix bicycle chains and pitch tents in backyards and build tree forts. He’d always be there for his sisters and would help his dad at the family home with whatever needed doing. He’d be on call at the wedding, picking up elderly relatives and helping them into the church, solving last minute crises, ensuring Uncle Ernie didn’t have another drink when he had to drive home—or driving him and Aunt Edna home if Ernie did have that drink. He’d be the one everyone counted upon.

Plus he’d look really good in a tux.

His reaction to her choice of reading had been perfectly consistent with that. Thinly disguised horror. No, he would always be the gentleman and the considerate lover. His wife might read naughty books but if she was smart, she’d make sure he never knew. He’d treasure his wife and cherish her, pamper her and never forget her birthday.

He’d probably run from a woman who even owned a pair of handcuffs.

There she went, making up a whole life for him on the basis of a single short conversation. Her dad had teased her about that, once upon a time. Amy was smiling at the memory when she walked back into the office, only to find that chaos had erupted in her absence.

“I’m glad you had a good break,” Mrs. Murphy said with her usual impatience. She gestured at the desk. “The internet is down, and I can’t access the materials for the case this afternoon….”

“Let me try,” Amy said mildly, sat down and got back to work. Mrs. Murphy stood over her, venting her spleen, and Amy wished her boss would go away.

And shut up.

Not necessarily in that order.

At least the afternoon passed quickly, with a hundred crises needing to be resolved. It was Amy who re-established the internet connection, who solved the problem with the printer, who retrieved the survey results “lost” in the computer crash. Before she knew it, it was after five, and she knew she deserved a reward.

She’d finish her book tonight, maybe even on the train on the way home. After the adventures of Melissa ended happily, Amy would be ready for another hot read.

She’d ask Jade to recommend a super spicy one.