him, gaping like a landed fish, that he didn’t adore. Her face was that of an angel. Heart shaped with high cheekbones; a little upturned nose; and big, round eyes that were a soft golden brown. A crown of matching hair fell in glorious waves around her shoulders, beckoning his touch. Her petite body was soft and shapely under her well-fitting clothes. And her scent, sweet and clean, like a meadow in springtime, drew him to her.
He inhaled, wishing he could capture the essence and keep it forever as he brushed his mouth over her knuckles a second time.
“I…I…I…ohhh, Sophie,” she murmured in a squeaky little voice.
The voice in his head—a much deeper and louder voice—shouted a flurry of objections to him as he briefly considered taking the cutie pie up on her offer of bribery. He could think of at least a handful of things that could convince him to part with the book still snug under his right arm.
His imagination took that thought as its cue and ran wild, sending image after image through his mind of the woman with the sweet scent and soft body lying naked before him, her legs parted, her eyes closed, her lips pursed, her chest rising and falling swiftly, sighing his name as he brought her to bliss and beyond. Naturally, those images stirred something else—an uncomfortable erection.
He needed to make a few adjustments.
He must have grimaced because the woman’s expression changed from utter awe to puzzlement.
Still looking him in the eye, she gently pulled her hand free of his and tipped her head. “All better. Thanks,” she whispered. Her lips pursed just a tiny bit, their ripe fullness making his erection all the more urgent.
“That’s a matter of opinion,” he grumbled.
“Hmm?” Her eyebrows rose in question.
“I…said that’s good. Glad to hear it.”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought you said.”
Damn, he liked the way her eyes glittered when she was teasing him. He could just imagine how they would shine when she was in the throes of passion.
“So, I can’t convince you to reconsider?” she asked.
Reconsider? What? Taking you home with me? It wouldn’t take much to convince me to do that.
“I mean, I really, really need that book. It’s a time-sensitive issue we’re talking about. A man’s life is at stake. Honestly, would you say you need it for anything that dire?”
Almost. My life’s at stake, and the lives of my people.
“Unless you’re married to a lamia,” she said. “I didn’t see a ring but figured a girl should never make assumptions.”
“No, thankfully, I’m not. Married to a lamia, that is. They wouldn’t be interested in me anyway.”
“I can’t see any female not being interested in you.”
“That’s a generous compliment, but I’m not a writer. They tend to stick with author types. Poets too.”
“Oh. Silly me. Tim did say that…I think. I guess I’d better do some reading on the subject.”
“You’re more likely to find information on the lamiae on the Internet. It’s not a widely researched topic,” he said as he tried to convince himself it was time to leave. Although his next class didn’t start for hours, he had some tests to grade. Since he wasn’t fond of fill-in-the-dot Scantron forms, he had about fifty essays left to read. It would take him hours.
Still, he couldn’t seem to accept the thought of turning from the woman and walking away. It made him ache inside like nothing ever had before. While he was holding her hand, she’d let him inside her mind, for a mere few seconds, but in that time, he’d seen such beauty and intelligence. Wit, caring. She was the woman of his dreams, and more.
Too bad she’d come to him now, when he was in the midst of such important work. He had no time for a serious relationship now.
He slid the book out from under his arm and forced his gaze from her lovely face, knowing that would be a good start. From there, he’d take one step away, then two. He could do it.
He watched as she combed her fingers through her hair. A long, curling strand fell over her face, wrapping around her chin. Without thinking, he captured the silky lock in his fingertips. His index finger traced her lower lip. His gaze fixed to that full lip as he lowered his head.
“Jeesh!” cut in a high-pitched voice from behind him. “Would ya get a room already?”
He jerked his hand away and spun around, finding the owner of the voice, a girl who couldn’t be more than twelve or thirteen standing at the end of the row, wearing a typical preteen’s scowl of disapproval.
“There’s nothing grosser than watching old people kiss. Nasty,” she said to a second girl who stepped around the corner to take her position beside her friend.
“They were making out back here?” the second girl asked. “Darn, I miss everything.”
“Come on. They’re done now. Besides it wasn’t exactly pretty.” The first one spun on her heels and dragged her gaping friend away.
The woman, now behind him, laughed softly. “So, what do you do?” she asked.
Figuring the show was over, he turned to face her, the sting of embarrassment still burning his cheeks.
Her eyes widened. “Oh my God! Look at how red you are. You’re not a priest, are you? Did we just commit some heinous sin?”
His gaze leapt right back up to her face. “Priest? No. Whatever gave you that idea?”
“The red face for one. And the religious books, I guess. Maybe something else too, something I can’t quite name.” She chewed her lower lip as she studied his face. Oh boy, did he want to taste that lip of hers. He bet she’d taste sweet, like a ripe summer peach or apple. “You have a priesty air about you.”
“Hmmm. Don’t know if I should take that as a compliment or not.”
“Considering the respect my mother has for her priest, I would.”
“Fair enough. Thank you.”
“I know what it is!” She lifted her index finger. “It’s your soft voice and manner. You move very deliberately and don’t say much, just like Father John.”
“Ah. Well, thank goodness it wasn’t the wrinkles and stooped shoulders.”
She squinted, her lips pursed into a cute little pout as she studied his face for a moment. He was mighty tempted to kiss that pout, show her how wrong she was about him being anything like a priest. “Nope. Don’t see a single wrinkle. And your shoulders are a lot of things but stooped isn’t one of them.”
“That I’ll take as a compliment.” He offered his hand, eager to know her name, just in case…in case he might like to contact her about the relics they both seemed to be hunting. Perhaps she’d even like to work together? It would be a strictly professional arrangement. “Name’s Ric Vogel.
