Page 5

5

CADENCE

“ E ver? ” I ask, trying to get a better look at his face as he pulls me behind the nearest shelf of books. My heart is beating so fast and loud in my ears, I’m not sure what he means. “What do you mean you won’t give me your dick?” I sputter. “I want your cock, Daryl.”

He swears under his breath, spins back to face me, and pins me against the shelf so firmly it wobbles. Without even flinching, he steadies it with his hand and leans in so close, we’re sharing the same breath.

“Not today. Not like this.”

The statement is both hot and cold, but I only want hot. “Why n?—”

“We need time,” he says, cutting me off. “You’re new to this, and I don’t want to rush it. I need to earn your trust, and you need to think about your birth control options, because I’m not having anything between us when we come together. It’s going to be pure sensation and love, and I want to feel everything.” His eyes search mine, and he must see how much I want him, because he doubles down on the deprivation. “We’ve waited this long, Cady. You can wait a little longer.”

His body feels so big and warm and strong against mine, and it’s making it difficult to think about anything else. He has his hand on my hip, and he’s holding me close enough to feel the hard bulge of his cock pressing against my belly. To be captured by him like this is making me lightheaded. And hungry for more with an urgency I don’t want to contain. “But?—”

“Don’t you dare beg me to rush this.” Still holding the bookshelf, he slowly slides his other hand up my side.

His touch is gentle. A smooth, languid caress. Perfectly measured, it’s delivered in a way that declares my body is precious. A heavenly tease I’m forced to experience through my clothing when I’d give anything to feel those fingers dragging along my skin.

The pad of his thumb brushes over my taut nipple, and he smiles at the soft gasp that escapes my lips. “I’ve been dreaming of this for a long time, Cady.”

I nod. “Two years. I know.”

He shakes his head. “Longer.”

Surprised, I quirk my eyebrows. His smile widens.

“I said two summers ago was when I became fully aware I was in love with you,” he clarifies. “But I have wanted to touch you and hear your pretty moans since the first week I arrived in town.”

I squint at him. “Huh?”

“The only person ever identified as real and decent by Beaumont City’s notoriously eccentric battle-ax, Patty Mad-dog MacArthur, was never going to escape my attention for long, Cady” he says, studying my face with intense interest as he talks about his great aunt, who passed a while back. “She told me you helped her get a box of candy from the upper shelf at the grocer’s once, and that you absolutely knew she was going to steal it when she stuffed it down the side of her wheelchair, but you didn’t say anything. You just left money for it at the counter and went on your way.”

My cheeks warm, and I shrug. “I figured she needed candy. She was so private and reclusive, that to see her in the store was a big deal, so it seemed really important for her to have it. She may have been the only person in town people knew nothing about, and that makes her a fucking hero in my book, so of course I had her back. And contrary to what everyone used to say, I think she was kind of sweet.” I smile to myself, when I think about the renowned hoarder who’d bark at anyone who tried to enter her house. “She was sassy and unorthodox, and her town-given nickname was Maddog . She was definitely my favorite badass before you turned up. Not that I got to meet you properly for a long while.”

Daryl’s eyes shine at me as he smiles. “I was kept too busy sorting out the damned hoarder house after her doctor rang and told me she couldn’t quite manage anymore ,” he says, using air quotes. “I didn’t know her too well before I came, but I was listed as her next of kin, and there was nobody else they could call. I agreed to come stay for a week and sort out what kind of care she needed.”

“A week ?” I ask, almost scoffing. “You’ve been here four years. And Maddog MacArthur has been gone nearly as long.”

His cheeks bloom with color, and he nods again. “It was pretty clear when I turned up to Aunt Patty’s, that one of us was going to leave town soon, and it wasn’t me,” he says quietly. “I wanted to throw a lit match on her house and take her to live with me in the city, but she wasn’t having any of it. Luckily for her, I’m a fucking pushover for chicks with sass regardless of how old they are. I didn’t expect to be turning up to see her passing, but I was in the fortunate position of being able to stay and make sure she was comfortable for what turned out to be her final few days. And then I had to stay to spend the subsequent months following the very explicit instructions she left regarding her treasures. I was pissed her doctor hadn’t contacted me sooner, though — or made it more clear before I arrived to discover just how tragic the state of her health and her house were, when it should have been glaringly obvious to him. If the excessive spaghetti stains on every fucking one of her shirts didn’t give it away…”

“Which explains your first Beaumont City red flag event with the police down at the clinic.” I wrinkle my nose in a slow wince. “That’s when I got my first warning from Dad to steer clear of the new, unsavory character in town.”

Daryl presses his lips together and lifts his eyes to the top of my head. His fingers lightly stroke a wisp of my hair. He tucks it behind my ear, and I shiver with delight at the natural intimacy of his actions. It’s as if I’m his to touch. As if I’ve always been his.

His lips curl a fraction at the corner on one side, and he shakes his head a little. “I barely raised my voice at Dr. Peebles, and nobody can prove I had anything to do with him leaving town,” he says calmly. “I have no regrets about my actions. He needed to know he was a negligent piece of shit, and I had a problem with his behavior that he needed time away to learn to fix. Vulnerable people deserved better.”

“Okay,” I say in a whisper. His passion is a little overwhelming, and not in a bad way. I’m not even remotely concerned about what he may have done to slimy Dr. Peebles, who told me I was being dramatic when I went to him as an anxious and depressed teen. If anything, my panties are more soaked than they were before I heard Daryl’s side of the story.

He grazes his thumb over my lower lip. “The new doctor is nicer, don’t you think?”

“Uh-huh,” I utter breathlessly. He’s going to kiss me. I can feel it. My body is tingling all over in anticipation. Every romance novel or movie makes a big deal out of the first kiss, and I’m so damn ready for mine.

He leans in and gently presses the side of his nose against my cheek. The connection isn’t the kiss I was expecting, but it’s oddly sweet and comforting when our foreheads press together. The way he lingers and sort of intensifies the pressure gives me the impression he’s working hard to restrain himself, which makes my heart beat even faster. I let my eyes flutter closed and tilt my face up, waiting for the kiss that doesn’t come. He does the nose thing again, meeting mine in a sort of nuzzling slide — like we’re horses and he’s showing his horse-y affection or something. What the fuck is that? And why is it making me feel so fucking needy?

A deep and desperate sounding hum rumbles from his chest and he presses even closer. “Your skin is so fucking soft,” he murmurs “What was I saying?” His quiet words play over my cheek in an exciting tickle, and I rock my body into his.

“I don’t know,” I pant, practically whining with need. “I’m too distracted by the lack of kissing.”

His beardy scruff prickles my skin when his mouth cracks into a smile against my cheek and he chuckles softly. “Ah, yes. I remember now. You wanted to rush this, and I was explaining how long I’ve been wanting to take my time with you,” he says, ducking his head to the side and nuzzling in against my neck. “ God , you smell incredible.”

I squirm and giggle at the hot tickling sensation as he burrows in, and I gasp when he nips at me down near the base of my high collar. An unexpected fuck sighs from my lips, and he responds with a low, appreciative grunt of approval.

He tugs at my collar with his teeth before letting it settle into position again, and then he leans back to take me in. “These clothes are a total mind-fuck, Cady. They cover so much of you, and yet they can’t hide your gorgeous fucking shape. I’m forever imagining you naked, and you have no idea how many ways I’ve dreamed of shredding all this excess fabric into fucking rags.”

Barely able to catch my breath, I stare at him, wanting nothing more than what he just said. “Okay.”

His eyebrows dip in the center, and he eases back even further. “I’m not going to do it.”

I frown too. “Why not?”

He raises one eyebrow. “What would you wear home?” he asks with a smirk as he cups my face in both hands. “Tattered ribbons? I don’t want everyone seeing your pretty skin.” His thumbs glide over my cheeks in apparent reverence, and he sucks his bottom lip before releasing it into a glistening pout. “And how would you hide all the marks I want to fucking leave on you? People will think you’ve been attacked by a wild animal.”

I shiver at the thought and gaze up at his bright and cheeky blue eyes. “People would probably believe I was ravaged by wolves before they imagined a nice girl like me would let you anywhere near me.”

“And that’s how we’ll need to keep it,” he says, adjusting his hands until he’s cradling the back of my skull. His fingers have pushed into my hair, and my whole scalp has come alive with sensation. “If this is going to happen, nobody can know about it, Cady. I know you’re not in a position to leave town right now, and I refuse to make your life harder by ruining your good name with the warped assumptions that would come from getting tangled up with me. Plausible deniability is your only protection. Tell me you can keep this secret — and keep it well.”

“Of course,” I say without hesitation.

Daryl tilts his head to the side as he studies me, and we both startle at the creak of the heavy library door being pushed open.

Before I can take my next breath, Daryl has ducked into the next row of shelves. He lies on the floor, grabs a book from the bottom shelf, flips it open, and miraculously looks so comfortable and consumed by the content, it’s as if he’s been reading there for hours. Smooth son of a bitch .

Less practiced at shifting from highly aroused to bored and subdued, but just as committed to the ruse, I do my best to follow his lead. I push the proud spine of a nearby novel back into line, as if I’ve just shelved it and then I return to my desk to greet the new reader.

I stop dead in my tracks the moment I see my father. “Dad?” I cover my mouth as I gasp, and then rush over to him. “What’s wrong? Is Mom okay? You never come by the library.”

“She’s fine.” He cranes his neck to look around in every direction. “It’s you that I’m worried about. I was just on the phone with Dell over the road about getting his boy some tutoring support, and he happened to mention that man’s truck has been parked out front of the library for an unusually long time today.”

“What man?” Daryl asks, stepping from the far aisle with a small stack of books he’s collected from the shelves there. He comes over and faces my father head-on. “The ass fucker?” he asks, cooler than a refrigerated cucumber. No emotion, no rudeness, but definitely no bullshit pussyfooting around trying to be polite. It’s big-dick energy at its finest, when he owns his rep and puts people in their place by letting them know he stands several levels above where they try to keep him, which is below them. “I hear that guy also likes to read from time to time,” he adds, veering off toward the issue desk.

Stunned, my dad takes a few seconds to recover, and I have to dip my head to hide my smile behind my hair as I go to meet Daryl at my desk. I clear my throat and reach for Daryl’s books. “I don’t really appreciate that sort of language in the library, Mr. Winters,” I say in a firm, short tone.

He meets my gaze but keeps any warmth from his face. “My apologies, Miss Malone,” he says sincerely before he glares at my father, who is observing our interactions closely. “Didn’t mean to offend your innocent ears,” he continues. “I just hear that name so often, I sometimes forget the original.” He turns back to me, sets the Dubai book atop the pile of erotic novels he gathered from the shelf, and pats its cover twice. “These should see me through the next week or two, so until their return, I won’t bother you with my presence or the profanities that accompany me.”

Two weeks? Is he kidding? He’s going to turn me on and then leave me hanging that long?

I punch down hard on the final cover with the ancient date stamp I have to use because the library committee refuses to upgrade to a digital system. “It was your first offense, so I’ll let you off with a warning,” I say, unable to keep my souring mood from affecting my tone or my face. I shift my frown from Daryl to my father and beg him with my eyes not to be such a jerk. “I don’t need my best customer too scared to return.”

Dad rolls his eyes. “It’s a library, not a shop, Cadence.”

I see red. “And by using it regularly, Mr. Winters raises the average IQ around here — something I thought you, of all people, would be in favor of, Principal Malone,” I counter.

Dad’s face sets into a harsh scowl. “Don’t sass me, young lady. I’m not the town’s biggest sleaze-ball jackass.”

“You sure look a lot like him,” Daryl mutters and pulls his issued books toward himself. He gives me a nod of thanks and walks away without looking back.

“ Daddy ,” I growl, once the door creaks shut behind Daryl. “Did you leave school and come down here just to make that man feel unwelcome?”

My father looks me over and folds his arms over his chest. “I came to make sure you were safe.”

“Safe?” I look around the library. “From what? Poorly written prose? Paper cuts and carnivorous bookworms?”

Dad points toward the door. “From that lecherous sodomite and any scandal that may arise from you spending too much time with him.”

“Oh, please,” I scoff. “This isn’t the 1900s, and Daryl Winters is more interested in books than stealing my rock-solid virtue.”

“Your attitude is especially immature and unbridled today, Cadence,” he says in a warning tone. “I’m not the enemy.”

“Then why do I feel attacked? You’re treating my library like it’s a house of sin, because Daryl Winters took more time to scour the shelves for his reading material today. It’s madness, and I’m certainly not encouraging any sort of salacious rumors to develop from it, so I’d appreciate it if my own father wouldn’t insinuate such a thing. The man’s as old as you are, and if he ever asked to sodomize me — which he hasn’t, just to be crystal clear — do you really think I’m the kind of girl who’d be agreeable to doing that sort of nastiness, in the middle of the public library, during open hours?”

He searches my face and a curious, subtle smirk tugs at the side of his mouth. “I know your mother and I didn’t raise that kind of girl, Cadence. But not all men ask for permission.”

My jaw drops. “If you’re suggesting what I think you are, those are the kind of false allegations that ruin lives. Daryl is not that kind of man.”

Dad gives me a poor, naive, little Cadence look. “That’s probably what every girl thinks before it happens, sweetheart. You wouldn’t believe how many girls have been in my office in tears over the years because of such things. That man has a reputation for a reason. He’s exactly the sort to overstep the line, and you’d do well to remember it. He’s got a criminal record, you know. Time in prison and everything.”

I gulp. I always dismissed that as rumor, but if Dad’s mentioning it, there’s proof it’s true. No doubt he’s heard it straight from Sheriff Lou on canasta night. “A record for what?” I ask, my voice not nearly as strong as it had been.

“Does it matter?” He targets me with an assessing eye, clearly observing my response to gauge my position in the whole Daryl Winters is the enemy argument .

I shake my head. “A conviction is a conviction. I’ll be more mindful, I guess.”

Dad’s smile is a satisfied one. “Exactly. You have a good afternoon, sweetheart. And, oh,” he says as if he’s just remembered something. “I promised the Thompson’s I’d help clear out their barn for the upcoming fundraiser dance. I won’t be home in time for dinner, but it won’t go to waste. Keep it aside, and I’ll have it when I get in. I should be home in time to put Mom to bed.” He gives me a smile and a wave, and then heads out the door, leaving me standing in a storm of emotions I don’t know what to do with.

I can’t sort my frustration from my rage. If anger is a spectrum, I’m all over it. Daryl left before I could have my first kiss, and now Dad’s got me wondering if I’m in regret or relief about that. Apparently, I will have to wait two whole weeks before I can interrogate Daryl about his past, and it seems only fair that I warn him of the potential threat my dad could pose to his future. And soon, I have to go home, to take care of my dependent mother — alone — while my father gallivants about the community looking like a hero. And I’ll be expected to be grateful when he turns up late for her bedtime, to carry her upstairs in his arms like he’s the hero at the end of some romantic movie.

The rage hits me before I can clamp a lid on in. I let my head fall back, and I roar at the ceiling, as my eyes fill with hot tears, and then rage flows through my body, and I let it go.