Exposed: A British Bad Boy Romance (19 page)

Chapter 7

SARAH

“Y
ou look like you’ve got something on your mind, Bumblebee,” Sarah’s mother said as she deposited a plate of chicken and veggies in front of her daughter.

Sarah shrugged, “Just some stuff going on at work.”

“Wanna talk about it?” Her mother’s pale blue eyes always saw right through her pretenses. How did she know Sarah was nearly bursting with things to talk about? Moms seemed to have that weird sixth-sense; it probably didn’t hurt that she was a witch to boot.

Sarah stabbed at a piece of broccoli, shoving it off to the side.

For a long moment, the only sounds in the small kitchen were those of silverware clinking on ceramic. Her mother could wait her out for an eternity. They’d played the silent game way too many times when Sarah was a teenager — she always caved first. What could she say? Sometimes, she needed her mom’s input.

“We got a new director.”

“Oh no! What happened to Jerry?”

“He ‘retired’,” she answered with air quotes.

“Oh, well, that’s a shame. He’s been there as long as I can remember. I think he gave you your very first library card, didn’t he?”

Sarah nodded.

“But that’s not what you’re upset about, is it, Bee?”

She pushed the veggies around her plate some more.

“What’s the new director like?” It was like the woman was psychic. Or maybe she just knew her daughter that well. Sarah clenched her jaw thinking about Sloan.

“He has no experience, for one. He bought his way into the position and I don’t trust him. He doesn’t seem sincere about library operations. He has no concept of personal space. He’s cocky and arrogant and…” The litany of complaints seemed like it would never end once she started voicing it.

“And what? Your magic responds to him, doesn’t it?”

“
No.
Not at all,” she lied. “I don’t trust him. I don’t like him being in the Kerris.”

Mom clucked her tongue in disapproval, “I think you’re protesting too much, Sarah Jane. Maybe it’s time you let your magic off of that tight leash for a bit. You can’t keep that part of yourself locked away in a little box. One day it’s going to explode.”

“That’s quite all right. We both know what happens when I let it have its way.”

Her mother’s expression hardened and she dropped the fork in her hand to give Sarah a stern look, “Yes, the same thing that happens to every young inexperienced witch. Accidents. You keep bottling it all up and something even worse is going to happen,” she picked her fork up and resumed eating. The tension faded away as they ate in silence. After giving it some thought, her mother pointed the fork at her.

“I was young once, you know. I remember what it’s like to need a
release
. When’s the last time you even tried to date?”

“When’s the last time
you
went on a date?” Sarah countered, instantly regretting it.

The older witch puffed up in pride and a sly smile spread her lips, “Two nights ago. I had quite a few
releases
if you know what I mean.”

That was the thing about being a witch. No boundaries when it came to talking about sex. It became another necessity in life like water or food. Sarah was by far the most prudish witch she knew.

“Ew. Mom. No. Gross. That is not what I want to hear about over dinner,” she stabbed a piece of chicken, still thinking about the new director and the subtle dimple in his left cheek when he smiled. The fork vibrated in her grip before flying across the room, embedding itself in the wall.

Her mother raised perfectly sculpted eyebrows, but didn’t comment on the magical outburst. It was always so easy for her. She had an effortless draw that pulled people of all kinds toward her. It wasn’t like that for Sarah. Instead of attracting people, she seemed to repel them. Of course, that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

“All I’m saying,” her mother said, standing and scooping up their empty plates, “is that you’ll feel much better if you’re true to yourself. Maybe you respond so strongly to this man because there’s something there?”

Sarah groaned. She never should have said anything at all.

“No, he’s up to something. I know it. I just have to find out what.”

Mom loaded up the dishwasher without another comment, but Sarah already knew what she’d say. It was the same conversation they had anytime her magic was out of control. But she wouldn’t risk it. No matter what her mother said.

“You spend too much time in that dusty old library. You’re always there or thinking about being there. You should try to get out more. When’s the last time you had drinks with friends? There’s a new bar on Sable Street. The crowd’s a little young for me, but you’d fit right in. You should check it out. Maybe you’ll find someone. I won’t wait up,” she grinned suggestively, trying to dull the sting of her attack on Sarah’s entire way of life.

Other parents might be concerned that their kids weren’t involved in work, that they partied too much and had casual sex with strangers without thinking about the repercussions. Not Sarah’s mother. Sarah’s mother had it all backwards.

She rolled her eyes, dismissing everything her mother said, “No wonder witches get a bad reputation for being sexed up horndogs. Have you always been this insufferable?” Or was it only because of how Sloan made her feel? Molten and effervescent. Like she could combust and float away at the same time. She needed to stop thinking about him.

“No. I used to be much worse. Sex is nothing to be ashamed of, Bumblebee. It’s natural and
wonderful,
” she sighed wistfully.

Sarah stood from the table, shaking her head, “Nope. This conversation’s over. I don’t want to hear any more about my mother’s sex life. It’s not natural.”

“It is for a witch!” her mother called to her retreating back as she left for the living room.

Sarah sank into the ancient couch, overstuffed cushions swallowing her whole. Her mother thought she spent too much time at the library, but where else would she ever want to be? Kerris made her feel complete. When she couldn’t be at the library, it felt like something was missing. A longing ache at the center of her very soul that could only be filled by mountains and mountains of books in her favorite place in the world.

She knew she should probably be ashamed to admit it, but she loved that damn library more than she’d ever loved another person. Did that make her a bad person? Or just a weird one?

Regardless, if someone had their eyes on hurting her beloved Kerris, Sarah was not going to just lay down and wait for it. If she wanted to keep it safe, she’d have to be proactive.

And maybe not rely on her mother’s input so much.

Chapter 8

SLOAN

T
he job was supposed to be easy. Buy his way into the library’s management, access their records, determine if the ley lines were there — or even real — and secure the territory for the Elder. Easy.

              Then Sarah complicated things. Sarah with her perfectly coiffed bun, the hip-hugging pencil skirts and stylish glasses. He wanted to see her wild and free. A halo of auburn hair flared out beneath her as he ripped through the thin threads holding the buttons of the frumpy cardigan that completed her uniform. He wanted to take that little sweater and tie her up with it, tease and taste her until she begged for mercy. He wanted to…

              Get her off of his fucking mind.

              Sloan had bigger issues to occupy his mind than the curvy, unintentionally seductive librarian. He couldn’t waste time daydreaming. He shouldn’t be thinking about unwrapping her clothing layer by layer like a Christmas present.

              His tiger chuffed in approval. That horny bastard would be the end of him.

              Turning his attention back to the stack of papers in front of him, he sighed. There was too much to sift through. Too many conflicting theories and unreliable accounts. He didn’t know where to start. He didn’t know what was important and what wasn’t. What information he could trust and what he couldn’t. If he had any hope of gleaning useful information, he was going to need a hell of a lot more time than the Elder had granted. Of course, the old man expected the project to take a few months, but from where Sloan sat, the mountains of boxes would take years to go through. The Kerris had an unusually zealous librarian in Sarah and it seemed that she left no stone unturned when it came to gathering information on her beloved library.

              His eyes drifted through the window that separated his office from the library at large, the blinds open enough that he could keep an eye on operations without anyone being able to see him. The tiger found her first, honing in on the shapely curve of her calves as she perched on her tiptoes to reshelf a book.

              He groaned.

              Maybe it wasn’t time that he needed more of. Maybe what he needed was the help of a librarian. Who better to sift through all of this to find relevant material?

              There was one niggling little problem, though: Sarah seemed resistant to his charms. She’d accepted his motivations, but only for posterity’s sake, it seemed, as she’d been downright frigid toward him ever since.

              Surely he could warm her up, though. He could chip away at the icy exterior, melt her insides with a few well-placed touches. He’d warm her until she was ready to ignite and she begged for him to extinguish the flames he’d started. The tiger liked that idea. Both of them did.

              She bent at the waist to shelve a book near the ground and he pictured that round ass bent over his desk, hiking up her skirt to reveal creamy smooth thighs, finding her sex glistening and ready for him to take her.

              He didn’t consciously decide to get up from his desk, but the next thing he knew, his feet were carrying him toward the door, out into the library, his tiger honed in on her — everything else faded into the background. She was his prey and the hunt was on.

              For a moment, she was oblivious to his presence as he stood behind her, studiously surveying every way her succulent body moved. The tiger was ready to pounce. To claim her. He had to fight down his animal urges in order to behave like a civilized human being instead of the lust-crazed beast he felt inside.

“Is there something I can help you with?” His voice sounded deep and husky even to his own ears. She squeaked in surprise and a book shot out of her hand, flying into the bookshelf across the aisle, knocking a row of paperbacks loose, fluttering to the floor.

“I'm sorry,” he chuckled at her reaction. “I seem to keep doing that. I’m sorry, I don't mean to,” he said. First the avalanche of boxes, now a cascade of books. Maybe she wasn’t unaffected by him.

Sarah turned to hide her embarrassment and Sloan suppressed a satisfied smile. The flush in her neck betrayed her.

“Don't worry about it,” she said. “I'm always having little accidents like this you'll get used to it,” she chuckled. No doubt. A witch wound as tight as her was bound to have ‘accidents’.

Sloan liked the way that she tried to hide her embarrassment. He liked the little tinge of pink that colored her cheeks. He really liked the way that her breath quickened when he walked by and the smell of arousal that filled the air when he said her name.

Sarah intrigued him; she wasn't at all what he expected to find here. He couldn't seem to get her out of his mind. He felt wrong deceiving her, but he had to know she was trustworthy before he told her his real intentions. He didn’t think she’d go along with it. Witches were protective of ley lines; he’d read about Guardian witches that sacrificed their freedom to protect the magical veins of power that flowed like rivers beneath the Earth. Was Sarah a Guardian? She seemed too inexperienced, too unsure of herself to wield that kind of power.

Sloan bent to pick up the books that Sarah’s clumsy fingers scattered across the library floor like so many fallen leaves. He handed the stack to her and let his hands linger on hers for a moment too long.

“Thanks,” she whispered, turning away from him in a flash.

              He closed the miniscule distance between them, his chest nearly pressed into her back as he watched her replace the fallen books. She trembled, her hands shaking, though she said nothing to push him away. Her quick shallow breaths spoke to how quickly her heart beat and his hammered in response.

              He could take her right here. A hand found her side, tentative and light. He didn’t want to frighten her away and she seemed so skittish. He wanted to push his way under the hem of her shirt, to cup her breast, roll a pert little nipple between his fingers as she panted his name…

“You seem nervous,” Sloan purred, his lips nearly pressed to the side of her neck. She shivered and turned to face him; his hand dropped from her side. Had he gone too far?

She stared at him, open-mouthed. Instead of stealing a kiss like he wanted to, he reached above her head to place a book back on the shelf and the motion left his chest pressed against hers. His eyes roved her face: wide, innocent eyes drew him in, a smattering of freckles dusted her cheeks, long lashes pulled him in. And those slightly parted lips beckoned him.  Sarah. She called to something so deep inside of him. The magnetic force dragged him in until their lips nearly met.

“Do I make you nervous, Sarah?” he whispered, inhaling the sweet citrus scent of her. Delicious and addicting.

Heat radiated off of her in waves; her arousal crashed into Sloan relentlessly. The typhoon of her desire only grew more and more insistent, his tiger could sense it. Part of her wanted it –
needed
it — her magic had to affect her the same way it did him. It was a potent drug and one that neither of them could resist.

She hesitated, her eyes flicking from his eyes to his lips, Sloan silently daring her to close the distance between them. She leaned in.

“I… uh—”

Sloan’s phone vibrated in the breast pocket of his jacket. He growled at the interruption and looked at the caller ID. Damn it all to hell. Randal. He looked from his phone to the seductress caged by his body before cursing under his breath and giving Sarah an apologetic look.

“This isn’t over,” he promised, leaving the eager witch panting in his wake.

“What do you want Randal?” Sloan growled into the cell as he stepped away from the buxom beauty that teased his tiger to the edge of madness.

“Whoa, is that anyway to address your superior?” Randal reprimanded with a stern tone.

Sloan narrowed his eyes and clenched his teeth, but didn’t say anything. It would be a cold day in Hell before he considered Randal his superior. The little snot married the Elder’s daughter and took a liking to bossing around shifters he’d be better off not crossing. Sloan didn’t think he was worth the headache, so he didn’t argue. Randal was the least of his worries right now.

“What do you want?” he repeated without acknowledging the comment.

“I just wanted to check in with how everything is coming along at the library.”

Sloan watched Sarah hurry to the counter to help a patron with a check out. The grey pencil skirt she wore hugged her ass in a loving embrace and the red silk blouse did little to contain her breasts. He’d been so close to having those supple breasts in his hands. He groaned, forgetting all about Randal on the other end of the phone in favor of thoughts of Sarah, pressed against the stacks, out of breath and begging for more.

Randal cleared his throat.

“Great. Fine. Fan-fucking-tastic. If the clan needs anything else, have your father-in-law call me,” Sloan said with contempt.

Sloan could almost see the other shifter in his mind, eyes flashing with anger, his tiger close to the surface, ready to assert his rightful position in the Tigris clan. It made him smile to think of how impotent Randal must feel, not being able to boss him around.

“I’ll be in touch,” Randal said with a warning in his tone.

“Can’t wait,” Sloan spat before he ended the call. He looked back at Sarah once more; it was only a matter of time before Randal inserted himself into the Kerris if Sloan couldn’t produce results. The thought of that weaselly little twit anywhere near Sarah made Sloan’s tiger homicidal. Getting information out of Sarah just became priority Number One.