Undone, Volume 1 (5 page)

“Oh, they were just
looking for someone. They’re gone now.” I started shuffling some
papers, acting natural. I hoped. I’d never been good at pretending
anything. I’d never snuck out at night when I was in high school,
never cheated on a test. I could still remember the Easter I was five
when I’d secretly eaten my cousin’s chocolate bunny. I’d cried
so hard afterwards I’d made myself sick.

“They’re gone now?”
Lillian craned her skinny neck around a bit more. Boy, did she have
the librarian look down. Bun on top, eyeglasses on a chain, deep
frown lines from shushing people over the years, I wondered if she’d
always looked like that, or if it had crept up on her over time.
Would that happen to me?

“Yup. Everything’s
fine.”

Except for the large,
warm hand snaking its way up the top of my calf, circling its way
around the back of my knee. I pressed my palms onto the desk, my eyes
fluttering half-closed for a second. Was that an erogenous zone? The
back of my knee? Had Stan ever touched me there? Maybe to nudge me
over on the couch and make more room for him.

This wouldn’t do at
all. In the middle of the afternoon, in my library, with children and
my boss and reality all around me. I gave my boot an angry little
stomp and stepped to the side. Ridiculous rock stars with their
wicked fingers making the back of your knee feel sexy through a pair
of leggings, I hated when that happened.

“Do you think it’s
safe now?” he asked, giving me a crooked smile. Like a pirate from
a swashbuckling romantic movie. My parents were in their 60s, so they
liked classic films. I’d grown up on a steady diet of Erroll Flynn
sailing through the air, brandishing a sword with his devil-may-care
attitude. Maybe if I hadn’t I wouldn’t feel so swoony now.

I cleared my throat. “I
think so.”

“Thanks for getting
rid of them.”

“They have no
business barging in here.” I meant my indignation. I had absolutely
zero experience with paparazzi personally, but you heard stories. How
they spied on celebrities from their trash bins and used telescopic
lenses to capture their intimate moments. I liked celebrity gossip as
much as the next person, but it got mean, those photos delighting in
catching a starlet without make up looking tired, or an aging rock
star with a paunch.

Not Ash Black, though.
He had no paunch. Last photo I’d seen of him he’d had his shirt
off, completely ripped and inked up like something out of a fantasy.
But that hadn’t been the last time I’d seen something about him,
had it? There’d been something about him in the headlines lately.
What was it?

“Are you always so
bossy? Or do you have a softer side?”

I shook my head,
annoyed with the effect he had on me. Why did everything he said
sound so sexy? How could his voice sound even more amazing in person,
like a deep, sensual growl inviting you closer?

No wonder he had any
woman he wanted. A notorious womanizer, I’d seen photos of Ash
Black with countless gorgeous women. That was it! There was some new
story out about him and some popstar. But I didn’t remember the
details.

“Can you help?” a
little girl asked me, holding a stack of books.

“Of course, honey.”
Rounding the desk, I assisted her with checking out a few books. We
had self-check stations all set up, but scanning bar codes didn’t
always go as planned with five year olds.

Back on the other side,
I have to admit my heart stopped as I caught full sight of Ash Black,
sitting nonchalantly on the floor at my work station. All in black, a
leather jacket across his broad shoulders, he stretched his long legs
out like he didn’t have a care in the world. The brim of his cap
accentuated his square jaw.

Celebrities usually
looked way worse in person, that had been my experience. Living in
New York, I’d run into my share. The women typically looked
emaciated, and the men usually were tiny as well, except for their
giant heads. Absolutely huge noggins.

But not Ash Black. He
looked better in person, if that were even possible. All smoldering
sex and sin, he had to be over six feet tall and looked broad and
lean and strong. He crooked his head to the side and looked up at me.

“You had me at
hello.”

“Oh my God.” I had
to stifle a laugh. This was all so insane. I had the sexy lead singer
of my favorite band literally at my feet quoting cheesy movie lines
to me. Had I fallen and knocked my head? Maybe this was all some kind
of dream sequence.

“Let’s go
somewhere, you and me.” He continued, seeming to enjoy my laughter.

“What?” What was he
talking about?

“Excuse me, where are
the holiday books?” A woman came over and asked. Thankfully, she
stayed on the other side of the desk, unable to see the insanity on
my end.

“Right over there.”
I pointed to the large, colorful display complete with the gigantic
sign “Holiday Books.” I still had to answer the question about 20
times a day.

“I have to get you
out of here.” I shook my head, looking down at the rock star at my
feet. Another mob was sure to arrive any minute. And I couldn’t
think straight near him, not at all. His lips looked way too full and
delicious, yet still so masculine.

“That’s what I was
saying.” He grinned up at me, all sinful mischief. “Let’s get
out of here. Why don’t you ditch work and come with me?”

“Yeah.” I gave
another dismissive laugh. He couldn’t be serious. “Come on,
there’s a back exit. I can try to smuggle you out of here.”

Looking around, I
assessed the danger. No sign of any cameras, no men lurking in trench
coats. We had a clear line of sight to the Employees Only break room,
which led to a hallway, which led to the way out. I extended my hand.

He reached out and took
my hand in his. You know how in old-school romance novels, when the
two main characters first touch there’s like this magic moment? The
world stops on its axis and the hero and heroine look at each other
and know, they just know they’ve met the love of their life?

This wasn’t like
that. This was like the wickedly sexual cousin of that meet cute. The
rough, large grasp of his warm hand against my smaller, soft palm.
The way his fingers wrapped around me, controlling, owning. I could
instantly imagine his hand pressing mine against a wall, onto a bed,
pinning me there while he tormented me and made me beg him to take
me, hard.

He stood up all on his
own, though I had intended to help him up. All I did was stand there
looking transfixed at our hands, the two of them intertwined, his
skin slightly darker than my own.

At his full height, he
stood much taller than me. His frame much larger. Swallowing, I
nearly swayed into him.

He leaned in and asked
in an intimate voice, “Where can we get out of here?”

Right. Getting him out
of there. I nodded, and led the way swiftly over to the door. Damn, I
needed to unlock it. Digging in my pocket, I found my keys and
fumbled for the right one. I should have done that over at the desk
when he was still hidden, but I hadn’t thought of that, now had I?
Thinking was fairly hard at the moment. He still held my hand and I
didn’t let go, either.

The right key in the
lock, I opened it up and we slipped in together, unnoticed.

“Your secret
backstage hangout,” he whispered into the empty room. Dim light
filtered through a tiny, dingy window overlooking a fire escape. Our
small break room came complete with two folding chairs and a card
table, plus a mini fridge and microwave on a countertop.

“Is it just like
where you hang out backstage?” I couldn’t help but tease. This
whole thing was so crazy. It couldn’t actually be happening.

“I have this exact
microwave.” He patted the old, stained boxy white thing. It had
probably cost $19.99 from Walmart seven years ago.

“We have so much in
common.” I pretended to marvel.

“What’s your name?”
He smiled at me.

“Ana.”

“Is that your full
name, or short for—?”

“Anika.”

“Anika.” So help me
God, the way he said my name. It rolled off his tongue like a
delicious treat, him savoring every morsel. And he still held my
hand. I didn’t pull away. I’d let this ridiculously impossibly
delicious moment play out for a few minutes longer before it popped
like a bubble, vanishing without a trace.

“And you’re Ash
Black.” I knew he was, I just had to say it. It was a little like
meeting Santa Claus. You clearly knew it was him, who else would be
in the red suit with the white beard and all that, but you still
couldn’t really believe it. Even in SoHo with its high
celebrity-to-square-block ratio, Ash Black was a next-level sighting.
I’d spotted Jay-Z in a New York Yankees cap strolling down the
sidewalk, Gwynneth Paltrow drinking a dark green smoothie, Matthew
Broderick and Sarah Jessica Parker with their twins. But none of them
made my knees go wobbly and my chest feel tight and hot like I’d
trapped sunshine inside of it.

“Thanks for rescuing
me, Anika.”

“Oh, I don’t know
if I rescued you.”

“They were out for
blood.”

“I don’t like
bullies.”

“So you helped me out
because you didn’t like them. Not because you like me?” he
teased.

“Well, I didn’t say
that.” I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and looked down at
my boots. I’d worn an old pair today, ones I’d bought when I’d
first started college six years ago. And he’d been all up close and
personal with them underneath the desk. Had I known, I would have
chosen something cooler. Not that I had such a huge selection in my
closet, but my roommate Liv might have let me borrow something. She
had thigh-high leather stilettos. Those seemed like the kind of boots
appropriate for a run-in with Ash Black.

“Have you worked here
long?” He took a step closer to me, his fingers still intertwined
with my own. With his thumb, he began to slowly stroke my hand,
caressing that sensitive spot between my thumb and index finger. I
swallowed nervously, a tingle running up my spine.

“Ah, about a year.”
Maybe only around eight months? It was hard to think straight when
the man I listened to every night, rocking out on my playlist,
working me up and coaxing me to let go, live life, take chances and
rawck out, stood right in front of me asking regular, everyday
questions. And touching me. Yes, the kind of touching that would be
allowed at a middle school dance, holding hands. But wow did he know
how to hold hands, possessive and strong, intimate and promising so
much more with that lazy sweep of his finger.

“Do you like it?”

“Like it…?” Him
standing so near to me? The deep brown color of his eyes, so dark
they almost looked black? The stubble on his strong jaw that looked
so rough and appealing the fingers on my other hand twitched at my
side, wanting to reach out and feel for myself.

“Your job?” he
prompted with a sexy smile.

“Right, yes. Yeah, I
do, a lot.”

Did he know he had this
effect on women? I bet he knew. I tucked my hair behind my ear again,
a nervous habit, and told myself to get it together. He was just a
person like anyone else. A person millions of people worshipped and
adored. A man people craved hearing the slightest news about, dreamed
of capturing even a second of his attention. And now he stood alone
with me in a room seeming somehow captivated by me, fascinated by my
mundane little world.

“You seem good at
it.” He took a step closer still, near enough now he could close
all distance in an instant. He stood so much larger than me, so
solid. He’d always looked big in pictures and he sure had his shirt
off in enough of them so you got a really good sense. Big and thick
with muscles, tattoos lacing along his skin.

“You seem like a
great librarian.”

“I can’t imagine
how you could know that.”

“I can tell. You’re
good with kids.”

What was a huge rock
star doing standing around sweet-talking a librarian in the back room
of a New York public library? He had to have other places to be,
other things to do.

“Here, I’m sure you
need to be heading somewhere. I can show you…” I gestured toward
the hallway leading toward the back door.

“Come with me.”
Leaning his large forearm against the cabinet over my head, he framed
my body, every lean, sexy inch of him.

“Come with you?”
Breathing was getting even more difficult. Good thing it was an
automatic function, like my heart pumping. Which also felt somewhat
labored at the moment.

“Let’s get out of
here,” he invited me, all sex and sin.

“I don’t finish my
shift until five.” You could take the goody-two-shoes out of the
library, but you couldn’t take the… wait, no, that didn’t work.
You could take the librarian out of the… anyway, the point was I
had a deeply-ingrained work ethic.

“Wait, don’t tell
me.” He looked down at me with a crooked smile, as if what he were
about to say were impossible, but he was going to say it anyway. “Are
you not a fan?”

“Of your music?”

“Yeah.”

God, he smelled good.
Not like cologne or product or anything but sexy, musky and masculine
and so inviting.

“I listen to your
music.” My voice came out soft, like I was confessing a secret.

He wanted to hear every
word. “Do you have a favorite?”

Um, whatever you’re
doing right now? That was my favorite. I managed to keep that to
myself, not blurt out anything quite so lame, but it took some
babbling. “Oh, I like all kinds of stuff. You wouldn’t believe it
if you saw my music, I’m all over the map. I grew up playing
classical music, so I’ve got a lot of that, but I’ve got a lot of
your music, too.”

“A lot of my music?”

How did he make that
sound so intimate, like I’d just confessed to touching myself late,
late at night while thinking of him? As if listening to his music was
the same thing as fantasizing about getting stranded on a tropical
island with him after some sort of a plane wreck. It would be just
him and me, plus somehow luggage would wash up with super cute
bikinis and make up. The beaches would be amazing, the natural food
supply plentiful, nothing but the hot sun and our near-naked bodies
to entertain us. So, OK, yes, I had fantasized about being trapped
with him in various scenarios featuring natural disasters, but how
else was a regular girl supposed to get to know a hotter-than-hell
celebrity if she wasn’t snow-bound, ship-wrecked or otherwise beset
by a natural disaster? A sharknado would work.