Page 20 of Breaking the Ice

“Too Dolly. What about a C?”

“Bec, I’m already a C.”

“Exactly my point. Perfect.”

Nick’s nostrils flared as he read the beautifully sensual sex scene in the Rita Summers book. She may be seventy but the lady knew a thing or two about sex. And how to write it. His dick twitched and he totally understood why the hero wanted the heroine.

Hell, he wanted her and she wasn’t even real!

There was one distinct disadvantage to owning a romance bookshop –sex.He was surrounded by books describing the sexual act in great detail. Thrusting, rocking, pounding, penetrating. Moaning, whimpering, groaning. Exploding, shattering.

Fucking.

Some days it felt as if the shelves were pulsing and throbbing all around him, coming to life. He swore, every now and then, when the last customer had left and he was locking up for the night, he could hear the faint echo of heavy breathing.

His eyes flicked off the page as Samantha walked past, a feather duster in her hand. The heroine in Rita’s book was a maid at an inn and it was hard not to draw comparisons as he watched her surreptitiously.

Her T-shirt rode up as she dusted the top shelf and he caught a tantalizing glimpse of her metamorphosis tattoo. She bent down low and her round bottom did strange things to his equilibrium. She leaned forward and her cleavage strained against the material of her shirt and he wanted to touch her there very badly.

He wondered how she’d react if he cornered her among the shelves and demanded she service him as the wench’s boss had done. Would she be as willing? As eager? Would she sink to her knees as the starry-eyed maid had done and blow his mind?

Or would she kick him in the balls and file a sexual harassment suit…?

She looked up and caught him staring and smiled absently, her brain clearly focused on the task at hand. Nick quickly glanced away.What the fuck, dude?He took some deep calming breaths as Samantha disappeared behind another bookshelf.

Pull yourself together,dickhead.

This was completely inappropriate. Jesus… were these books frying his brain? No. It had just… been a while, that was all.

Nick thought back. How longhadit been?

Since just before his injury. And two months was an extraordinarily long time for him. He breathed easier. This… fixation with Samantha was merely a reflection of his state of celibacy.

Face it man, you love women. Women love you.

It was rare for Nick to go even a week without some kind of action. So,thatwas his problem. He needed to get laid.Thatwould take the edge off his simmering horniness.

As would spending less time ogling his employee.

Sure, he spent a few hours every afternoon away from her, but it was clearly not enough. And he was just sitting on his ass the rest of the time. Nick was used to training hard. Running, jumping, skating, working out in the gym.

Doing drills.

Nick shoved a hand through his hair. The next few months would be the longest he’d ever spent without daily rigorous activity and the thought of spending them on his butt with Samantha dusting things around him was suddenly frustrating as hell.

Hereallyneeded to get laid.

“Do you have to do that?” he griped as she reappeared again with her feather duster, standing on tiptoes to reach a stray cobweb on the ceiling, baring her midriff.

Pausing mid-action, a frown beetled her eyebrows. “Do what?”

Dust up so damn high.“Dust shit.”

Settling back down on the balls of her feet, she nodded. “Yes.”

Of course. Nick re-opened the book and forced himself to concentrate. “If I’d known about your obsessive cleaning I wouldn’t have hired you,” he muttered.

“Please.” She snorted. “I could have had OCD stamped on my forehead and your half-assed interview technique wouldn’t have ferreted it out.”

---