Page 12 of Heir of Blood and Moonlight

“Thank you,” I said, my voice hushed.

The corner of Bastian’s mouth quirked. “For fucking you?” he asked, his eyes glittering. The way he said it, not to mention the way he seemed so sure he would do it again, made everything in my belly contract with remembered ecstasy. The things this man could do to me with only a few words and a heated look were astounding. He chuckled. “Trust me when I say it was my pleasure.”

“No,” I said, pulling my hand away from his face and lowering my gaze. I fiddled with his belt, guiding the end back through the buckle. “Not that I don’t appreciatethat, as well.” I glanced up, meeting his eyes for a single heartbeat. “But for understanding,” I said, returning my attention to his belt. “Most guys would have run away at the first sign of tears.”

“Most guys are assholes,” Bastian said.

I finished with his belt and looked up at his face. “But not you.”

His dimple appeared as a small smile curved his lips. “I have my moments.”

I scooted forward, and Bastian backed up to let me stand. I found my jeans in a heap on the floor behind my desk and quickly slipped back into them, then retrieved my glasses and put them on as well, despite the way they blurred the world. A moment later, I relented and removed them again. For whatever reason, I no longer needed them. I wasn’t going to continue to punish myself with stubbornness just as the headache from wearing them earlier had eased.

“So, what’re you doing now?” Bastian asked.

Combing through my hair with my fingers, I glanced down at the splayed stack of transfer requests on the corner of my desk. “Oh, you know, just working through an endless pile of paperwork.”

“Coffee break?” Bastian suggested. When I hesitated, my stare lingering on the pile of transfer requests, he promised, “I’ll help you with this after.”

“Okay,” I said after a moment. “I’d like that.” I meant it. I wanted to know more about the library intern who had crashed through my heavily constructed barriers.

I slipped my sneakers back on and grabbed my purse from its usual spot atop the short bookcase behind my desk, settling the long shoulder strap crosswise across my body. “Did you have somewhere specific in mind?” I asked as I moved to join Bastian at the door.

“The coffee stand upstairs?” Bastian suggested.

Technically, the coffee stand was in the Suzzallo Library, but since the Allen Library had been connected to the older building when it was constructed, everyone who worked here considered them one and the same.

Bastian reached for the doorknob and pulled the door open, letting me pass through to the hall ahead of him. “Then we can come right back down here and get down to business.”

I eyed him sidelong, catching his double meaning. “Ihaveto get through these transfer requests,” I said.

“I’ll behave,” Bastian said as he shut the door. “Promise.”

I studied him through narrowed eyes, weighing his sincerity, but there was no way the warmth that spread through my chest when I looked at him—and when he looked at me—would let me turn him away. Shaking my head and laughing under my breath, I turned and started down the hallway.

Bastian caught my hand as he fell in step beside me, threading his fingers between mine.

My heart skipped a beat, and I glanced down at our joined hands, fighting the instinct to pull away. I wasn’t used to such casual intimacy. But his hand felt too good, too strong and sure, for me to let go.

So I offered him a slight smile, and we continued on our way.

8

“I’m not going topry,” Bastian said, his words slicing through the tension that thickened around us the longer we sat in silence across from one another at our tiny table in the Suzzallo coffee shop.

Sitting stiffly in my chair, I stared at the plastic lid on the coffee cup held captive in the circle of my fingers.

“But if you want to talk,” he added. “I’m here.”

I glanced at Bastian and flashed him a weak smile. “I don’t want to shock you,” I deflected.

His dimple appeared as his lips curved into a lopsided grin. “Impossible.”

I sighed and relaxed back in my seat, focusing on my coffee cup as I slowly spun it around and around on the table, using only my fingertips. “I was a teen mom,” I said, glancing at Bastian again, just a flick of my eyes, before returning my stare to the cup. “I was fifteen when I, um, well, some stuff happened, and I ended up alone and living on the street.”

My voice took on a hollow tone as I recalled things I had refused to think about for years.

“A group of kids took me in.” I took a deep breath, then corrected myself. “A group ofboystook me in.” Again, I glanced at Bastian. His darkening expression told me he picked up on the unsavory meaning behind my correction. “They didn’t force me, exactly,” I said, my focus returning to the cup. “I had a choice, and I chose the food, shelter, and relative security they offered in exchange for . . . well, you know.”

---