Page 17 of Masquerade

So, he was a book lover, happy to entertain himself. Usually her favourite kind of person, so why this itch between her shoulder blades? Attractive, eminently kissable, and he saw people as individuals. No wonder her body hummed as he walked away. Unbidden, an image snuck into her head. Propped against the pillows in her bed, warmed by his body heat, he was reading to her, his maple-syrup-infused voice as seductive as his touch.

The final frenzy of the shift’s last twenty minutes set in, forcing Kate to abandon her fantasy. Usually, she had no trouble compartmentalising her two lives—plotting romance and focusing on her research or the library. Being with Liam blurred the lines.

“Where have you moved Stephen King?” A regular appeared at her desk, as if they’d forgotten that K came before T in the alphabet.

“Same place as last week.” Kate pointed to where the borrower had been sitting.

“Where’s the book I reserved?” The octogenarian with the tightly curled, purple hair demanded.

“On the reserved shelf.” But Kate stepped around the counter to assist the woman.

“It’s a sin against nature to wave a book under that scanny thing,” Mrs. Underwood harrumphed. “This isn’t a supermarket.”

Kate collected the book, talked the woman through the scanning process and handed her the receipt.

“Even looks like a supermarket docket.” The woman’s painted eyebrows disappeared into her fringe in unspoken rebuke. “I liked having a card.”

“You’ve got a card, Mrs. Underwood,” Kate explained for the fifth time tonight and the twenty-fifth time this month.

“It’s plastic.” The wily, old woman winked.

“The way of the world,” Kate replied. They had this conversation every week. She packed Mrs. Underwood’s bag, noting the book on top. “I think you’ll enjoy the new Anne Gracie.”

“Tells a good story. A lot of action in the bedroom.” Mrs. Underwood’s taste leaned towards racy, historical romances.

By the time Kate had rounded up the teenagers wrapped around each other—“we were studying”—and shooed them through the door, it was a few minutes after eight. She bolted the library entrance; the security guard would close the building later. Liam was missing. Walking the length of the room, she checked each row to find his hiding place. About to text him, she spotted him in the special display section, leafing through this week’s recommended reads. She froze, then took a few cautious steps down the aisle.

“This is incredible.” He turned to her.

She braced herself for the superior smile and snide words a man like Liam inevitably spewed on lovers of romance.

“Some of these authors are new to me,” he enthused.

She stumbled. Her shoe must have caught on a rough spot on the carpet tiles.

“Are you okay?” He caught her before she headbutted him mid chest.

“Fine,” she managed. Scanning his face, she waited for the gotcha moment. His hands curled around her forearms, holding her steady. Impossible to ignore his warm scent this close. Subtle, complex with a hint of red-blooded male. “Some of our regulars are huge fans of romance.”

“It’s not often libraries showcase romance.”

“They’re good writers telling stories that bring pleasure to millions.” Kate used the pitch she’d prepared to convince the senior male librarian the first time she’d showcased romance.

“Whoa.” He stepped back and raised his hands in surrender. “You don’t have to convince me. I’m a fan.”

“Of what?”

Andrew and his friends had shaped Kate’s perceptions about lawyers and suits. Andrew’s initial encouragement of her writing had turned to disdain. In the end, he’d weaponised his knowledge of her writing dream. Brainless bimbo had been one of his milder insults. An assessment shared by her father, her father’s literary agent, her mother and their literary friends.

“Hand on heart.” His action followed his words.

“You read romance?” She knew men read and loved romance. She’d met them at conferences, chatted to them online and in forums and here in the library. She’d just assumed they’d been born on a different planet to Liam.

“Not so much these days. But I keep in touch with trends, new authors so I can surprise Mum with a pile every few months.”

Are you for real?

“You want me to believe you prowl the romance aisles of bookshops?” Kate watched his reaction, looking for telltale signs of ridicule.

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