Page 28 of Bookworm
Groaning, he broke the kiss, still clutching me tightly against him. Our noses brushed as we each gasped for breath, panting and desperate for more.
After a moment, I asked, “Now what?”
There was a brief pause before Adam said, “Now we sneak back into the library and repair some books.”
Chapter Eight
Admittedly, sneaking back in was a lot easier and less stress-inducing than sneaking the book out with Dr. O’Macklin at my side.
There were dozens of people in the library studying. Several students waved to Adam as we walked past them toward the rare books room.
When we arrived at the door, I pressed my thumb to the silver screen and waited for the light to turn green with a beep and a click of the lock.
“Unlocked,” the robot voice said.
I entered the room, shutting the door behind me and waited a few seconds for Adam to buzz himself in next.
He shut the door behind him as I scrambled to dump out the materials on the table from the bag he brought in. I’d been too nervous to put the glue and paint and india in the same bag as the book I’d accidentally stolen. That was all we needed. Some sort of broken bottle catastrophe where black ink spilled all over the book.
“What can I do to help?” Adam asked.
“Did you take any restoration classes with your English degrees?”
As he shook his head, my gaze drifted to where his lips pressed into a firm, white line. I grew hot at the sight of them. Hot at the memory of those lips on mine and his hands threaded into my hair.
Dammit. I needed to focus.
“Even still,” Adam said, “I can prep the books for you. Dust the pages you’ll be working on or whatever.”
I nodded and hopped up, grabbing the small handful of books that had fallen from the shelf earlier today and needed repairs.
An extra set of handswouldbe helpful. My goal was to finish all six of these repairs tonight so that tomorrow no one would know they were damaged. And that included drying time of the glue and ink.
We had a long night ahead of us.
“I’ll demo the prep work on Robinson Caruso. Then while I repair the corner of this one, you can start prepping the next book. And so on and so forth.” I said, reaching over to grab the archival brush and can of compressed air from the table.
I slowed down my work as I prepped the book, explaining each step to Adam along the way. He watched me, an intense look in his eyes that I couldn’t quite decipher. Was that his concentration face? Or was it something more?
When I finished the prep work, he smiled, the low, cool overhead lights making his dark hair look almost bluish. “You’re incredible,” he whispered.
I startled, almost dropping the can of compressed air. “For blowing some air on an old book?” I joked. “You’re an easy man to impress. Just wait until you see what I can do with some ice cubes and hot wax.” I gave him an exaggerated wink.
But he didn’t crack a smile. He merely held my gaze. “I’m serious, Harper.”
“I am, too. I’mreallygood with hot wax.”
Finally, he cracked a smile. Making a sound that wasn’t unlike air leaking out of a punctured tire, he shook his head. “If you say so.”
Heat stained my cheeks. I wasn’t used to compliments. Even in school when I was top of my class, Professor Locke didn’t give them very often. Or ever.You don’t deserve praise for a job well-done. It’s your job. It’s supposed to be, at the least, well done.
I glanced up from my work to find Adam’s gaze still on me. Not on my hands. Not on the book. But on me. Steadfast and mostly serious, though there is a glint of something playful and boyish.
“Thank you,” I murmured finally. Professor Locke be damned.
The playful lift of his lips twitches higher. “You’re welcome. I can see why you graduated top of your class.”
I blinked, even more surprised than I was with the compliment. “You know that?”
