Page 5 of The Mafia King's Reign
"You should always trust the librarian."
He turns back, and the look on his face is... confusing. I mean, I look alright but I'm no supermodel. I don't know why this man keeps looking at me like he wants me. I'm sure he could have anyone.
His focused gaze does something genuinely inconvenient to my pulse.
“Then I’m all yours,” he says, and the weight of his attention settles on me, sending a quiet, unsettling heat through me.
I walk past him and pull a book from the shelf, aware the whole time that I have to lean slightly closer to do it, aware that he doesn't move to give me more room, aware that I don't ask him to.
I pull a book from the shelf and hand it to him. "If you're browsing history," I say, "you could start with The Prince."
His eyebrow lifts slightly. "Machiavelli."
The corner of his mouth curves. "Interesting recommendation."
Something about the way he says it makes my stomach tighten, like there's a meaning behind the words that I'm only halfway catching.
I shrug lightly, trying to keep my tone casual. "It's a classic. I’m actually planning on reading it again myself."
He takes it. Our fingers overlap a half second longer than the handoff requires. His thumb grazes the back of my hand before he pulls back, and I feel that graze all the way up my arm and into my better judgment.
His thumb runs slowly along the spine of the book.
"I'm sure it is."
"Do you have a library card Mr.?" I ask, trying desperately to regain my composure. I am a professional after all.
"Sal. And no. Can I buy it?"
"What is it with rich people always trying to buy everything? Everything is not for sale." I chuckle and he laughs. "You have a beautiful smile," he says.
"Thank you, but I still can't let you buy this book."
"In that case, I'll have to come back for it."
"The book will be here."
"I wasn't only talking about the book."
The words sit between us, easy and unhurried, like he says things like that all the time and simply waits to see what happens next. I hold his gaze and refuse, on principle, to be the one who looks away first.
Then he licks his lips and wins the staring contest he probably didn't realize he was in.
Okay, I have to get back to work.
"Did you want to go ahead and apply for one now? You can use that computer over there," I suggest. "I'll give you some space but let me know if you need me."
"What if Iwantyou?"
Wait... what?
"Ummm, sure if you want my help, let me know," I offer and quickly disappear before I make a bigger fool of myself.
He settles at one of the reading tables with the book, open in front of him, jacket still on, one arm resting on the table, completely unbothered. And every time I glance up, every single time, he's already looking.
Every. Single. Time.
A couple of students come in looking for text books and I go to help them. I'm actually glad for the minor distractionfrom... him. But I find myself moving quicker than normal so I can check to see if he decided to apply for a library card. At least that's what I tell myself. But when I get back to the section where he was sitting, he's gone. No sound. No goodbye. The book is returned to its exact spot on the shelf, spine perfectly aligned.
