In the Stacks Read online

  In the Stacks

  Marie Carnay

  Book 1 in the Degree After Dark series. It is advisable to read the books in order to get the most enjoyment from the series.

  Leah is stuck working night shift at the library. She is edgy, adventurous, and wants life to be anything but ordinary. Headphones in place, lost in a relentless beat, she dances the hours away until an unexpected stranger crashes the party. With just a touch, Bruce sparks desire deep inside her.

  Although complete opposites—she’s a punk rebel and he’s an all-American heartthrob—his touch turns her molten and incinerates her inhibitions. When Leah ends up alone with Bruce in the basement stacks, he turns a boring night into a sexual escapade she’ll never forget.

  An Exotika® contemporary erotica story from Ellora’s Cave

  In the Stacks

  Marie Carnay

  Chapter One

  Leah maneuvered the library cart down the aisle, jostling it every few feet to dislodge a wheel from its age and reluctance. Her eyes flitted over the call numbers, scanning each row until they lit on the right sequence. Hitching up her dress, she crouched and pulled the last book off the cart. Her fingers ran over the worn spines on the shelf, the glossy black polish of her fingernails underlining the call numbers with precision until she found a gap in the sequence and the empty space she needed. Prying the books apart, she wedged the textbook into place and gave it a shove for good measure. Damn schedule. I should’ve asked for Fridays off in the summer when I had the chance.

  She rubbed her neck, poking at the stiffness in her muscles. The dust from the books mixed with the sheen of sweat on her skin, coating her neck in a grimy film that made her groan. She shut her eyes, blocking out the endless rows of books, and let her head drift forward to rest on the shelf.

  As the metal cooled her skin she thought of her friends partying without her—both fortunate not to need jobs in graduate school—and imagined them out on the dance floor, a drink in one hand, a hot guy in the other. Leah pictured herself there, dressed in something indecent, pressed into the curve of a stranger’s body, sweat beading on the small of her back while she ground her hips into his.

  They’d found the club first semester, when Leah stumbled down a set of basement stairs—a tipsy woman looking for a bathroom—and found heaven. A filthy, neon-light-and-vodka heaven, but heaven all the same.

  The music pushed its way out of every crack in the wall, every gap between door and floor, and pushed its way into her body with a thump-thump that mimicked her heart. She’d lean over the bar, curving her body over the hammered sheet metal, and knock a few back, soothing her parched throat and liquor-starved body. Once those tingly vodka fingers crept through her veins and snuffed out her inhibitions, she’d push her way into the teeming masses, the bodies pressed close enough for the smell of sweat, alcohol and perfume to blend into recklessness and abandon.

  She’d grab the nearest testosterone-driven, gyrating male, and lose herself in the wonder of him. Her hands would grip his shirt, twisting the sweat-soaked fabric into a rope to lash their bodies together. Her fingers would slip underneath and find his secret tattoos and piercings, caress his rebellion and angst, and send him into orbit as they danced. On a lucky night, he’d get the hint, putting his hands everywhere, anywhere. They’d dance to the brutal beat rattling their teeth and shaking their souls—a pair of temporary hedonists lost in the grit of a basement wonderland—until the sun filtered in and the night disappeared. And on an extraordinary night, she’d take him home.

  Groaning, Leah opened her eyes, not to the lushness of the club and the heat of a man pressed close, but to the books. Row, upon row, upon row of books. Remember the apartment you love, the food in your fridge, the new dress in your closet, she repeated like a mantra. Those all come with a price, and this is it. Leah pushed up to stand, the bare-skin-on-vinyl stickiness of her legs as they separated reminding her of the club. Her dress flounced to her knees, the jersey knit bouncing as she leaned over to undo the buckles on her boots. Loosening the laces, she slipped her feet out of the worn leather and sighed as a delightful chill from the floor soaked into her naked toes.

  She flexed her feet and raised her arms above her head, stretching from toes to fingertips to wake her body and shake herself out of the library doldrums and into a better mood. With a few minutes left in her shift, she could go downstairs, grab another cart and shelve a few more books. Or she could ease into the night, her night, right there in the stacks. Smiling, she grabbed her phone, shoved her earbuds in and scanned her music, settling on a gritty underground track to fill her head and transport her to the basement of her imagination. Slipping away into the beat, feeling it slam right into her chest like a velvet-clad fist hitting, rocking, shaking her, she closed her eyes and danced. She bounced up and down, swayed to the music as it hit that sweet spot inside her—the part where passion, danger and lust swirled together in perfect rhythm—oblivious to anything and everything around her.

  As she danced, from far away on the corners of her consciousness, a sound like warm molasses oozed into her ear.

  “Excuse me…miss?”

  Leah cracked open her eyes, the music’s decadence still smothering her senses. She turned her head, eyelashes fluttering and eyes focusing, and jumped nearly out of her skin. The earbuds ripped out, she stumbled and tripped over her boots, and landed on her butt in a jumbled, jostled mess.

  “I’m so sorry. Here let me help you.” The man standing in front of her held out his hand in an apology, but Leah shook her head.

  “No I’ve got it, really.” As she righted herself, untwisting her dress, twirling her earbuds around her phone and setting it on a shelf, she smiled her librarian smile. “You must be desperate to search for me all the way up here in the textbook corner. How can I help you?”

  The man looked at her, his eyes running over her dyed-black hair, her jersey tank dress, her bare feet blending into the bone-colored floor. “Forgive me for asking, but do you work here?”

  Leah blushed, her cheeks burning as she held his gaze. “Yes, I work here. This place is empty in the middle of the night, so I dress down for the night shift. Although I usually keep my shoes on. Sorry.”

  Leah bent and grabbed her boots by the shafts, but the man stopped her, his fingers brushing the bare skin of her arm. As they touched, heat ripped through her, his fingers a book of blunt matches flaming to life and searing her skin. Leah shivered and her hand uncurled, leaving the combat boots in a heap on the floor. She stood and really looked at him. He seemed ordinary—clean cut, short brown hair, wearing faded jeans and a plain gray t-shirt. An attractive but normal guy, someone Leah wouldn’t even stop to look at on the street. She preferred a man with swagger, with cocky arrogance accentuated by an expertly inked tattoo that screamed, “Come rip my clothes off and find out what I’m hiding.” But her arm still burned where his fingers grazed her skin and she couldn’t seem to look away.

  “Don’t go to any trouble on my account. I’ve been all over this library, and you’re the first person I’ve found. I just need to find a single property record. The University archives those, right?”

  “Indeed it does. But you won’t be able to find the record without a librarian, so I really will need to put on my boots.” Leah smirked at him, her nose crinkling as she grabbed her boots and slid them on.

  “Maybe I’ve lost my mind and dreamt you up. The world’s sexiest punk librarian. I’m not sure you’re real.”

  Leah snorted, deciding to leave her boots unlaced and unbuckled so they’d rattle and bang as she stomped away from him. “I’d say the same of you, but my dreams tend to run a little darker, with more edge. Not so vanilla and boring.”

  “Wow, you’re laying on the compliments so
thick, I might just let them go to my head,” he said, breaking into a smile that made his eyes glow even in the fluorescent light.

  Leah winced and held out her hand. “I’m sorry. I definitely deserve that. I’m Leah, pleased to meet you.”

  “Bruce, and the pleasure’s all mine, remember?” He took her hand and their skin touched and sparked, a set of jumper cables connecting two cars, one engine revving another to life from the edge of nothing. The current ran through her, flushing her skin, filling her lungs, pumping her heart. In all her basement romances, her bad-boy relationships, she’d never felt such a spark, such an immediate fire. Maybe Bruce has a whole lot more to offer than his all-American good looks.

  “I’m not so sure about that,” she responded after an extended pause, dragging her hand out of his grasp. Leah ran her fingers over her palm, her thumb tracing the static shadow of Bruce’s touch. “So…you need a property record, right?”

  “Yeah. I need a specific plat from when an area was first developed in the twenties. You said I need a librarian to find it, so…can you help me?” He raised his eyebrows and rubbed the back of his neck.

  Snapping into librarian mode, Leah smiled and grabbed her phone. “Yes, they’re tucked into a side room in the basement stacks and you’ll need my key to turn on the records room computer to search for the book and plat number. I’ll take you there. The information desk is closed until 8:00 a.m., but I should be able to find what you’re looking for without too much trouble.”

  “Thank you. I owe you for this,” Bruce responded with a smile.

  “Let’s see if I can actually find what you’re looking for first, okay?” She slipped past him to walk toward the elevator. As she walked in front of him, her boots thudding and jangling with each step, she tried to stamp out the fire inside her. I’m being ridiculous. He’s a complete stranger and probably boring to boot, she thought to herself as she pushed the elevator button. The button lit, its orange glow a silent reminder of the man behind her and the embers still glowing in her body.

  Leah closed her eyes and let her imagination undress Bruce, its smoky tendrils wafting under his shirt, caressing the peaks and valleys of his stomach, his chest, his shoulders. Would he have any surprises under his clothes waiting to be discovered? The elevator dinged and she sighed, opening her eyes as the image vanished. Stepping inside, Leah turned to face the front and the sight of Bruce—the real, non-imaginary version—set her heart racing. She raked her fingers through her hair, smoothing the inky strands with trembling fingers. She was unstable, combustible, about to ignite.

  The elevator doors slid shut, sealing them inside a four-by-five tinderbox. Leah held her breath as the elevator announced each passing floor, each ding a strike of flint on steel needing only an exhalation to spark. When the elevator reached the basement Leah stepped off, forcing out a breath and inhaling deeply. You are a librarian, he is a patron, you are a librarian, he is a patron. The new mantra repeated over and over in her head as she wound around the empty information desk, down the hallway and into the property record room, with Bruce a step behind.

  “Here we go. These are all the property records we have,” she said, waving her arm in illustration. “We can look up the plat book on the computer by address or tax ID if you have it.” She plastered her detached librarian smile on her face, rolled onto her toes, and waited.

  Bruce reached into his pocket and fished out a scrap of paper, handing it over. “Here’s the tax ID.”

  Leah snatched the paper, scrupulously avoiding contact with Bruce’s fingers, and read the numbers. “Okay, let’s go look it up.” She turned and motioned for him to follow.

  “So I take it you work the night shift. Is that by choice?” Bruce asked as he followed her down the aisle.

  “Yes and no,” Leah answered, turning her head so he could hear. “I like how quiet it is, how solitary the library is at night. But between coursework and teaching a class this semester I can only work the night shift on the weekends. And the weekend shift is not my favorite. I’d much rather be out, um…well, drinking probably.” She ducked her head and laughed at herself for being so honest.

  “So you take courses and you teach? Graduate student, I assume?”

  “Yes. I’m working on a Ph.D. in pure mathematics. And I teach an intro-level undergraduate math course. It’s required to receive a stipend and to be eligible for glamorous and exciting jobs like the night shift at the library.”

  Bruce’s eyebrows raised and he ran his hand over his cropped hair. “So you’re a math nerd?”

  “What, don’t I look the part?” Leah laughed, looking down at her jersey dress and combat boots.

  “I didn’t mean—” Bruce started, attempting to apologize, but Leah cut him off.

  “No, I know. Believe me, I know I don’t look like a typical math student. You should hear what professors say the first time they see me. Or students for that matter.” Turning to the computer, Leah inserted her key and turned it on, hearing the hum as the ancient machine warmed up. “Sorry, this thing’s pretty slow. It’ll take a few minutes.”

  “Oh, no worries. I have plenty of time,” Bruce responded, tucking his hands into his pockets and relaxing his shoulders.

  “So why are you looking up a property record at one in the morning, anyway?” Leah glanced back up at Bruce with genuine curiosity.

  “Oh, it’s for work. I need to confirm the original property boundaries for a parcel that I might purchase…at 8:00 a.m. I should have been here weeks ago, but honestly, I can’t stand the library…” He looked down at his feet and then back up at Leah. “But, now I’m glad I waited,” he added, his eyes warm and admiring.

  Leah smiled at the artless compliment and waved at all the books. “What? You don’t like having to look up records here? But it’s so user-friendly, easy and accessible.”

  “Right. I bet you say that to all the guys.”

  “If you really hate the library, you could always try the county records office. They probably have what you need,” Leah offered.

  “I always go there first. I’m a commercial developer and builder. Hospitals, office buildings, that kind of thing. But if I’m buying a parcel that has complicated history, I want to learn everything I can. This one’s changed hands a lot so I needed to come here to check the archives. The last thing I want to do is build a shopping mall on top of an abandoned cemetery. Too many horror movies about that kind of thing.”

  Leah laughed, surprised at their ease of conversation when she wasn’t distracted by picturing him naked. “So how do you have privileges here if you’re a commercial developer? I thought only students and faculty had access to the library.”

  “Oh, I teach an undergrad course on commercial real estate for business majors. I guess part-time lecturers rate privileges too.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude.” Leah reached out in apology to touch Bruce’s hand. Her fingers wrapped around the back of his hand and a thousand miniature bombs exploded, goose bumps running up her arm. She quivered and started to pull away when he grabbed her hand and held it there, squeezing gently. She looked up at him and forced herself to breathe.

  She slid her hand out from between his and turned back to face the computer. “So…when you’re on the job, building a shopping mall, are you more of an office-type, running the show from your desk, or do you actually get your hands dirty?”

  “Both. I can’t stand being cooped up in an office, so I’m usually out on the job as much as I can be.”

  Leah imagined him on a job site in the hot summer sun, pounding nails, shirt off and chest gleaming with sweat, carpenter’s tool belt around his waist. The image liquefied her, turned her molten, as she stood there waiting for the computer to boot. Her thong dampened between her legs and her nipples hardened with desire. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared straight ahead, boring holes in the computer screen while the little hourglass just turned and turned.

  “So, what does your boyfriend thin
k about you working nights?” Bruce stepped closer behind her, his body heat hitting Leah in waves, churning and swirling the heat in her belly. “He can’t be happy that you’re all alone in this huge place all night long.”

  She turned her head toward him, her nose in line with her shoulder, and inhaled. He smelled of warm cinnamon, cedar and musk. “No boyfriend,” she managed to answer as her knees weakened. She uncrossed her arms and gripped the table to keep from turning around to face him, her fingers splayed on the worn wood top.

  “Not interested, or just haven’t found the right one?” Bruce leaned closer, breathing a hot path across her neck.

  She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, drawing the smell of him deep into her lungs. Her chest rose and fell in measured cadence, her nipples, painful from arousal, rubbing on her dress with each breath.

  “Apparently,” she answered without looking up, “I have terrible taste. My last boyfriend just up and disappeared without so much as a goodbye, apart from clearing out my wallet. And the one before that…yeah, he broke up with me via text. Said I wasn’t edgy enough for him.”

  Bruce laughed deep in his chest as he pressed into her back. “Well, it sounds like you need a new stomping ground, somewhere you can find someone who’s actually worthy of your attention. Maybe you should try the library.” He placed his hands on the table on either side of hers, stepping closer until his body touched hers from shoulder to ass, singeing her skin and fueling the fire crackling and popping deep in her body.

  “How about you?” Leah whispered, her breath hot and labored. “What does your girlfriend have to say about your midnight trip to the library?”

  “No girlfriend.”

  “Really?” Leah exhaled. “I’d have pegged you for the committed-relationship sort. What’s the story? Please don’t tell me you’re secretly an axe murderer.”

  Bruce laughed and stepped back, the cold of his sudden absence making Leah shiver and turn to face him. He ran his hand over his hair and shrugged. “No story, I just haven’t found anyone who doesn’t turn out to be boring and vapid. You’re right—not that I’m an axe murderer, but that I’m the ‘committed relationship sort’. That’s what you called it, right? But after a few months, I discover I’ve learned all there is and it’s not enough. So I move on. And right now I’m single. Just me and my dogs.”