I take the stairs up to the main doors of the library. The place is already decked out with Christmas decorations. Between the library and the bar, I'm over Christmas already. Not that I've ever really been a big fan of it anyway. The forced cheer, phony happiness, and pressure to spend time with the family has always bothered me.

“I'll be glad when it's over,” I mutter as I step through the doors and make my way to the employee's lounge.

Of course, the biggest question on my mind right now is whether or not I should go back home for Christmas. Based on how terrible Thanksgiving was, I don't know if I want to subject myself to that again. And as a secondary thought, part of me wonders if Miles will be back home for the holidays. Given how close his family seems, I'm sure he will be.

But, is that an enticement for me to go, or to stay here in L.A.? I'm not sure yet.

Having him drop by the bar the night before rattled the hell out of me. I wasn't expecting to ever see him again, so to be standing there, right next to him, really tested my resolve. I think I handled myself okay though. I remained firm in my stance that we can't be together – that it will never work out between us.

I have to keep saying it in hopes that one day, I’ll actually believe it. The truth is, I honestly have no idea whether or not Miles and I would work as a couple. I do know that

he's rich, good looking, and can have any woman he wants. What in the hell would he want with me, unless it's just for fun? For sport?

No, it's better that I steer clear of him and keep my distance. Better to protect my heart and be alone, rather than be alone and have a shattered heart.

I do my best to shake off any of the negativity surrounding me by the time I step back out onto the library floor. I'm just an assistant here, which means that I'm mostly responsible for cleaning up and putting books back where they belong, as well as scanning in and re-shelving the returns.

It's not a glamorous job, but it's a job, and I can think of much worse ways to spend my day than being surrounded by books.

“Good morning, Sasha,” Mrs. Banks, the head librarian calls in greeting as I take my position at the front.

“Good morning,” I say.

“Ready for Christmas?” she asks.

“Not even close,” I say and laugh softly.

Mrs. Banks is nearing sixty and is one of those people who love Christmas. I mean, she loves it – as in, she probably has her tree at home up by November first. She must, given the fact that she first started talking about Christmas by mid-October. She’s probably the type who has all of her shopping finished by July.

The woman oozes Yuletide cheer. I mean, here we are just a week or so into December and she's already got on a holiday-themed sweater, earrings shaped like ornaments, and a Santa hat. It's like Christmas became a person, walked in, and threw up all over her.

“Well, you're running out of time, dear,” she says. “Better get on that quick.”

“Oh, I plan on it.”

“Are you going home for the holidays?” she asks.

“I haven't decided yet,” I say. “I might.”

She nods. “Well, let me know if you need any time off,” she says. “We’re not too busy this time of the year, so it’s pretty flexible.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Banks,” I say. “I really appreciate that.”

“Of course.”

She gives me a smile before she turns and walks off, humming a Christmas tune to herself. Christmas fetish aside, she's really a nice woman, and I feel fortunate to work for her. She's always been good to me. She sometimes calls me the daughter she wishes she had. It's sweet.

I turn and start scanning last night's returned books back into the system, lining them on the shelf of a wheeled cart beside me as I go.

I realize that I'm humming a song to myself as I work – unsurprisingly, it's Bittersweet Symphony – when something falls onto the desk in front of me. I was so focused on my work, I nearly drop my scanner and jump out of my skin when it hits the desk. When I see what it is – a bag containing a vegetable medley – I look up and find myself staring into the face of Miles Churchill.

I pick up the frozen, plastic bag and give him a wry smile. “Peas and carrots? Really?”

“You said they don't go together,” he says and shrugs. “I just wanted to prove to you that they do.”

I can't keep an amused laugh from bursting out of my throat. “Cute,” I say. “Very cute.”

He shrugs, a cocky grin on his face. “I've been called worse.”

I push the bag of frozen veggies back at him. He's dressed in dark slacks and a black button-down shirt. He's not wearing a tie and the sleeves on his shirt are rolled up – the epitome of stylishly casual. And God, does he look good. I'm careful to keep my expression entirely neutral though. The last thing I want to do is encourage him.

“What are you doing here, Miles?” trying to make myself sound as bored as possible.

“Would you believe me if I told you that I needed to check out a book on quantum physics?”

“Yeah, probably not,” I say.

“A self-help book?”

“Pretty sure you don't need help with your sense of self,” I reply. “You seem to hold yourself in high enough regard as it is.”

“Ouch,” he says. “That’s uncalled for.”

My insides feel like they’re melting, and my heart is doing flips in my chest. This is not good. I need to get him out of here and away from me. Being in such close proximity to the man does things to me – things that won’t benefit either of us.

We need to move forward with our lives – without each other. The best thing we can do is, like I told him last night, keep what happened between us in Washington a pleasant memory and leave it at that.

I scan the last few books and put them on the trolley. “I really need to work, Miles.”

“Have dinner with me,” he says.

I shake my head. “That's not a good idea,” I say. “Now, if you'll excuse me, these books aren't going to shelve themselves.”

Without waiting for his reply, I push the trolley through the low, swinging doors and out onto the library floor. Miles trails behind me for a few steps and I feel his eyes follow my ass. Stopping short, I round on him, my eyes narrowed.

“Stop looking at my ass,” I growl at him in a whisper.

“You'll have to forgive me for being curious,” he says, pitching his voice low. “I never actually got to see it either time we were together, and I wanted to see what I was missing.”

“Knock it off,” I hiss. “Or I'll call security.”

I throw my hands up in the air as a frustrated breath explodes from me. Turning back around, I start to push the trolley again, quickening my pace, no longer caring if he's staring at my ass. There's nothing I can really do about it anyway.

Glancing back over my shoulder, I'm surprised to see that he's not back there. I stop and look around, but don't see him anywhere. Maybe, I finally got through to him. I didn't think it possible, but maybe he finally got it and left, taking his stupid bag of peas and carrots with him.

I can't lie, there's a small piece of me that's disappointed. The fact that Miles has put so much time and energy into tracking me down, then trying to convince me to go out with him is – sweet. In a totally stalker way, of course. But, it's still kind of sweet.

And he almost had me, truth be told. I was teetering on the edge of giving in and accepting his dinner invitation. But he's gone now, so I have some time to repair the few dents he threw into the wall of resolve around my heart.

Turning around, I push the trolley down the aisle that contains science fiction – or at least, one of the aisles with sci-fi. It might be our single biggest section and has hundreds, if not thousands, of titles. I take some of the books home to read from time to time. Reading is pure escapism for me. I can't even begin to express how much I love it.

I shelve a small stack of books, taking care to make sure they're alphabetized properly, and when I turn around, I let out a small shriek of surprise. Miles is leaning against my trolley, a wide, goofy grin on his face.

“I didn't hear you walk up,” I hiss, looking around to make sure no one is watching us. “What are you, some kind of a vampire or something? You just materialize out of thin air?”

He gives me a very serious look, his green eyes as vivid and intense as ever. “Maybe I am,” he says. “Maybe I am.”

“I thought you left,” I say, pushing the trolley away again.

“My business here isn’t done yet.”

He follows behind me again, not saying anything, just staying a few feet behind me. He’s just trying to bother me at this point, I think.

I stop and spin around again. “If you're trying to get on my good side, hovering around like a freak isn't going to do it, Miles.”

“I'm not hovering,” he says. “I'm just waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

“An answer.”

“An answer to what?”

“The question I asked you last night,” he says like it's obvious. “You never answered me when I asked why we wouldn’t work together. Don't think I didn't notice. I'm a lawyer, we're trained to notice omissions like that.”

“Funny man.”

He gives me a crooked grin that nearly stops my heart in my chest. I try to push all of my feelings back, but I can't deny that he's handsome as sin. Miles doesn't realize that he has me wrapped around his little finger. If he asks me to do something, it takes everything in me to say no.

I just can't. I can't afford to be vulnerable around him. I can't expose my heart to the kind of beating it will take if I give in.

“Because we just wouldn’t,” I say.

“Yeah, you tried that one last night,” he says. “But, that's not a complete answer.”

“Yeah well, that's about as complete an answer as I can give you, Miles.”

He shrugs. “Okay, then I'll just follow you around the rest of the day until you either give me an answer or agree to go to dinner with me.”

I sigh dramatically and turn away from him, continuing on with my rounds.

I pass Mrs. Banks and give her a smile as she falls into step beside me. She steals a glance over her shoulder at Miles, who's keeping a respectable distance, but is obviously following me around – and not in a cute puppy dog kind of way. It's more like the annoying little brother desperately seeking your attention kind of way.

“Is that man following you?” Mrs. Banks asks quietly.

“Unfortunately,” I reply.

A mischievous grin touches her lips. “And you're ignoring him… why exactly?”

I chuckle. “Because he’s annoyingly persistent,” I reply. “I've already told him no about a thousand times already. We won’t work out.”

“How do you know?”

“I just do,” I say. “The two of us are from completely different walks of life. We have opposite values and personalities.”

She glances back at him again, then turns to me. “Oh, I don't know about that,” she says. “Miles Churchill is a complicated man. He's got a lot of layers to him. But, if you strip him down to his bare bones, I think you'd be surprised by what you find. I don't think you two are quite as different as you seem to think.”

“You know him?” I ask.

She nods. “Not intimately, of course,” she says. “But he represented my Artie in a case against a former employer and he was the nicest man ever.”

“Lawyers can put up a good act, Mrs. Banks,” I say dryly.

She shrugs. “True, but you can also see through the BS if you look and listen closely enough,” she says. “If you pay attention, you can spot the phonies from the real deal.”

“And you think Miles is the real deal?”

“I know he is, dear,” she says. “He took such good care of us – even when he didn't have to.”

It's interesting. My initial read on Miles was that he was a good guy who put up a front. But I had nothing to base it on, it was just a gut feeling. To have Mrs. Banks – someone I think is very sharp and a good judge of character – vouch for him is interesting.

Of course, her experience with him was in a professional capacity. I absolutely believe he isn't the cold, heartless machine simply counting up wins and losses that he makes himself out to be. I know there's a lot more to Miles than that.

Dealing with him in a romantic capacity is something entirely different. Or at least, it would be, if I ever gave him the chance – something I'm still not sure I should do. Even with Mrs. Banks' endorsement, I don't know that I can risk letting my guard down. I just don't know that I can trust him with my heart.

“What does he want?” she asks.

“He wants to take me out to dinner.”

“You should take him up on his offer, dear,” she says. “He's one of the good ones. Take my word for it.”

If only I could. Mrs. Banks gives me a smile, then peels off and heads back toward the front desk. I look back at Miles who just gives me a wave in reply. I roll my eyes and continue doing my job.

Half an hour later, I'm finished shelving all the books and am pushing the trolley back into the library's storage rooms and warehouse. It's a restricted area, so I'm glad to have the reprieve from my shadow. It'll give me a chance to breathe and a few minutes to clear my head.

I wheel the trolley back to the designated area we keep them in, then turn back and nearly jump out of my skin for the second time that day. Standing there, leaning casually against one of the large racks of books, is Miles. He's got his arms folded over his chest, and one ankle crossed over the other.

He gives me a Cheshire Cat grin. “Sorry, didn't mean to startle you.”

“You're not supposed to be back here,” I say. “This area is for employees.”

He shrugs. “Mrs. Banks let me back here. Forgot I represented her husband a few years back. Where there’s a will, there’s a way.”

“You're impossible.”

“I'm actually not,” he replies. “I'm just asking for an answer to the question – or for you to agree to have dinner with me tonight. Is that really so bad?”

I huff and turn around, walking into one of the storage rooms. His footsteps echo off the floor as he walks in and shuts the door behind him with a soft click. I move among the big racks of books, trying to keep out of his sight. He’s too damn tempting to be around right now.

His footsteps draw near, so I turn and walk down another aisle, keeping one of the tall racks between us. I'm moving as lightly as I can, doing my best to keep my heels from clicking against the concrete floor and giving away my position. I stop to listen – and hear nothing.

I strain my ears, listening for furtive footsteps or the scrape of his shoes against the floor but don't hear anything but the sound of my own shallow breathing. He's obviously playing a cat and mouse game with me.

It's silly, but I have to suppress a giggle as I silently walk down one of the aisles between the racks. I have an idea to double back to the door that will lead me out to the main warehouse and leave him in here alone. That should teach him to leave me alone when I tell him to.

As I round the corner to head back toward the door, I let out a cry when I find Miles standing there casually, a devilish grin on his face.

“Gotcha,” he says.

I try to slow my heart and get my breathing back under control. Putting on the sternest face I can manage, I glare at him.

“I wasn't playing a game,” I say.

He shrugs. “Could have fooled me.”

“Clearly,” I say. “Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do.”

As I move to walk past him, he grabs me by the hand and pulls me against the wall near the end of the tall rack. My breath catches in my throat and my eyes are wide, locked onto his. He's looking back at me and I can see the lust and desire burning in his eyes. He looks me up and down and licks his lips.

The way he's looking at me – like I'm the most beautiful woman in the world – makes my heart stutter in my chest. Every nerve ending feels like it's crackling with electricity and I feel myself growing wet. God, the effect this man has on me is unreal. That he can turn me on with nothing more than a look drives me crazy.

He's standing so close that I can feel the warmth of his breath on my skin. I can smell the faint traces of his aftershave and feel the sexual energy passing between us. I try to contain these feelings and stuff them down and lock them away. But with Miles standing so close to me, it's an exercise in futility.

“Have I ever told you about my naughty librarian fantasies?” he asks.

My mouth is dry, and my powers of speech seem to have evaporated. All I can do is stand there, looking at him, and shaking my head. He gives me a gentle, hesitant smile before leaning down and pressing his mouth to mine. My lips part instantly, permitting him to slip his tongue into my mouth. His kiss steals my breath away and practically stops my heart. I feel like a fire is smoldering between my thighs and all I can think about – all I want – is to have him inside of me.

“I haven't been able to stop thinking about you,” he says, his voice low and gruff. “I can't seem to get you out of my head, Sasha.”

“I couldn’t stop thinking about you either.”

He kisses me again with unbridled passion. I moan softly against his mouth, my entire body quivering as he runs his hands up and down my back. This is crazy. Insane. We could be caught at any minute. Mrs. Banks or any of the other employees could walk in here and find us. My brain knows this, but my body doesn't seem to care.

“We have to be fast,” I say softly, my voice breathy.

Miles nods and I squeal with excitement as he picks me up. He turns around and carries me over to a workbench, setting me down on top of it, cupping my breasts through my white button-down, circling my stiff nipples with his thumbs as he kisses me. I throw my head back and moan softly as he pinches my nipples, squeezing them between his fingers.

“I need you,” I whisper. “I need to feel you inside of me.”

I promised myself I wouldn't do this again – not with Miles. I promised myself that things between the two of us were over and that I would move on and forget all about him. But as I reach down and grip his stiff cock through his slacks, all the promises I made to myself fly straight out the window. I'm nothing more than a quivering ball of sensation and lust at this point.

Miles runs his hands up my thighs, his fingertips rough – even through the silky fabric of my stocking. He pushes my skirt up around my waist, his mouth never leaving mine. I whimper against his lips as he touches me through my panties. When he pulls them to the side and slips a finger deep inside my depths, I cry out instinctively.

Reaching down, I start tugging at his belt, frantically trying to get it off of him. Miles helps me with his pants, and soon enough, I have the belt undone. He pulls his wallet out of his pocket and fishes out a condom as I unzip his pants and reach inside, gripping his cock with my right hand. He growls, closing his, clearly enjoying the sensation as I start to stroke him.

He takes my hands off him and rolls the condom down the length of his cock. He's ready. I scoot myself to the edge of the workbench and part my thighs a little wider for him. Miles steps forward, never taking his eyes off me. He grips his cock and runs it around my swollen, sensitive lips, slipping the head between my velvety folds.

I thrust my pelvis toward him, impatient to have his cock inside of me. Miles pulls back, a playful smirk upon his lips.

“So, does this mean you'll have dinner with me tonight?”

“Maybe.”

He teases my clit with his finger, his cock still tantalizingly out of reach. “Maybe?”

I'm shaking so hard the workbench vibrates beneath me. My entire body is aching, and I need to feel him inside of me.

“Yes, I'll have dinner with you tonight,” I say. “Now, shut up and fuck me.”

Miles has a satisfied smile on his face, but doesn't say a word. Instead, he steps forward and sinks his cock as deep into me as he can. My eyes open wide and my mouth falls open as a stuttering gasp escapes me. He's sheathed inside of me deeper than ever before, and my entire body is locked up as wave after wave of sensation – slight pricks of pain, followed by large doses of pleasure – combine to overwhelm me.

I bite the side of my hand hard enough to leave deep marks and to keep from crying out too loudly. Miles starts to drive his hips forward, sinking his thick cock into me, hitting that spot deep within me and threatening to push me over the edge.

I grip his shoulders, my nails digging into him as he fucks me. I lean forward and kiss him, my tongue exploring his mouth as bolts of lightning shoot along my skin, sending me hurtling toward the brink of the most powerful orgasm I've ever had.

“Mm, Miles,” I gasp. “Oh, yes. Just like that. Yes.”

I look up and see Miles staring back at me, his eyes locked onto mine. His jaw is clenched, and his face is flushed. He reaches behind me and cups my ass, squeezing the soft flesh for a minute before he pulls me forward at the same time he plunges even deeper. He hits that spot again, harder this time, and that's it for me.

He draws in a sharp breath as I dig my nails into his shoulders. If he didn’t have a shirt on, I probably would have drawn blood. Miles drives himself into me one last time and I cry out, my voice echoing around the storage room as my body trembles and shakes. It feels like every muscle in my body constricts for a moment as my orgasm crashes down over me like a tidal wave. My insides turn to jelly as I quiver and shake.

“Jesus,” I moan softly, my pussy still twitching like crazy. “That was fucking amazing.”

Miles presses his lips to mine, his cock throbbing inside of me. I squeeze him with the muscles inside of me, gripping him as tight as I can. He gasps as I milk his cock with my muscles, a look of pure bliss crossing his face.

“My turn,” he says, his voice low and hoarse.

Miles starts to pump his hips again, driving himself into me. It's a slow, smooth rhythm at first, but it's not long before he's picked up the pace. Soon enough, his jaw is clenched, and his entire body is tight as he pounds himself into me. I'm groaning along with him; my body being inundated by sensations as he fucks me.

It's not long before he has me at that pinnacle again and when he finally grunts, a slow moan crossing his lips. He's lost his rhythm entirely, his thrusting into me becoming wild and desperate. He throws his head back and growls as I feel his cock pulsing. As Miles bursts inside the condom, he touches off another flood of pleasure inside of me. I cling to him tightly, our bodies shaking, our breath coming out in labored gasps.

Slowly, the sensations fade, and we're left with our foreheads pressed together, reveling in the afterglow. Miles' cock deflates, and he takes it out, slipping the condom off and dropping it into the trash beside the workbench.

He steps back and helps me down, then without a word, we both quickly pull ourselves back together, straightening and smoothing our clothes, and doing everything in our power to not look like two people who just banged each other in the storage room like a bunch of horny teens.

We give each other the once over and a nod of approval before we head back out onto the floor. Once back out, I look around nervously and am relieved that nobody seems to be paying us any mind at all. Miles turns to me and gives me a cocky, arrogant smile.

“Pick you up around six-thirty?” he asks.

My mind is screaming at me to stop while my body is screaming for me to go. I vowed that this was done, that once I was back in L.A., I wasn't going to see Miles – let alone screw him again. And yet, here we are.

He looks at me with a cocky smile and a glitter in his vibrant green eyes and I'm suddenly overwhelmed with the need to have him again. This time, I want to see him naked – completely naked. The few times we've been together, it's been in awkward, semi-public places. It's exciting, I'm not going to lie. The thrill of fucking in places we could be caught adds a little extra spice. But, as I look at him standing there, all stylish and sexy, I know I need to see him without a stitch of clothing on.

“Six-thirty,” I say.

His smile is dazzling and nearly knocks me off my feet right then and there – not difficult to do, since my head is still spinning from the sex we'd just had.

We walk beside each other toward the front desk. I've been gone for a little while and know I need to get back to work. He gives me a wink as he heads back to the front doors while I slip behind the desk and start to organize some piles of books. Christmas music booms from the small sound system a little louder than normal and from the corner of my eye, I catch Mrs. Banks looking at me, a knowing grin on her face. My cheeks are already burning bright when I turn to her.

“Yes, I agreed to have dinner with him,” I say and laugh.

“Oh, I thought you might,” she says.

I cock my head and look at her, trying to figure out the enigmatic smile on her face.

“What is it?” I finally ask.

“Oh nothing,” she says. “But, if Mr. Churchill stops by again, you might want to – conference – with him in storage room thirteen. Its ventilation system doesn't back up to the front desk and affords a little more privacy.”

She points to the ventilation grate on the back wall behind the front desk and the full meaning becomes crystal clear in that instant.

“Oh no,” I say, my voice barely more than a whisper.

She laughs like it's the funniest thing she's heard in her life and all I can do is stand there wishing the earth would swallow me whole, or a bolt of lightning would streak down and turn me into a pile of ash. I have never been so humiliated in all my life. But Mrs. Banks puts a gentle hand on my arm and smiles.

“You know, I was young once too,” she says. “How do you think I know storage room thirteen is best for – conferences?”

Mrs. Banks gives me a wink and a laugh as she turns and walks away, leaving me there feeling absolutely mortified. As I watch her go though, I laugh softly to myself. There's a lot more to that woman than she lets on.