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I have no problem watching his fabulous form as he struts across the room to tug on a pair of joggers, giving me a first-rate view of his tight butt. I grip the sheets and yank them up to my neck. He catches me doing this and gives me a sly grin.
“You shy, baby?”
“Well, it’s just that I’m not used to waking up in a man’s bed…naked.” My voice trails off as I nearly choke out the last word.
“My bed,” he says firmly. “Not any man’s bed, Gwen. You’re in my bed. And I like you here.” Caleb steps closer and puts his fists on the mattress, his gaze firmly fixed on me. “Last night was beautiful. I like you sweet. I like you hot for me. I love hearing you call my name and begging for more. Most of all, I love the way you trusted me to take care of you. That was the best night I’ve ever had.”
“Me too,” I whisper, then stupidly add, “Not that I’ve had much to compare it to.”
“This is only the beginning. Let’s see what new ways I’ll find to make you scream my name tonight,” he teases. He gives me a promising wink and saunters out the door.
Once he’s gone, I can concentrate on getting ready. I’ve never moved so fast. I’m not one to spend a ton of time primping. I choose simple, high-waisted, flowy, navy pants with a button-down, three-quarter-sleeve, cream blouse. I like to wear pants to work because it makes it easier when I’m trying to take things off or put things on the shelves. I do a lot of bending and lifting, and I love getting down onto the carpet with the kids at reading time or when we have our craft centers.
Being a librarian means I get to introduce kids to literature, but I also create a vibrant community space where they can use their imagination. I remember how much fun Zaira and I had creating our own endings to stories. The sillier the ending, the more she giggled. She had an amazing laugh.
Zaira would have loved Caleb. And I know Caleb would have loved her too. Zaira gravitated to good people. It could also be that she brought out the best in others. When she died, I’d imagined it would be a small funeral, but in fact, all the kids and parents from day care made an appearance. Her teachers were openly weeping. Nurses and doctors who saw her daily came to pay their respects. They even created a fund called “Zaira Lives” for kids with heart defects.
I appreciated all the effort, but in the end, I needed to move on for my own sake. I plan on finding ways to raise funds for the cause and donate to “Zaira Lives,” but I needed to settle in first. Maybe I can ask Chloe and the others to help out.
“Gwen, it’s getting later by the second.”
“Coming.”
Caleb whips up English muffins, jam, butter, and fresh coffee, which is just what I need.
* * *
Caleb
We park in front of the library, and Gwendolyn reaches for her door to jump out. “What did I say?” I remind her.
“Pardon?”
“What kind of man am I?”
It dawns on her. “But I’m late.”
“You’re two minutes early.” I get out and come around to the passenger side to help her out. “Don’t make me ask you for another kiss,” I grumble.
She doesn’t. Gwen puts her palms flat on my chest, then reaches up on her tiptoes and touches her soft lips to mine. “Have a good day, sweetie,” she says.
“You too. Remember to wait inside. It’s getting darker earlier this time of year. I’ll come up,” I tell her. She’s about to protest, but I point to my watch. She huffs before she rushes up the stairs of the library and through the doors.
Later at the precinct, I meet Alex on the way in while Damian is already sitting in my office waiting for me.
“Zeke’s not here?” I ask.
“He is. He went to help with a search for a missing kid. He’ll be back,” Damian answers.
“What kid?”
“Thirteen-year-old girl, Tamira Noles. She was reported missing by her foster mother a couple of hours ago,” Damian says with disdain. “She was supposed to be in bed all night. The kid never made it home and this woman didn’t give a shit about her until a couple of hours ago. She’s been out all night, alone.”
“What person lets a kid go unreported overnight?” Alex adds. None of these men have patience for people who take advantage of the system. Unfortunately, situations like this happen too often for a cop not to have a bitter taste in his mouth.
“Who’s the foster mother?” I ask. I bet you that there have been complaints in the past and this is going to turn into a runaway kid out on the streets.
“Already on it.” Damian drops the file he was holding on my desk. I glance through it and find at least three incident reports in the first half dozen pages. Minor shit, but that tells me that problems have always been there and may be escalating.
