going to put me out of my misery, Heartbreaker?” Rachel smiled.
“Right now.”
T HINKING HE’D MISHEARD , Devin moved closer. “Excuse me?”
Rachel beamed at him. “I’m saying yes to a date. Well, really, it’s a way of apologizing for hurting your feelings last week.”
Hurting his…Okay, now he knew she was joking. “I realize I was out of line,” she continued earnestly, “and this is my way of making it up to you.”
Devin folded his arms, leaned on the counter and waited for the punch line. And waited.
“How does tonight sound?”
Good God, she was serious. He was so flummoxed he couldn’t think of an excuse. “Umm…”
“Seven o’clock suit you?” Without waiting for a response, she wrote it in her diary in neat script.
“Look, this really isn’t necessary. No hard feelings.”
“No, I insist. And my goodness, you need a reward for all that persistence. Which is sweet of you, incidentally.”
Devin winced. “The word sweet should only be applied to situations involving whipped cream and a supermodel,” he said, and sparked a frown from her. His confusion gave way to suspicion. Wait a minute . The librarian didn’t want to date him any more than he wanted to date her. This was counterterrorism. Intrigued, he decided to beat her at her own game.
“Give me your address,” he drawled. “I’ll pick you up.”
“Maybe it’s better if we meet at the restaurant.”
“Except I’m still deciding where to take you.”
Reluctantly, Rachel found a piece of paper and wrote down her address.
“You know, I’m kinda nervous about this,” he said as he accepted it. “Given your reputation as a heartbreaker and all.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Yes, I had decided not to date until I’d got that situation under control. Are you sure you want to take the risk?”
“Hmm, good point.” He rubbed his chin. “Maybe I should reconsider….”
Something oddly like panic clouded her expression. It was as if she really cared about this. Then she leaned forward and said softly, “Chicken?”
Devin chuckled. There were so many lessons he could teach this woman. Specifically, never take on a hell-raiser. Even reformed ones were dangerous. “Go ahead,” he dared, “break my heart.”
CHAPTER SIX
T HE LIBRARIAN’S neighborhood was made up of immaculately restored colonial cottages, each with pocket-handkerchief front yards full of lavender and standard roses. Figured , Devin thought.
Few had garages, so everyone parked on the street, which meant he had to leave his car a mile down the road and walk. Having been raised in L.A., he bitterly resented it.
He also seriously resented being nervous. It wasn’t that he was hot for the librarian, simply that this was his first date ever without the social lubricant of alcohol.
Devin found number eight. The house was the same as every other except instead of being painted cream or white like its neighbors, it was honeysuckle-yellow and the garden was a subtropical jungle of banana palms, black flaxes, and orange and red canna lilies. He was picking up way too much plant lore from his mother. A well-used mountain bike was chained to the old-fashioned porch railing.
Sucker. She gave you the wrong address . Why hadn’t he seen that coming? He was about to turn away when the door was flung open. “You’re forty minutes late,” said Rachel. “I’d just about given you up.”
Devin checked his Hauer. She was right. “Timekeeping’s never been my strong point.” He saw she expectedan apology, and shrugged. “Sorry…. So your roommate owns this place?”
“I live alone. You know, I tried ringing the number you gave me—” her gaze traveled from his Black Sabbath T-shirt down to his slashed stone-washed jeans “—but there was no answer.”
“The number goes to a message service. Only close friends get my direct line.” She actually had to think about why. Hello, I’m famous. He caught himself. Channeling his egotistical
“Right now.”
T HINKING HE’D MISHEARD , Devin moved closer. “Excuse me?”
Rachel beamed at him. “I’m saying yes to a date. Well, really, it’s a way of apologizing for hurting your feelings last week.”
Hurting his…Okay, now he knew she was joking. “I realize I was out of line,” she continued earnestly, “and this is my way of making it up to you.”
Devin folded his arms, leaned on the counter and waited for the punch line. And waited.
“How does tonight sound?”
Good God, she was serious. He was so flummoxed he couldn’t think of an excuse. “Umm…”
“Seven o’clock suit you?” Without waiting for a response, she wrote it in her diary in neat script.
“Look, this really isn’t necessary. No hard feelings.”
“No, I insist. And my goodness, you need a reward for all that persistence. Which is sweet of you, incidentally.”
Devin winced. “The word sweet should only be applied to situations involving whipped cream and a supermodel,” he said, and sparked a frown from her. His confusion gave way to suspicion. Wait a minute . The librarian didn’t want to date him any more than he wanted to date her. This was counterterrorism. Intrigued, he decided to beat her at her own game.
“Give me your address,” he drawled. “I’ll pick you up.”
“Maybe it’s better if we meet at the restaurant.”
“Except I’m still deciding where to take you.”
Reluctantly, Rachel found a piece of paper and wrote down her address.
“You know, I’m kinda nervous about this,” he said as he accepted it. “Given your reputation as a heartbreaker and all.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Yes, I had decided not to date until I’d got that situation under control. Are you sure you want to take the risk?”
“Hmm, good point.” He rubbed his chin. “Maybe I should reconsider….”
Something oddly like panic clouded her expression. It was as if she really cared about this. Then she leaned forward and said softly, “Chicken?”
Devin chuckled. There were so many lessons he could teach this woman. Specifically, never take on a hell-raiser. Even reformed ones were dangerous. “Go ahead,” he dared, “break my heart.”
CHAPTER SIX
T HE LIBRARIAN’S neighborhood was made up of immaculately restored colonial cottages, each with pocket-handkerchief front yards full of lavender and standard roses. Figured , Devin thought.
Few had garages, so everyone parked on the street, which meant he had to leave his car a mile down the road and walk. Having been raised in L.A., he bitterly resented it.
He also seriously resented being nervous. It wasn’t that he was hot for the librarian, simply that this was his first date ever without the social lubricant of alcohol.
Devin found number eight. The house was the same as every other except instead of being painted cream or white like its neighbors, it was honeysuckle-yellow and the garden was a subtropical jungle of banana palms, black flaxes, and orange and red canna lilies. He was picking up way too much plant lore from his mother. A well-used mountain bike was chained to the old-fashioned porch railing.
Sucker. She gave you the wrong address . Why hadn’t he seen that coming? He was about to turn away when the door was flung open. “You’re forty minutes late,” said Rachel. “I’d just about given you up.”
Devin checked his Hauer. She was right. “Timekeeping’s never been my strong point.” He saw she expectedan apology, and shrugged. “Sorry…. So your roommate owns this place?”
“I live alone. You know, I tried ringing the number you gave me—” her gaze traveled from his Black Sabbath T-shirt down to his slashed stone-washed jeans “—but there was no answer.”
“The number goes to a message service. Only close friends get my direct line.” She actually had to think about why. Hello, I’m famous. He caught himself. Channeling his egotistical
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