What the Librarian Did by Karina Bliss Page B

brother. Ouch. “Ready to go?” he asked politely.
    “I was beginning to think you’d stood me up,” Rachel confessed. “It felt like the high school ball all over again.”
    So the librarian had insecurities. “Yeah? What happened?”
    Her expression shut faster than a poked clam. “I’ll just get my cardigan.”
    Cardigan? He might not be a hell-raiser anymore but Devin valued his reputation. “Haven’t you got anything sexy?”
    “Yes,” said Rachel. “My mind.”
    Fortunately, the cardigan was a clingy black number and it did have the advantage of covering another hideous buttony blouse. It was a shame Rachel didn’t do cleavage because she had great breasts. Turning from locking the front door, she caught the direction of his gaze and stiffened. Oh, great, now she probably thought he wanted her.
    “Let’s take my car,” she said, pointing her remote.
    Devin looked at the little silver hatchback emitting a high-pitched beep, and pulled out the keys of the Aston Martin he kept in town. “Let’s not.”
    “So yours is parked close?” she inquired too damn innocently. For a moment they locked gazes.
    “Fine,” he conceded. “But I’m driving.” He held his hand out for her keys, but her fingers tightened around them.
    “I’ll drive…. I don’t drink.”
    “Neither do I.” When she looked skeptical, he added, “Anymore.”
    An indefinable tension went out of her. She gave him the keys. “You don’t know how glad I am to hear that.”
    “It figures you’d be an advocate of prohibition,” he commented as he opened the passenger door.
    “I’ve noticed before that you typecast librarians,” she said kindly. “But as your experience of learning institutions is obviously quite new I’ll make allowances.”
    Devin started to enjoy himself. “Now who’s stereotyping? Besides, if you don’t want to be seen as old-fashioned, you shouldn’t dress like that.”
    He shut the door on her protest and crossed to the driver’s side. “I’ll have you know this is vintage,” she said as soon as he opened his door.
    Devin folded himself into the ridiculously small interior. “I know what it is, I just don’t like it.”
    “Is this how you usually talk to your dates?” she demanded.
    “Actually,” he said, deadpan, “we don’t usually talk.”
    Her lips tightened; she reached for her seat belt and Devin gave up on any expectation of fun. He turned the ignition and the engine spluttered into life. It sounded like a lawnmower on steroids. “I thought we’d drive into the city,” he said, “and wander around the Viaduct until a menu grabs us.”
    “It’s Thursday night. We won’t get a table unless you’ve made a reservation. And if you’ll excuse my saying so, you won’t get in wearing torn jeans.”
    Expertly maneuvering the toy car out of its tight parking space, Devin snorted. “Watch me.”
     
    “I T’S BECAUSE YOU’RE famous, I suppose.”
    Rachel’s luscious mouth was set in a disapproving line. “You make that sound like a bad thing,” he joked. Mentally, he confirmed his game plan. Dine and dump.
    They sat in a private alcove in one of Auckland’s most exclusive restaurants. Through the open bifold windows, city lights reflected in the harbor and the incoming tide lapped gently against the moored yachts.
    Rachel unfolded the starched napkin and laid it on her lap. “I wouldn’t like to think anyone else missed out on their booking because of us, that’s all.”
    Loosen up, will you? “Bread?” He passed the basket over. She took a whole wheat roll and declined the butter. “Why are you really here, Rachel?” She obviously wasn’t enjoying this any more than he was.
    She looked guilty and he was struck with a sudden suspicion. “Did the chancellor want you to hit me up for another donation?”
    “Of course not.” Her shock appeared genuine and he envied it. It must be nice not to suspect people’s motives in being with you.
    “So you’re just