The Lawman's Librarian Read online

  Evernight Publishing

  www.evernightpublishing.com

  Copyright© 2012 Rebecca Brochu

  ISBN: 978-1-77130-209-8

  Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs

  Editor: Marie Medina

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  DEDICATION

  For you as always.

  THE LAWMAN’S LIBRARIAN

  Rebecca Brochu

  Copyright © 2012

  Chapter One

  Nick Grey’s not really sure how he got roped into all of this, but he’s pretty sure that he’s going to Hell for all of the uncharitable thoughts he’s had towards the numerous children he’s been forced to deal with in the past few days. Well, the children and their parents who are, in all actuality, probably the worst part of this particular situation. Them and the fact that he’s been stuck inside of a sweltering Santa suit for six hours a day every day on what are supposed to be his days off.

  By this point he’s willing to take eternal damnation if it means getting out of this fucking mall. If it wasn’t for his damn sister and her insistent nagging about how all of the children would be so disappointed this Christmas because Mr. Hankin was too sick to play Santa at the moment, he wouldn’t be here in the first place. Still he could have sworn he told Lana no multiple times but somehow he’d still ended up sweating his ass off in a velvet suit while a herd of children screamed and cried excitedly at the sight of him.

  The only high point of this entire situation is that Lana, bless her little unholy heart, had managed to talk Peter DeKell into playing one of the elves. He isn’t sure how she’d threatened/blackmailed/convinced Peter to slip into a pair of red tights, elf boots and a ridiculous stripped shirt, but he’s pretty sure that he’s going to give her his first born or, well, a kidney or something. Because normally prim and proper Peter in tights? That’s something that Nick is pretty sure would have killed his teenage self, would have sent him straight into the grave after a massive lust-induced heart attack.

  He might have died, but he would have died happy.

  Peter’s been the main focal point of Nick’s many fantasies since he discovered what his dick was for. Unfortunately, even though Nick’s pushing thirty, that doesn’t seem like something that’s going to change anytime soon. Hell, it had only gotten worse after high school and then college when Nick had come back home, his criminal justice degree firmly in hand. He’d been eager to take up the position waiting for him at the sheriff’s office, only to find out that Peter was the town’s fucking librarian.

  He’d almost cried when he’d found out, had damn near broken down into tears at how much of a cliché his life had suddenly become, and it had only grown worse as the years passed. Now it was like something out of cheesy novel, the small town sheriff lusting after the oblivious librarian while the entire town looks on in amusement. It didn’t stop him from going back to the small house his parents had left him when they’d retired and fucking his own fist to thoughts of bending Peter over the reception desk or the book return cart.

  The thought of Peter looking up at him, all fucked out with his dirty blond hair matted with sweat and his glasses askew over bright blue eyes, is enough to make Nick half hard. That isn’t exactly the best thing at the moment since he’s still got five or six more kids to get through before he can go home. Back home to his empty house, a six pack of beer, cold pizza, and a judgment free zone where he can touch himself as much as he wants to while thinking of how fuckable Peter’s ass looks in those tights whenever he bends down to talk to the next kid in line.

  He hears a snort beside him, and he looks around only to roll his eyes at the sight of Lana standing off to his right. Her black hair, the same shade as his own, is pulled back into a pony tail and clipped with a sprig of holly and the bright green eyes they also share are alight with mischief.

  “Merry Christmas, big brother! I hope you liked my present.” She smirks at him as she cuts her eyes towards the side where Peter’s still talking to the next kid in line, a bright smile on his thin face as he tries to calm the crying child down.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Lana.” Nick’s careful to avoid her eyes when he says it because she’s always been good at calling him out on his bullshit. That leaves him with no choice but to focus his attention on Peter again.

  Nick resists the urge to press the heel of his hand against his cock, anything to relieve a bit of the pressure. Instead he frowns heavily and hopes that Lana will somehow still see it even through the scratchy beard he’s currently wearing and his adverted face. Apparently she does because she laughs, a bright happy sound that draws more than one eye, including Peter’s, which makes Nick want to pout and scream at the same time. He doesn’t want Peter to look at anyone but him with that small smile and happy glint in his eyes. Except for the kids of course because Nick’s a trained police officer and he’s pretty sure he can take a bunch of kindergartners in the battle for Peter’s affections.

  The biggest five year old he’s ever seen catches his eye in that next second, and he waffles for a moment, not entirely sure that thought’s true. That kid looks like he bites, and Nick really doesn’t want to get another tetanus shot before he has to. Then he catches a glimpse of Peter’s ass again and remembers that he has pepper spray, a nightstick, and a gun, so he’s reasonably sure he could handle all challengers, even the professional wrestler who’s trying to masquerade as a kid. Besides, any resulting bite marks and tetanus shots would be treated as battle scars and thus a source of pride.

  Nick’s mind chooses that moment to remind him that he also has handcuffs, which of course leads him to thoughts of cuffing Peter, and he can’t stop the slightly perverted smile that slips across his face. He manages to get himself back under control when Lana snorts loudly beside him and whacks him in the back of the head with her hand. It’s hard, but he manages.

  “Christ, I can practically smell the perversion coming off of you,” she mutters to him, her voice pitched low enough that no one else will be able to hear them.

  “I always knew you were a bitch, and that just proves it.” He matches her volume because the last thing he needs is for some kid to hear Santa calling the sheriff’s sister a bitch.

  “Oh dog jokes! Classy.” She doesn’t even bother to sound offended, entirely too pleased with herself about how things have turned out.

  “You are an evil, vile creature, and I’ll never believe that Mom gave birth to you. She found you eating your real parents or something like that, didn’t she?”

  “Aw, don’t be like that, Nicky. You know as well as I do that you love me and wouldn’t ever want another sister even if you had the chance to get one. After all what other sister is going to give you your long standing crush all wrapped up in red tights for Christmas?” She sounds smug again.

  Nick takes a moment to think that through and is forced to admit that she’s right. It might be torture to be able to look but not touch, but it’s a glorious sort of torture. It’s a magnificent, horrible sort of torture that he wouldn’t miss for the world.

  “Okay, so maybe you’re not so bad.” He’s reluctant to admit that much to her.

  “You can do better than that, Nicky. After all, if it wasn’t for me Peter would be safe at home and you’d be dealing with Sadie McGuire try
ing to latch her talons onto you every two seconds while wearing that elf costume.”

  “You’re a fucking Christmas Angel, a Christmas Angel who delivers wonderful presents in the form of sexy librarians in tights.” Nick’s voice is full of fervent gratitude. Sadie McGuire is five foot six inches of pure unrefined evil, all bottle red hair and long sharp nails and utterly convinced that she was perfect for Nick. She’s the assistant manager at the local bank, and Nick forces his deputies to draw straws with him to see who will have to deal with her each week.

  He takes two showers every day on the weeks that he draws the short straw.

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Besides, I figured maybe if I could get Peter into something besides button downs and khakis you would finally snap and ravish him and put the rest of the town out of its misery. We’re drowning in all of the unresolved sexual tension between you two.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Lana. Did you take your meds today? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure you’re hallucinating.” Denial is his preferred method with dealing with the fact that the entire town, except for Peter apparently, knows that he wants to fuck the librarian. It never really works, but he’s been called stubborn more than once in his life.

  “We have a betting pool running as to when you’re finally going to snap and do something dirty to the poor man.”

  “Bullshit.” He refuses to believe that’s true.

  “The date chart is up in the teachers’ lounge at the school if you don’t believe me. Oh and Mrs. Grinkle keeps the kitty for us since no one would dare to try to cross her. She scares people more than you ever could.”

  Nick remembers Mrs. Grinkle, the school’s receptionist. She’d been ancient when he’d been in high school, and one glare from her could shrivel a man’s balls from a thousand paces. She would be the perfect choice to guard the pot of a betting ring that he’s still refusing to believe is real.

  “This entire town is going to go to hell. It’s filled with horrible, horrible people who take way too much interest in my sex life.”

  “Hey! I resemble that remark.”

  Nick can’t help the way he snorts in amusement at her remark. She might be a pain in the ass and like to torture him by dressing up the object of his obsession in red nylon, but she is his sister and he loves her dearly. Even when he wishes he didn’t.

  “So this betting ring that I still don’t believe exists … how much is the pot up to?” He’s curious to the point of danger, and that’s one of the things that drove him into law enforcement.

  “Well, let’s just say it’s enough to fund a very pleasant vacation, or a honeymoon. You know if you finally pull your head out of your ass and get onto Peter’s.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “You’re repeating your curse words, Nicky. I think I might have broken you. Oops.” She doesn’t sound the least bit sorry.

  “There is no way there’s that much money riding on me and Peter doing the dirty. No way in hell.”

  “Oh but there is. No worries, big brother, I’ll split it with you when I win. You can take your librarian out somewhere nice.”

  “What makes you so sure you’re going to win?” He’s suspicious for good reason; Lana has a history of getting dirty in order to win her battles.

  “Well, I’ve got you two down for Christmas this year so I’ve got high hopes.”

  “Christmas is less than two weeks away, Lana. There’s no way that’s going to happen.”

  “Oh I’m banking on a Christmas miracle.”

  Peter chooses that moment to walk up to them, now sniffling child firmly in hand, and Lana bails before Nick has a chance to say anything else to her.

  “I hate you so much.” He mutters it beneath his breath and then has to deal with the disapproving frown on Peter’s face when the kid on his lap bursts out into tears once again.

  Shit.

  Chapter Two

  “Peter, I swear to God I wasn’t talking to the kid. I was talking to Lana.” Nick’s pleading with Peter to believe him, anything to wipe the look of disappointment off of the other man’s face. Nick’s officially convinced that Lana is the reason he can’t have nice things.

  “That’s not exactly better, Sheriff.” Peter’s voice is that same warm and soothing sound it’s always been even when it’s dripping in disapproval.

  Nick slaps the palm of his hand to the front of his face and resists the urge to scream and tear at his hair. Lana’s getting coal for Christmas, giant lumps of coal. In her underwear drawer.

  “For the love of God, Peter, call me Nick. How many times have I told you that?” It’s like two steps forward and three miles back with him. Every time Nick thinks he has finally managed to get Peter to warm up to him, he finds a new and inspiring way to make an ass of himself and then he has to start all over again. In this case it’s all Lana’s fault.

  Coal. All the coal for Lana for Christmas. He’s going to get inventive with it too.

  Peter just looks at him, one slim blond brow arched high above the rim of his glasses and all Nick wants to do is lick him. He wants to take Peter’s face in his hands and trace the arch of that brow with his tongue and then work his way down to Peter’s pale throat and then farther down until he’s tasted every attractive inch of him. Nick’s pretty sure that Peter has attractive feet, which isn’t something he’s ever given much thought to before.

  He snaps out of his daze and realizes that Peter is talking to him, and he’s obviously zoned out for longer than he meant to if the way Peter’s glaring at him is any indication. Fuck. He can’t win for losing, and at the rate it’s going he’s going to have a better chance of actually becoming Santa Clause than getting Peter to let him do dirty things to him.

  Peter turns to walk away from him, ass swaying delectably in those red tights, and Nick feels his cock go half hard again. Sweet fuck, it’s beginning to get ridiculous how Peter can get him hard by just existing. Nick sort of flails at his retreating back, all the smooth confidence he should possess as sheriff flying out the window as he trips over his own feet in his rush to follow Peter into the back room that serves as their changing area.

  The two curtained off sections are as close as Nick’s ever gotten to a naked Peter, and that’s all kinds of pathetic. But he’s not willing to miss out on the chance that today might be the day he’s finally able to set those curtains on fire with the power of his mind. It’s a long shot, but he just can’t take that risk. Plus it gives him some extra time to try to salvage the mess he’s made of the whole day.

  Nick rushes into the room behind Peter and quickly goes to his section and does his best to strip out of the horrible velvet suit without ripping any seams. He’s in his jeans and his Henley in record time, and he bursts back through the curtain so he can sit on the bench and lace up his boots and stare longingly in Peter’s direction. The curtains don’t mysteriously catch fire, and he doesn’t develop x-ray vision miraculously so he’s doomed to disappointment in that area.

  Then Peter comes out from behind his curtain, and he’s in the middle of pulling his dark blue sweater over his head, and at the sight of all that bare pale skin Nick’s mind sort of shorts out.

  “Dinner.” He sort of shouts the word out and can immediately feel the heat rising in his cheeks. There’s just something about Peter that makes him tongue-tied. This is still somehow Lana’s fault. He’s going to grind that coal up and put it in those expensive ass bottles of shampoo and conditioner she likes so much.

  “What?” Peter sounds adorably confused, and Nick has to keep from whining in denial when he finishes pulling his sweater down. He sort of wants to paw at him and tell him he should be half naked all the time. Or naked all the time. Just generally less than fully clothed. Nick’s not really going to be picky at this point.

  “Dinner. You should have some.”

  “I … plan on it?” It comes out sounding like a question, and Peter’s staring at Nick like he wants to check his forehead to see if he has a fe
ver, and Nick knows that’s not a good idea. He won’t be held responsible for his own actions if Peter gets that close to his face. He’ll claim temporary insanity and fuck him on the floor of this dirty storeroom.

  “No, I mean you should have dinner … with me.” He says it before he can convince himself not to, and the flush that appears on Peter’s cheeks is fascinating and entirely too enticing.

  “You’re asking me out? Me?” Peter sounds almost disbelieving, and Nick has a moment of panic, but he gathers his nerve, the nerve that had seen him all the way through the election to becoming Sleepy Crescent

  ’s sheriff.

  “Yes. I want to take you out to dinner. I am officially asking you to go out on a date with me.” Nick tries to smile charmingly, but he’s half convinced that it comes across as vaguely psychotic.

  “You’re serious?” Peter still sounds skeptical, but there’s a sort of half smile on his lips that makes Nick want to rub up against him.

  “Yes.” He puts as much emphasis behind the word as he can without shouting.

  “Alright then, I’d love to. When?”

  Nick’s brain stalls out again, but when he sees Peter’s face begin to fall again he spits out the first day he can remember exists and hopes for the best.

  “Friday. Friday at 7:30. I’ll pick you up, and we’ll go to dinner.” Friday will have to work. It will work. He’ll make it work if he has to single handedly arrest every other person in the town by Thursday just to make sure nothing interferes.

  “It’s a date then.” Peter smiles at him then, bright and happy like he had at the kid earlier, and Nick feels like the air has been knocked out of him and he didn’t know it was possible to get so hard so fast outside of being a teenager. Nick can only watch as Peter gathers his bag and starts towards the door only to pause for a second like he’s debating with himself. Finally he turns back towards Nick and leans down and presses a sweet kiss to his stubbly jaw before he flushes and darts out of the door.