Irish Moon (43 page)

Inevitably, she would tell on herself.

Over the course of the next three hours, if
she didn’t get a better strategy, everything she’d fought for could
be taken away. Her shrink would sniff out her secret. But what
could she distract Dr. Meyers with? There was work: “How do you
like volunteering, Sadie?” Or family: “How do your sister’s
concerns make you feel, Sadie?” Ten minutes in, Sadie would be
staring into a gawping silence, itching to spill her loose beans.
If the silence didn’t work, a psychological interrogation worthy of
the CIA would.

The glass doors hushed
behind her as she stepped inside the library. Sadie’s cousin, Jen,
had pulled several
ropes
to get her this library volunteer gig. Jen
definitely went above and beyond family obligation, renting a room
out to Sadie, too. Tandem garage space to paint canvas or whatever
else included.

“
Breathe, Sadie,” she
whispered to herself. “Good. Now smile. It ain’t three o’clock
yet.”

Sadie focused on blending
in as she came around
the
main desk and checked in with her boss,
Cynthia.

“
Sadie, I need you in an
hour or so for microfiche,” Cynthia said. “We need you trained on
it by next week.”

“
Okay.”
In other words, ‘finally’ and ‘or else’. If she could get off the
stupid meds she never needed to begin with, she’d be normal again.
She’d be able to master simple tasks like microfiche. Soon enough,
she told herself, soon enough. Pushing back her anxiety, Sadie
signed in and scanned the area for Ben, her one friend in the
place. There would be oodles of time to sweat later. Besides, it
was just microfiche and last night’s dream was just that—a
dream
.

Right? A delicious secret dream that,
unfortunately, also spelled crazy in certain medical terms.

Technically, a dream on
its own did not equate psychosis. The dream’s reoccurrence might,
though. Feeling they contained some undecipherable message didn’t
help. Add in the fact that a not
-
so
-
small part of her believed the
dream. Not good. Definitely a checkmark on the ‘Sadie needs a
Straightjacket’ list. Any additional symptoms—strong headaches,
auditory or/and visual hallucinations—and she vowed to definitely,
dutifully disclose everything to Dr. Meyers.

Even her highly embarrassing crush on one
handsome stranger, and all the naughty things he kept doing to her
in said dreams.

Right down to the undecipherable message in
his kisses and whispers.

Everything.

But not until she had no other choice.

Sadie adjusted the bag slung over her
shoulder and headed for the elevators to the upper stacks. Ben
hurried to her side from the stacks.

“
Hey, you. Tell me you came
hungry today.” Ben fell into step with her.

He didn’t mean for food. “Famished,” she
said and tripped on the carpet. Ben caught her elbow and helped her
regain her balance.

“
Don’t you dare look,” he
said in a low voice, pausing until they’d passed the information
desk. “But our dear missus Cynthia is sporting a black eye today.
Huh-uh, Sadie, not a peek.”

Sadie resisted. “Really?” Cynthia had seemed
fine. Of course, she generally noticed very little once her
handsome stranger lit her brain. “I didn’t notice at all.
Make-up?”

“
Piles of make-up.” Ben
went on, explaining how he spotted it, who he figured gave it,
etcetera, etcetera.

Sadie half listened,
absorbing her surroundings, glimpsing down aisles, listening to
shuffling pages, smelling the book
-
fragrant air. Hearing the thrumming
of her heart.

He
might be here today. And if he was, she was going to make
contact. Because the dream seemed to be begging her to. Because she
had to see for herself if it was the same him, namely, if he had
wings. Which, of course, was ridiculous. Of course he didn’t have
wings.

“
Are you coming?” Ben urged
from inside the elevator. She had missed the telltale ding. Rubbing
at the heat in her cheeks, she joined Ben, careful to avoid the
metal lip her toe liked to kiss.

“
What’s up with the chipped
blue polish?” Ben asked, pushing four. “Don’t go Goth, Sadie. It
won’t suit your freckles.”

Sadie looked down. Uh-oh. She hadn’t
scrubbed all the oil paint off. She’d better before three. Her
sister would just love the idea of Sadie painting again.

“
I’ll bet that black eye
makes Cynthia’s nose hurt, too,” Ben was saying as the metal cart
lumbered upward. “See if she can sniff at me now.”

“
Ben, I think she has
allergies,” Sadie said, mentally rejoining the
conversation.

“
Bullshit. She thinks she’s better than me. But look who got
clocked. I wonder who did it….” Sadie
’s
attention wandered.

What the hell would she do
if he did have wings
,
anyways? Run and tell someone? Uh, no. Her belly did a
somersault.

The elevator opened. Ben was awaiting
further response.

“
Really?” she said,
struggling to recall what else he’d said. She kept pace with him to
the rear office for their first re-shelving load.

“
Yes, really….”

Rows of empty computers
hummed in the background. Somewhere nearby, someone coughed.
Sadie’s eyes scanned for a glimpse of black.
He
wore black. Black shirt, black
buckle
-
laden
boots.

Except in her dreams. Her dreams were
drenched in blues, even those of him in bloody battle, red flames
licking the edges. Blues dressed in black. Except when he wore
nothing at all. Nothing but bare glistening skin and gossamer
wings. Heat spread over her neck just thinking of the shimmery
things tickling over her arms and thighs as he nuzzled the
sensitive spot behind her ear.

Goosebumps raced over her forearms. Sadie
rubbed at them.

“…
in the aisles all the
time while they think no one is looking. He looks like he could be
violent, too.”

Hearing the word ‘violent’ tugged her back
to the present.“Who?”

Ben rolled his eyes. “Nevermind. You’re
distracted. And I know why.”

“
You do?”

“
Of course. You’re not the
only heart skipping beats hoping Angel Eyes will be here again. But
once we take in a long drink of him, you head straight up there and
see for yourself. It’s her left eye.” He swept a forefinger under
his eye with flare. Sadie tried to imagine Ben ever having the
opportunity to get a black eye. Not likely. Who could possibly
punch such a cherubic face? “You tell me if you don’t see a puffy
dark area under all that concealer. Promise?”

“
Promise.” She glanced down an
aisle, scanning the north end set of tables. Movement caught her
eye. A shot of black. Tingles blossomed through her chest and
belly.

He was here.

God, if she could tell Ben
about the dreams. But she couldn’t. He’d devour every detail,
particularly the secret message part. Who wouldn’t? But then he’d
give her ‘the look’. That wary stare reserved for the certifiable
that Sadie
never wanted to
witness again. Once in anyone’s life is too
much.

“
Yes, yes. He’s here,” Ben
sang. He picked up his stride, took her forearm and pulled her into
the closet sized office. “But I don’t think he’ll be coming
back.”

“
What? Why?”

“
Huh-uh. First, m’lady, I
bear a gift.” With a grand flourish, he bowed. Ah, Ben and his
whimsy. “Three guesses,” he said.

She didn’t want to play this game. But Ben
could be a pit bull with his gossip. “Okay, okay. You talked to him
and he fell madly in love with you?”

“
I like it, but alas,
no.”

She hated this. “You followed him to his
hotel and found his plane ticket and he’s leaving today.”

“
Better.”

“
He was on America’s Most
Wanted.”

He crossed his arms,
jutted his hip. “Bite your tongue, girl,” he mouthed. “Our boy may
be bad
,
but not
criminal!”

Sadie managed to laugh, pulling her
favorite, limp-free cart out. “You met Cher and she’s leaving her
wigs to you?”

“
I wish.” Ben rolled his
eyes but grinned.

“
I give up. I have
absolutely no idea.”

Ben leaned in. “Okay. But I’m warning you.
Do not try to kiss me. Promise?”

Sadie nodded, adrenaline sparking in her
veins.

“
Are you ready?” His eyes
glinted, his fingers twittering in the air. “I have his name.” He
covered his loud gasp.

“
His name? What is it?” Her
heart hiccupped into triple time. Her cheeks flushed hot. She would
die if anyone else witnessed how much this affected her. Ben binged
on her reaction, prolonging the moment.

Before she went to strangle the name from
Ben’s writhing body, he spoke. “Elijah. Stokes.”

Elijah? His sculpted features, his mahogany
eyes, the shadow of stubble along his angular jaw. The quiet,
serpentine way he moved.

She blinked hard, suppressing the urge to
clap and squeal in delight. “Elijah Stokes?” Her tone sounded
impressively even considering the riot in her belly.

A name shouldn’t mean so much. Yet it
did.

Sadie sagged into a chair, struggling to
compose herself. She bit her inner cheek. “Elijah, huh?” she said,
forcing herself to sound casual.

Those mahogany eyes staring into the ether,
his mind snared by some observation within the books he scoured
week in and out, strong hands toying with whatever hung from the
long gold chain around his neck.

Ben pressed his lips together, nodding,
triumphant. “You’re welcome.”

“
Elijah Stokes,” Ben
affirmed, framing an air name plaque. “It suits him, don’t you
think?”

“
Definitely.” Now, for the
more important question. “Why did you say he won’t be
back?”

“
Yeah, so, he came in
yesterday and I made it my mission. I mean how long can you go on
thinking of someone as ‘Angel Eyes’ or ‘Tasty Treat’,
right?”

Maybe she’d strangle Ben after all. But she
knew rushing him would shut him up. Plus, the name Angel Eyes gave
her pause. No wonder she’d given him wings. “He was here
yesterday?” Sadie lined her cart, her palms sweating. Maybe Cynthia
would add Thursdays to her schedule. If she could get the
microfiche machine down.

“
Yep. Jealous much?” Ben
started on a cart, too. “So, yesterday, I figured if I lingered
around him long enough, his girl would say his name.”

His girl? Probably the
honey
-
skinned one
with runway legs. Sadie swallowed against the lump in her throat.
“Oh?”

“
Oh and
she was wearing the most divine nude lace
-
up corset and these velvet jockey
pants. Divine. I had to get a closer look. And I figured, if she
didn’t say his name, I could go up and ask him, you know,
compliment her, segue into an introduction. But I didn’t have
to.”

Conversation? Yeah, right.
Cajones, Ben did not sport. “So she said his name?” Lovingly?
Passionately? Was it too much to hope she wasn’t his
girlfriend
?

“
No. He
got a phone call and answered ‘Elijah Stokes’.” Ben paged through a
book before sticking it in his cart. “And then she said something
about coming back one last time tomorrow, which means today. Come
back for what, I couldn’t tell you
,
but I’ll be trying to find
out
,
if you know
what I mean.”

Last night’s hot kisses came into sharp
mental focus. Her first cart alphabetized, Sadie hurried to finish
the next. Keeping her hands busy tempered her rapid heartbeat.

“
So, you’ll never guess who
the history department….”

She tuned Ben out.

She couldn’t lose control over her
reactions. She couldn’t let him see how much the idea of never
seeing Elijah again panicked her. She couldn’t reveal all those
dreams. And because she wanted to keep her only sort of friend, she
couldn’t pad his already extensive Sadie files.

The books smelled fusty and good, the
plastic covers crinkled against her fingertips. Sadie focused on
the smells and the lull of Ben’s voice.

“
I’ll start with this up on
main,” Ben said, leaving her two more carts to
categorize.

Sadie nodded and smiled tightly up at him as
he strolled to the elevators. Sadie’s rush returned. The seconds
crawled by as she waited for the elevator’s ding, the cart’s clank
over the threshold, the groan of moving metal. Forever ended and
she pushed the pent up energy from her tight lungs in a loud
whoosh.

Alone at last. Well, alone
with him—Elijah—at last. Save for the other patrons here and there,
or, possibly,
his
“girl”
. A pang shot through her. Was she
his girlfriend? Not like Sadie could just go up and flirt with him
yet, anyhow. What would she say? “You won’t believe this but I keep
having erotic dreams about you. And you can’t keep your hands off
me.”