Page 47 of Silver Player

“Miss McAllister, are you here?” Her voice is a little grating, and I recognize it immediately. A sharp tapping on the hardwood floor tells me she’s walking down the main aisle at a rhythmic pace. Before Billy and I can untangle ourselves, she speaks again. “Oh goodness, what’s going on here?”

Billy draws back, keeping his eyes on mine. He opens his mouth to speak when our interrupter continues. “Billy Harrington, is that you? What are you doing to that poor girl?”

“Mrs. Pritchard,” Billy mutters, the name soft as his brows pinch while he speaks to me. “She has to be like a hundred years old.” He shakes his head and then speaks louder in explanation. “She fell, and I’m helping her up.”

With catlike reflexes, he springs to his feet, while simultaneously tugging down my skirt which has ridden up as I undulated against his knee. He bends at the waist, offering me both his hands. I’d prefer the floor open me up and swallow me as I’ve just been caught by one of my best customers rutting against Billy Harrington.

“Goodness, honey, are you okay?” the older woman asks of me.

“I’m fine, Mrs. Pritchard. Just slipped.” In judgment, I don’t add as I speak to the ceiling, blinking up at the bright lights. “It was nothing.”

There’s a hitch of breath, and I lift my head to see Billy’s eyes widen. Does he think I mean this is nothing? That kissing him was nothing, like I told him the other night? In my current predicament, it’s obvious it was very much something. I was working myself to an orgasm against his knee, not to mention his mouth is a sin I want to repeat.

I raise my hands for Billy’s, and he tugs me upward. Once standing, I break free of one hand, swiping at my backside, while Billy grips the other hand as if he’s afraid to release me.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Billy asks, an eyebrow rising. “Maybe you should go upstairs and lie down for a little bit.” His voice lilts, teasing me.

I shake my head. “No, no. I’m good. What can I help you with today, Mrs. Pritchard?”

“I’m here for the final book in that series you recommended to me.” Her Victorian aura prevents her from stating aloud the title she means, and her eyes shift to Billy. “You know which one.”

“Of course. I’ll grab it for you.” Then I pause, my hand still in Billy’s. “Could you give me just a second, though?”

“Sure, honey. You take a moment to recover yourself.” Mrs. Pritchard steps out of the aisle and heads for the back where the comfy seats are tucked in the corner.

Billy and I remain hidden between the shelves, listening to the tap of Mrs. Pritchard’s cane as it grows less predominant, the farther she moves away from us.

“I’ll give you something to grab…”

“I didn’t mean…”

We speak at the same time, and I blush. I lick my lips and Billy moans, stepping up to me. “You do that thing where only your tongue peeks out, and it drives me crazy.”

“You drive me crazy,” I mumble, but I’m giggling like a schoolgirl as heat rushes my face.

“This isn’t finished,” Billy states, his voice raspy and rugged. “I’m not done with you.”

A thrill should not be coursing through my body at the sound of those words, but I’m like a live wire, humming with energy and itching for a power surge.

“And this”—he points back and forth between us—“is not nothing.” With a quick kiss to my temple, he leaves the aisle, and I collapse to my side, allowing the shelves to hold me up.

What the hell just happened?

My fingers trace my swollen lips, which smile of their own volition. Remembering Mrs. Pritchard is waiting, I press off the shelves and turn the corner.

“Mrs. Pritchard?!” I hadn’t heard her return down the main aisle. She shakes her head with a knowing smirk.

“Who knew bookstores were so dangerous? You should have your floors examined.”

Or my head. What was I doing on the floor with Billy anyway? Adding myself to his list of women is what I’m doing, and I hate that my body doesn’t care. My head, it’s starting to catch up with what happened.

“It’s okay, dear. A good tousle never hurt anyone.” She winks at me, and I nervously laugh. This is the schoolteacher who allowed Billy to cheat in class. “Now could you help me with my book, please?”

I nod as I consider the romance section. I keep a generous stock although many independent booksellers don’t. Romance makes up eighty percent of all fiction sales, and the locals love a little romantic scandal. I pull the book from the shelf for Mrs. Pritchard although I’m certain she could have found the title herself.

“Here you go,” I say, handing over the distinctly covered book with a gray mask. For a former schoolteacher, I’d have assumed she’d read more intellectual works, but there’s nothing wrong with a little sexual fantasy. Sex against the bookshelves has been one of mine. My mind drifts to Billy and where things could have led had we not been interrupted. I suppose an almost-orgasm-inducing kiss on the floor between the shelves is close enough. I blush with the thought.

“How did you know that was Billy Harrington?” I ask, curious as Mrs. Pritchard hadn’t seen his face at first.