The Red Dragon of Oxford

He was so close to me that it was intimidating. Moving back a few steps gave me the opportunity to take in all of him, and he was well worth it. The softest-looking faded jeans I’d ever seen outlined thick muscled thighs that had come straight out of my dreams. Callum was cute. This guy, though. This guy had me wanting to go to my knees for him. I was practically drooling.

Unfortunately, he was glaring at me and showed no sign of bending me over the nearest table and having his way with me.

I wrenched my mind back to the fact he’d said something to me. “Sorry, what?”

“You can’t take those books.”

“I’m a research student.” I tore my eyes away from his face long enough to thrust my library card at him. “I was told I could take up to twenty books out at once.”

“Well, you can’t.”

“It says so in the library rules. I live in college, so I wouldn’t have far to come if I got an alert saying someone else wanted them.”

“I don’t care. That’s too many books to take out of here.”

“Okay.” The intensity in him was something else, and I backed down. “How many am I allowed to take?”

He glanced over them. “Four,” he said, and it sounded reluctant.

My face must have shown my incredulity because he pointed out, “You can only read one at a time.”

Anger stirred in me. These weren’t novels, to be read one after another. They needed to be compared and cross-referenced as they were read. It was why I’d applied to Mortimer in the first place—the college’s collection of scarcely remembered German theologians was unrivalled and precisely what I needed for my dissertation.

“Who are you?” It finally occurred to me to ask. If he was just another research student throwing his weight around with the newbies, I’d tell him where to go. Surely he couldn’t be a tutor because he was only about thirty.

“The librarian.”

Holy crap, and I’d tried to argue the rules with him. “Good to meet you,” I said weakly and tried to smile at him. “I’m Mark Stevens.”

He nodded and folded his arms. His shirt’s valiant attempt to cope with his movement resulted in acres of silky material clinging to his muscles. I was staring again.

“Sorry, I don’t know your name,” I said when it was clear he wasn’t going to speak. He was still watching me as if to check I only took four books.

“Rufus Mortimer.”

“Like the college!” It was a stupid thing to say, but it was better than telling him I wanted to lick him.

He looked unimpressed. “Choose your four books. I’ll replace the others.”

The guy was kind of a prick, though I wasn’t sure what he could have said to my comment.

Once I'd found the four texts I most wanted, he gathered the remaining books into his arms. “Don’t forget to scan them,” he said as he moved away. “And don’t keep them long. They belong here.”

Until he said that, it hadn’t dawned on me that there was a way to keep access to all twenty books. And so many more. “I could have them all out on my desk if I stayed in here?”

“Of course.”

The way he said that nagged at me. It reminded me of something, but I didn’t know what. “In that case, please don’t shelve them,” I said. “I’m going to get my stuff from my room and work here.”

“Okay,” he said, but he didn’t put them down. He watched me leave, holding the books close, cradling them like they were his babies.