In the quiet space, Victoria was more aware of their proximity. Right behind her, John’s movements were quick-paced while she lagged behind, studying the numbers. She now felt guilty about leaving books in the wrong place when she didn’t want them. After she shelved a second Revolutionary War book, Victoria sensed a shift in the air. There was a warmth at her back that wasn’t there before.

“I’ve got the Vietnam War in my pile,” John said. Why did it seem like he had whispered it into her ear?

She saw the book and his extended tattooed arm wrap around her before she could react. A tiger and a Celtic cross. She took the book without replying and searched the numbers for its place. It was on the bottom shelf. Victoria crouched down, bumping against John’s legs. “Sorry!”

He stepped back. “No worries.”

Heart pounding as she balanced on her high heels, Victoria slipped the book in the correct place. Is it getting hot in here? She shook out the collar of her blouse, fanning cool air against her neck and chest. When she stood, she quickly moved to the next book. “Oh, doesn’t this Roosevelt book belong in biographies?” she asked turning to hand it to him.

They bumped into each other, her book knocking into the stack he held with one arm. Books tumbled from his grasp and onto the floor.

“Sorry!” she said, stooping to gather them.

He knelt beside her. “Dr. Reese, I’m getting the sense you don’t respect my books.”

He was close again.

Despite the heat emanating from him, she tried to laugh. “I do respect books, Mr. Donovan.” God, he does smell like the forest. Victoria tried to steady the tremor in her hands as she picked up the books.

“I have yet to see evidence of that,” he said, taking four books in his massive hands. “And I think you’re mistaken. This goes in the World War II section.”

They stood together, Victoria weaving slightly on her feet, her back brushing against the History shelves. Her breathing had changed; her pulse quickened. John moved closer to her with Roosevelt in hand. “Does it?”

“Mm-hmm.” He crowded her senses, pushing reason right out the door. As he held her gaze, he reached around her and placed the book to the left of her waist. However, his hand remained on the spine.

Victoria tried not to smell him. She tried not to tilt her head back and close her eyes. Citrus, fresh soap, birch. She bit her lip and willed her body to ignore his. “You’ll have to excuse me,” she said. “I’m new on the job.”

The corner of his mouth quirked. He had not stepped away and she did not want him to. “That much is evident,” he rumbled. The hand that had held Roosevelt fell on her wrist, his calloused fingers circling her with a gentleness she hadn’t expected.