Rule Breaker Read online

  One

  She said no.”

  Rand Marshall heard the note of shocked disbelief in his friend’s voice and suppressed a smile. Handsome, successful and infinitely eligible, Daniel Wilcox was unaccustomed to hearing the word no from anyone—particularly not from a she.

  “Who said no?” asked Rand. They were snacking on Buffalo chicken wings at a popular restaurant while waiting for their dinners to arrive. At seven o’clock on a Thursday night, the place was nearly deserted and conversation was possible, unlike weekend nights when the place was packed to overflowing with the professional young singles crowd and live music.

  “She did. You know, Jamie Saraceni. The one I’ve been talking about for the last three weeks.” Frowning, Daniel reached for another chicken wing.

  “Ah, yes, the incomparable Jamie.” This time Rand didn’t bother to hide his smile of sympathetic amusement.

  “For the last three weeks, I’ve been listening to you map out your campaign to lure the elusive Jamie into your bed. And after all your efforts, she said no?”

  “Into bed? Ha! I’ve spent the last three weeks trying just to get her to go out with me,” Daniel corrected glumly.

  Rand glanced at him with genuine surprise. “You mean you haven’t been able to get a date with her?”

  “Not one.” Daniel snatched another chicken wing, his sixth from the plate of eight. Clearly, he was eating to cope with his stunning setback. “I sent her roses, candy, balloons. Funny cards. Cute stuffed animals. I’ve called her every day, sometimes twice. I even managed to get two tickets to a Broadway show in New York. Told her we could drive up for the show, have a late dinner and stay overnight at the Plaza Hotel. What woman do you know who could resist that?”

  “But she said no?” Rand watched Daniel gulp down another chicken wing. “No to everything?” He was more than a little amazed himself.

  “No to everything,” Daniel affirmed gloomily. “Rand, do you think she actually meant it when she said that she wasn’t interested in dating me?”

  Only a thirty-four-year-old bachelor with approximately twenty years of successful dating behind him could seriously ask that question after such solid evidence of rejection, Rand thought. That was Daniel. But in all honesty, it was himself as well.

  He frowned thoughtfully and looked at Daniel, whom he’d known since their college days. Daniel was still the boyishly good-looking, well-dressed, well-built guy he’d always been. He was a highly successful dentist, relying on his charm as much as his skill to build a large practice. There had never been a woman he’d wanted whom he hadn’t had.

  Until now.

  “Maybe she’s playing hard to get,” Rand suggested.

  “I thought that, too, at first,” Daniel intoned miserably, reaching for another wing. Finding they were all gone, his gloom visibly deepened. “But when she turned me down for the Plaza Hotel...that’s when I started to think that maybe she really doesn’t want to go out with me.” He heaved a heavy sigh. “I’m not used to rejection, Rand. I didn’t recognize it for what it was.”

  “Maybe she’s involved with someone else,” Rand interjected tactfully. He was also having a bit of a problem interpreting this situation, for Rand Marshall was equally unfamiliar with feminine rejection.

  Daniel shook his head. “No, she’s not, I know that for a fact. My dental hygienist, Angela Kelso, happens to be a friend of hers. In fact, that’s how we met. Jamie brought her nephew to me for a consultation, referred by Angela.” “And it was lust at first sight,” Rand concluded. “On your part, at least.”

  “Angela told me that Jamie isn’t even dating anyone right now. I thought all I’d have to do is ask and...” Daniel dramatically clutched his head with his hands. “Maybe I’m finally starting to lose it, Rand. Maybe I’ve finally reached the stage my parents have been warning me about all these years... you know, the if-you-keep-playing-the-field-eventually-all-the-good-ones-will-be-taken-and-you’ll-wind-up-alone stage.” He shuddered. “Is this nature’s way of telling me if I don’t get married and settle down now, I’ll end up some pathetic old bachelor that half the world pities and the other half assumes is gay?”

  “You are starting to lose it if you buy that old saw.” Rand grinned. “Forget this Saraceni babe. Call someone else right now. I guarantee you’ll have a date within ten minutes. And forget all about that pathetic old bachelor nonsense. I did, years ago.”

  “Your family gave you the same spiel, huh?”

  “Worse. I didn’t buy it then and I don’t buy it now. It’s pure scare tactics to force us to fit into the mold they’ve designed for us.”

  And Daniel didn’t know the half of it, thought Rand, smiling cynically. Daniel’s family was pleased with his choice of dentistry as a vocation, pleased with him as a person, as a son. It was only his freewheeling bachelor life-style that the elder Wilcoxes disapproved of.

  However, his parents, Dixon and Letitia Marshall, disapproved of everything about their son Rand. Cranking out lusty potboilers was not their idea of a tasteful, respectable way to earn a living, however profitable it might be. And it was profitable. Rand’s latest effort had netted him an advance in the high six-figure range, which royalties would push over the million mark.

  Still, the Marshalls of Ablemarle County, Virginia, were not impressed. They already had money, old money, and their blue-blooded lineage could be traced directly to the first families of Virginia. Rand’s sexy thrillers and liberal life-style were far too... red-blooded for their tastes. Years ago they’d begun to consider Rand, their second son, who’d been an afterthought, as an unfortunate mistake as well. Their firstborn son, Dixon Junior, was, as he’d always been, the fulfillment of their parental dreams.

  Rand directed his wandering mind back to Daniel and the problem at hand. Always pragmatic, he preferred dealing with situations that could be resolved. His differences with his family didn’t fall into that category. “Do yourself a favor and make a date for tonight,” he told Daniel. “You need to have your confidence restored. Call a woman you know will be thrilled to hear from you.”

  “Maybe you’re right.” Daniel sounded doubtful but less morose.

  “Of course I am.” Rand gave his friend a fraternal pat on the shoulder.

  “I could call Mary Jane Strayer. She’s broken other dates to go out with me.”

  “Great! Call her now. Set something up for later tonight. There’s a pay phone in the back of the restaurant.” “I guess I will. Jamie Saraceni missed her chance. There’ll be no more calls from me to the Merlton Library.”

  “The Merlton Library?” Rand echoed, confused.

  “It’s where Jamie works. She’s the children’s librarian there. It was the only place I could call her. Her home phone is unlisted, and she wouldn’t give me the number,” he added, a bit sheepishly.

  “The babe’s a librarian?” Rand chuckled.

  “Sure, have a good laugh,” grumbled Daniel. “I bet you couldn’t get a date with Jamie, either. After all, you’re as smooth, superficial, arrogant, aggressive and self-satisfied as I am.”

  “Are all those adjectives hers?”

  Daniel nodded his head vigorously. “She used them every time I asked her why she wouldn’t go out with me. She claims that our type revolts her.”

  “You know, I’m beginning to get the feeling that this definitely isn’t a game of hard to get. The lady librarian really means it. My curiosity is thoroughly aroused.” Rand’s smile resembled that of a crocodile who’d just spotted his next meal. “It might be worth a trip to the Merlton Library to see this bibliophilic goddess.”

  “Go ahead,” Daniel said with undisguised eagerness. “I’d love to see you get shot down in flames, too.” “Daniel, old buddy, the woman who’ll shoot me down
has yet to be born.” Rand grinned. A gleam shone in his light brown eyes. “And if that sounds smooth, superficial, arrogant, aggressive and self-satisfied, so be it.”

  “We’ll see how arrogant, self-satisfied, et cetera, et cetera, you feel after Jamie Saraceni has put your ego through the shredder.” The prospect seemed to please him, and Daniel smiled for the first time that evening. “I think I’ll call Mary Jane now.”

  Daniel left the table, a renewed swagger in his stride. Rand grinned. The librarian had dealt a severe blow to his friend’s male pride, but Wilcox was recovering fast.

  Then Rand’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. Daniel Wilcox, one of the most sought-after bachelors in the Philadelphia-South Jersey area, had flipped over a woman who wouldn’t even give him her phone number. She’d successfully rebuffed a courtship campaign that had proven foolproof with other women over the years. Rand pondered the amazing facts. Who was this woman?

  Daniel returned from making his call. Mary Jane Strayer would be delighted to go out with him later tonight. Rand had made up his mind. He was going to the Merlton Library tomorrow to check out its librarian, that mysterious enigma named Jamie Saraceni.

  The Merlton Library was in a state of chaos. The volunteer scheduled to read to the group of two- and three-year-olds was stranded on Interstate 295 with a flat tire, leaving the eight children who’d already been dropped off by their grateful mothers for the weekly story hour on the loose in the library.

  The “library latchkey kids,” the school-age children who came to the library after school and stayed until they were picked up by their mothers after work, arrived in a pack, boisterous and restless from being cooped up all day in their classrooms at Merlton Elementary School. The kids, ranging in age from five to ten, arrived every day because there was no one at home to care for them, and their limited family budgets didn’t allow for paid baby-sitters. As there was no inexpensive after-school day care in town, the mothers felt that their children were safer in the library than unsupervised at home or in the streets.

  Cindy, the new high-school volunteer, seemed paralyzed by the prospect of returning a cartful of books to the shelves arranged according to the Dewey decimal system. She announced that she couldn’t cope with the task and disappeared into the stacks with the library’s latest issue of Rolling Stone.

  Three elderly patrons lined up at the front desk with books to check out.

  Jamie Saraceni surveyed the scene and wondered why the library-science curriculum hadn’t included a course on crisis management. Fortunately, she’d grown up in the unorthodox bustle and confusion of the Saraceni family; she’d learned to thrive in a three-ring-circus atmosphere.

  Jamie’s composure never faltered as she routed Cindy from the stacks and pressed her into reading to the toddlers in the activity room. She sent Ashley, a fifth-grader and the oldest library latchkey kid, along for reinforcement. Then Jamie efficiently checked out the books, dispatched the patrons, then herded the young after-school crowd into the research room for a snack of peanut butter cookies and juice.

  A remarkably short time later, calm reigned in the library. Jamie took advantage of it to catalogue the shipment of new books that had arrived that afternoon. Standing behind the desk, immersed in her work, she glanced up as she heard another patron approach.

  “May I help you?” Her eyes connected with a pair of light brown eyes, an intriguing shade, not quite light enough to be described as golden, but close enough if one exercised a little literary license. Those arresting eyes were alert, intelligent and the most striking feature in a masculine face composed of attractive features.

  Her gaze took inventory of them all. The fine straight nose. The firm, well-shaped mouth and strong jaw. The beguiling cleft in the chin. The hair, thick and dark brown in color, slightly overlapped the collar of his well-washed gray Philadelphia Flyers sweatshirt that looked as if it had been owned for a long time and someone had actually sweated in it. Jeans, equally well-worn, fit snugly.

  He was very tall, probably six foot three, and his hard, muscular body looked very strong.

  Jamie’s mouth went dry, and her lashes fluttered involuntarily. The man possessed a virile magnetism and sexual intensity that called forth a primal, feminine response from deep within her. She felt breathless, as if someone had dealt a blow directly to her solar plexus. And more than a little disoriented. Never before had she reacted so physically to a man. A slow heat suffused her body, turning her cheeks pink.

  “I—I’m looking for a book,” Rand said, and then nearly groaned aloud at his reply. What else did one look for in a library? he silently scorned himself. Smooth, Rand, real smooth.

  His mind seemed to have gone blank; his carefully concocted reason for being there totally eluded him. From the moment his eyes met her dark blue gaze, he felt the world tilt on its axis, sending a surge of dizzying heat through his body.

  He’d heard women described as knockouts, of course, but this was the first time Rand felt as if he was actually experiencing the phrase. He’d taken one look at this young woman and been knocked out of his senses.

  Taken feature by feature, she did not fall into the category of classic beauty. But the way her features were put together—the wide mouth with sensually full lips, the upturned chin and small nose—made one forget the criteria for classical beauty. Her smooth milk-white complexion was an intriguing contrast to her black-as-night hair, which was shiny and soft and almost shoulder length. Her vivid china-blue eyes fringed by dark, thick lashes packed the most potent punch of all.

  Rand caught his breath and lowered his gaze to her silky yellow blouse. Beneath it, her breasts were firm and full and looked as if they would fit his hands perfectly. When his imagination dared to ponder their shape and size, he could barely manage to suppress his groan of arousal.

  The name pin affixed to her blouse read Jamie Saraceni. She was the librarian! The one who’d turned Daniel Wilcox into an overeager pesky adolescent, panting at the library door. The one who’d resisted the usually suave Daniel’s each and every approach. Rand’s eyes gleamed, sparked by determination and intrigue. He’d never backed away from a challenge; in fact, far too few challenges seemed to come his way these days. Now he was gazing right at one.

  “What book are you looking for?” Jamie asked. She forced herself to look away from him. He was the sexiest man she’d ever seen and she, Jamie Saraceni, who prided herself on her ability to look beyond appearances, whose cool and calm were family legend, was tingling from the sizzling electricity of his masculinity.

  The way he was looking at her with that challenging, come-hither glint in his eyes set off alarm bells in her head. He was a charming, cheerfully appalling rogue who broke women’s hearts and went on his merry way, unaware of the misery he’d caused because his own heart was impervious to damage. She knew the type and considered herself immune. It was a point of pride with her.

  “Perhaps you didn’t hear me,” she said coolly. Oh, he’d heard, she was certain of that. He was just playing eye contact games, which he played with daunting expertise. Her jaw tightened. “I asked what book you’re looking for.”

  Rand looked down at the stack of books on the desk. On the top of the pile was the latest sex-blood-and-action book by Brick Lawson, the best-selling author adored by the reading public and disdained by each and every serious literary critic.

  The true identity of Brick Lawson, a pseudonym, was a guarded secret sometimes speculated upon by magazines and newspapers reporting the latest, ever greater sales of each successive novel. There were rumors that Lawson was a secret agent and the tales were based on his true-life exploits. Only his publisher, editor, agent, family and a few close friends knew that the writer of the hot-blooded books was really the rebel blue blood, Rand Marshall.

  Jamie’s eyes followed the direction of Rand’s gaze. She picked up the newest Brick Lawson release gingerly, handling it as if it were germ-infested. “You’re looking for this?” She tried and failed to keep the d
istaste from her voice.

  “You don’t approve of Brick Lawson?” Rand asked wryly. There had been so many brickbats flung at the Brick Lawson blockbusters that he’d developed a tough, nearly impenetrable hide concerning them. Great literature they weren’t, and he knew it. But he had fun writing them, and Lord, did they sell!

  “He’s a very popular... writer.” She seemed to use the word reluctantly. “I already have a three-page waiting list of people signed up for that book, which is his newest.” Rand decided it best to veer away from the subject of Brick Lawson’s newest book. “Since I’m not on the waiting list, I guess I’d better find something else.” His eyes locked with hers again. Once again he felt that staggering jolt of electricity that made his body tighten.

  This was ridiculous, he chided himself. Brick Lawson wrote about being zapped by sexual chemistry, but that was fiction. Pulp fiction, Jamie Saraceni would undoubtedly add. But here Rand stood in the Merlton Library reacting to the undeniable chemistry arcing between him and the librarian. He was spooked and challenged at the same time.

  “What do you personally...enjoy?” he asked, and by the smile on his face and the tone of his voice, it was debatable whether he was talking about reading material.

  She shot him a quelling glance, chose another book and proceeded to answer, librarian-to-patron, ignoring his playful innuendo. If that’s what it was. “Why not try this one? It’s a political espionage thriller, very well-written, with a superbly constructed plot and—”

  “You don’t think Lawson’s Assignment: Jailbait is well-written or constructively plotted?”

  “Oh, please!” She rolled her eyes heavenward.

  “That bad?”

  “I admit I haven’t read it, but I did hear it compared to that definitive Brick Lawson masterpiece Land of 1000 Vices, which I did read. Or tried to.” Her big, expressive eyes made any additional comments unnecessary.

  “Let me hazard a wild guess,” Rand said dryly. “You weren’t a Vice fan.”

  “I made the mistake of trying to read it during my lunch hour. I had to throw my sandwich away after the first chapter. The opening scenes, alternating between the seduction in the candy factory and the massacre in the shark tank, nauseated me. Literally.”