Free Complicated by Claire Kent Page A

she saw him.
    She couldn’t tell him anything.
    So she started to push the cart of books
toward the elevator. “I need to work,” she muttered.
    It wasn’t her job to shelve books. Workstudy
students usually took care of that. But she needed to do something, and this
was the only thing available.
    Greg didn’t object. He just went with her,
getting onto the elevator after her before she could stop him.
    Since a student got on with them, they
didn’t speak until they’d gotten off on the fifth floor.
    The floor was nearly empty, with only one
graduate student studying in a carrel and one older man browsing the British
literature shelves.
    Victoria headed back toward the theology
books in the far corner of the floor, since those were the first call numbers
she saw on the books in the cart.
    “Victoria,” Greg began, following her toward
the isolated corner of the library. They were as private here as they would
have been anywhere. “Victoria, why won’t you at least talk to me?”
    Her eyes were glazed over now, and her hand
trembled as she pushed one of the books into its place on a high shelf.
    Before she could bring her hand back down to
the cart, Greg took it, surrounding her small, cold hand with both of his big,
warm ones.
    She sucked in a harsh gasp at the touch and
at how it affected the ache in her chest. “We have nothing to talk about.”
    “Yes, we do,” Greg insisted, his voice
sounding rough again. He took a step forward until he’d pressed her back
against the wall of bookshelves.
    He hadn’t let go of her hand.
    Victoria stared up at him. His eyes were
dark and intense, and he had just a hint of a five-o’clock shadow.
    She wanted to touch him. Hold him. Have him
bury himself inside her.
    She wanted to feel him in every possible
way.
    “I missed you,” Greg went on, pressing
forward even more. His body wasn’t touching hers, but she could almost feel the
heat of his presence radiating off him. “Didn’t you miss me even a little?”
    “What does it matter? We decided it was
over. And this isn’t going to help anything.”
    “What isn’t?”
    “This,” she tried to explain, gesturing with
her head down toward their bodies and joined hands. “Yes, the sex was great.
But one last…last fling—because you suddenly decide you miss me—will only make
it worse. A clean break is the best way to move on. Nothing has changed.”
    Greg lowered his face toward hers and
reached up with his free hand to hold the back of her head. “Hasn’t it?”
    She didn’t understand any of this, but she
could barely breathe through the pressure in her chest. It felt like she was
drowning in the intense expression in his eyes.
    He smelled like Greg—warm, masculine,
faintly expensive, the most delicious thing she’d ever breathed in.
    Her body was already reacting to his
closeness, her nipples tightening and skin flushing with warmth.
    “Greg,” she tried once more, “I don’t—”
    “You don’t what?” He hadn’t made another
move, but he hadn’t pulled back either.
    He seemed to be waiting. For her.
    And Victoria could no longer resist. He was
right here—everything she’d ever wanted. And she was going to take it when it
was offered, even if it was only offered for the afternoon.
    With a stifled groan, she freed her fingers
from his grip and grabbed his face in both of her hands. She hauled him down
into a kiss, devouring his mouth with a need and urgency that both startled and
thrilled her.
    Greg responded immediately. Pushing her back
against the solid bookshelves, he opened his mouth against hers and held her
head securely in place with the fingers curved around the back of her skull.
His other hand went down to cup her bottom possessively, pressing her against
the length of his body.
    Her mind a hot, ecstatic whirl, Victoria
fisted one of her hands in his hair and caressed his face with the other. His
lower jaw was rough with bristles, and it felt exquisite against her hand. She
wanted