butterflies flew up to her throat. Was he wearing cologne? Maybe not – he just smelled clean, with the tiniest hint of sweat. His huge shadow seemed to shroud her completely, like an oak tree blocking out the sunlight. She barely reached up to his breastbone.
‘Don’t worry, I’m not gonna touch you,’ he whispered, with a cold smile.
Penny slipped away, still blushing. She wanted to slap herself. Not because of that one fleeting moment of contact, but because, secretly, her sick brain kept asking: Do you like him then?
Not in a million years – a passing fantasy, that’s all it is! she answered in return. She hated novels with women who instantly lost the plot, like fate had pressed a button, all because some cool guy had happened to glance at them.
A passing fantasy. That was true – in rational terms, at least. She had never once lost her head over some guy; in fact, she was still a virgin – by choice, and not for lack of prospects. All those drunk guys at work came on strong every night of the week, but Penny wanted something else: love with a capital L, like in the books. She fancied herself as Jane Eyre; not via some grumpy guy with a crazy wife in the attic, but by casting herself as the heroine of a great love story, strange and unforgettable, the kind that would knock her off her feet and, even if it ended badly, leave her changed forever. She had hoped that Grant might be that special person, but Grant was as crooked as a barrel of snakes, and violent with it.
Since then, she had promised herself she would be more careful not to be trapped by lies and promises and other such demons. Demons like Grant, who would trick you with their elegant ways, but also demons like Marcus, who seemed designed to summon up the most primal part of yourself, the buried and secret part you didn’t even know you had.
She raced to catch up with her grandma, and yet she couldn’t help but watch him climb the stairs, carrying the punch bag as if it were light and stuffed with flower petals, and once again her brain filled with daring questions that she had to tune out and refuse to answer.
The peaceful atmosphere in the library always helped Penny feel clean and new, whatever was happening in the outside world. Her job was to put the books back in their places, right the furniture and help readers with any requests that involved going up the ladder, as Miss Milligan, the chief librarian, was old and unsteady, and even ascending one step would give her a severe case of vertigo.
Penny was looking for a book on one of the top shelves right this minute, in fact. She was on her own, up her beautiful ladder on wheels, sliding between the aisles as if on a skateboard. It was fun going up and down like this, and she was contentedly humming a song from Disney’s Beauty and the Beast under her breath. She came across the volume she was after and headed back to floor level, pleased to have tracked it down for Mr Aubrey, who was longing to read this rare memoir.
And right there in the library, all her simple pleasure suddenly vanished in a puff of regret at the sight of Grant leaning against the bookshelves, arms folded across his chest, with his honey-coloured hair, turquoise eyes and that mockery of a seductive smile, which tricked anyone stupid enough to overlook the wicked sneer when his mask slipped. Stupid people like Penny, in short.
‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Long time no see.’
Penny knew all too well that a madman must be indulged and not provoked, but something about Grant made her want to fight back. Maybe he’d lose it in public, in front of witnesses who could give her some credibility with the police.
‘I see you almost every day, Grant,’ she replied. ‘Wherever I go, there you are.’
‘Because I’m in love with you, baby,’ he said, those damn perfect teeth still bared in a grin.
‘You sure have a funny way of showing it.’
‘It’s the best kind of love there is, baby,’ he whispered, coming closer. ‘I can’t live without you.’
‘So this kind of love includes trying to rape me, right?’
‘Come on, you know you loved it, Penny,’ he whispered near her ear, and Penny’s guts tightened like a boa constrictor around a lizard in its death throes. ‘You