Black Read online

  Contents

  Black

  title

  one

  two

  three

  four

  five

  six

  seven

  eight

  nine

  ten

  eleven

  twelve

  thirteen

  fourteen

  fifteen

  sixteen

  seventeen

  eighteen

  nineteen

  twenty

  twenty-one

  twenty-two

  twenty-three

  twenty-four

  twenty-five

  twenty-six

  epilogue

  White

  chapter one

  acknowledgements

  about Aria

  BLACK

  A Sexy, Modern Fairytale

  by

  ARIA COLE

  BLACK

  BY

  ARIA COLE

  COPYRIGHT 2016 BY ARIA COLE

  COVER DESIGN: POPKITTY REVIEWS

  EDITING: HERCULES EDITING

  One

  Maxwell

  I gazed out the crystalline windows from a dark corner in the quaint library, taking in the vibrant green of the town common and the gently lapping waves of the aqua lake beyond. My eyes took in the silvered sparkle of sunlight highlighting each small crest before it kissed the shore and receded back again. My thoughts spun away with me as I watched, feeling anxious as I hid away in this tiny upstate town, watching the world from this tiny library window.

  I’d spent summers swimming in that lake, the two months of the year it was warm enough for swimming. I remembered the warmth caressing my skin and sending jolts of vitamin D energy running through my cells. Playing catch and running improvised bases in the town common as a boy. I remembered those days so fondly, but fear had strangled pleasure these last few years and chained me like a beast in the cellar.

  I loved this library more than myself. My life was imprinted into the inky pages of these hardbacks. My heart came alive as I passed through the aisles, my fingers ghosting along the dusty covers. I liked being locked up here. At least most days. Human contact was best kept at minimum; I’d quickly come to realize that. Sitting up here alone in my palace suited me. I paid the bag boy to deliver my food. I scheduled the mail to come directly to my steps instead of the post office box. I didn’t do gatherings, holidays were pointless as I didn’t have anyone to spend them with, and Sunday afternoons in the park were in the far distant past.

  I missed the sunlight on my skin all afternoon, bronzing the body and easing away the anxiety. But after that night—the night that changed my life and left me with so many scars, visible and internal—I hadn’t been able to step outside in public for fear of the shame. The ridicule. The flat-out gawking. Call it what you like, but I wasn’t one for subjecting myself to judgment, and the people in this town had stockpiles of it.

  I might have grown up here, I might have been the town’s golden boy at one time, but not anymore.

  Now I was the moody bastard that lived above the library and had a fucking panic attack every time I left the castle. Every time I descended those three steps, flashbacks overtook me, my heart raced and my palms tingled, and a sense of revenge so large hit me it was nearly debilitating. The only time I saw anyone was when they came into my library. Human contact was best in minimal doses. I allowed people into my sanctuary in very controlled doses, from nine to four each day, and never on weekends. Small talk with the librarian strongly discouraged.

  Thankfully, I didn’t need to announce that last part. The scar did that for me.

  I ran a finger across the worn copy of The Count of Monte Cristo I kept at my desk. Not a library book, but mine. A treasured edition. Books were the only things that had been with me through it all. I’d never found solace in people; I’d found nothing but pain and betrayal and lies. Books provided shelter and support and encouragement.

  Once in a great while, I allowed myself the privilege of sitting out on the small stoop of the library when the sun was shining bright and only first thing in the morning, before the rest of the town awoke. But despite my disdain for people, I loved sharing books. Sharing the written word with people who could really feel a story and understand it, could sense the loss and blip of anxiety that shudders the heart when you close the pages on a favorite book. I wanted people to feel that.

  I liked sharing the fantasy.

  But was this my fantasy? My eyes crawled across the polished woodwork I’d sanded and stained tirelessly through the night to restore when I’d decided to open the place. The Spruce Lake Public Library was my dream come true, but I found myself craving more. I hadn’t been on a date in years. What was the point? It felt like I’d have too much to hide because baring my dark soul would surely send any woman running the other way.

  But sometimes, on the nights that my thoughts overtook me, I dared to hope for someone to share my life with. I dreamed of a girl with eyes that sparkled, a laugh that made me weak in the knees, and a heart so big she could fit mine in it. Someone who could see past the moody, abrasive demeanor, and the thousand quirks that made me a man unlike any other.

  Someone who could see past the scar and into my soul.

  A revelation sliced through my heart. For the first time ever, I wanted to feel love.

  I’d just never found a woman brave enough to love a man like me.

  The sun began its slow descent behind the horizon as I pulled my thoughts away from all the things that were too painful for me to consider before noticing it was officially closing time. I took long strides across the gleaming wood before turning the latch and flipping the sign on the door. Closed. Just a few more tasks and then I could retreat to my sanctuary upstairs for the rest of the night.

  I returned to the circulation desk and gathered a small pile of returned books into my arms before setting off down the aisles to re-shelve them. I turned a corner and growled when I saw that the irresponsible little shits that’d been here earlier had pulled out dozens of titles, reading and giggling in the back corner of my library after school for the sole purpose of my intense irritation, and not returned the books to their proper homes.

  “Damn,” I cursed as a quick rap, rap on the front door sent a bundle of hardbacks crashing to my feet.

  I took my time, lifting the books from the floor and placing them back on the shelf with care—this was a library not a zoo, and I wished all kids under the age of eighteen could be barred from this sacred space. They didn’t have respect for the written word. Not yet. That took time, experience, an appreciation for the blood, sweat, and tears of life.

  Rap, rap, rap.

  I stalked from among the aisles, my eyes steering to the door as fat drops of rain rinsed down the windows, a drowned out creature staring back at me, large brown eyes as wide as saucers as I approached.

  “What the hell?” I murmured as I twisted the heavy latch that I’d locked only two minutes ago, at closing time. “Closed,” I growled on reflex upon opening the door. A meek little creature soaked and in a rush. Her sweet, rain-dampened scent curled around my nostrils as she shuffled into my library. She stripped off her dripping coat and scarf, hanging it on the small rack just inside the door before running one hand through dark, tangled locks and sending a new burst of her scent into my nostrils. My eyes closed for a moment as I soaked it up, my thighs tightening and cock flexing with increased arousal.

  “I’m here for the job.” She thrust a folded application at me. My dick pounded in my pants, begging for release. Take her. Own her. Eat. Feed. Bite. Devour.

  “You’re late. We’re closed,” I informed her, unsure why I was being so abrasive to such a sweet, doe-eyed little thing.


  “Sorry, I only just found out about the job. Please? I’m desperate. I’ll do anything you need me to do.” Her voice was surprisingly throaty, like she’d smoked a few cigarettes or spent a wild night screaming through roof-shattering sex.

  Either way, I liked her.

  A lot.

  Her big brown eyes peered up at me, and I realized she was waiting for my reply. I turned to the circulation desk and re-adjusted my needy cock before placing the crinkled application on the polished wood and turning to her.

  “Well, you’re the only one that applied, so it looks like you’ve got the job.”

  “Really?” Her eyes widened and she advanced, the soft cotton of her shirt draped across her round and perky tits, making my mouth water. I let my gaze linger a moment longer as her nipples hardened into stiff peaks.

  Fuck, I wanted to run my hands up her curvy little body, tear that flimsy barrier from her skin, and have my way with her. The beast that lived deep inside my gut rattled the cage as my heartbeat slammed in wild beats through my cock. “Familiar with libraries?” I stalked back down the aisle I’d been in before she’d appeared on my stoop. I shelved a few more books, unwilling to look in her direction, irrationally angry that she had this effect on me. Who was this woman walking into my library and causing me to act like a goddamn animal?

  “Spent a lot of time in them in school,” she finally offered.

  She was close behind me, much closer than I would have guessed. Much too close for her safety. I almost felt like warning her off, but instead I said, “This place is small. Non-fiction, fiction, end-cap for the dirty romance novels—lot of women come in asking for that one—” I cut my dark gaze to her as I pointed at one with a sexy cover. Her eyes flared, cheeks pinking up the sweetest shade of rose I’d ever seen. I imagined the shade her nipples might turn when she was aroused. Dark rose? Dusky pink? The riddle rattled through my lascivious brain on repeat.

  “I don’t read those,” she stammered. Flustered looked good on her. “But I’ve probably read over half your fiction section.” She pointed one long finger at the small sign that hung at the end of the next aisle. When I didn’t respond, her gaze flashed back to me, then down to the wet boots on her feet. I saw her thighs shift beneath the dark fabric of her leggings, which clung tightly to her legs like a second skin. When she turned away, my eyes ate up the sight of the curvy outline of her thighs. The soft swell of her curvy ass begged for my hands. She had curves for fucking miles and I wanted her in my bed. More than any woman I’d ever seen in my life, I wanted this one.

  “I would expect you to be well read if you apply for a job at a library,” I responded finally. Her eyes flashed with hurt and I was shocked to find my heart stutter for a moment in the cavity of my chest. The last thing I wanted to do was hurt her. “I don’t have time to train someone, so I expect you to pick up the job without an issue. Now enough of the small talk,” I rumbled, taking a step closer to her and invading her personal space by anyone’s standards. “Tell me what you need from me.”

  Two

  Elle

  I just needed a job. I came here for a job. But there was something about this man. I didn't know how to answer his questions, and his whole demeanor was so intimidating. He was terrifying and yet somehow beautifully ravaged with a thick scar slashed across one cheekbone, losing itself in the coarse hair of his well-kept stubble. He didn’t quite have a beard, but it was long enough for someone to push her fingers through. He was the most handsome man I had ever seen and that scared me. I knew a lot about handsome and terrifying men. Men were dangerous. They were scary and mean, but I knew how to keep away. I knew no one would keep me safe. I learned at a young age to stay away from men. They took what they wanted and left. They didn't protect but destroyed.

  Maxwell's words hummed on a loop in my head as his dark eyes roamed across my body in a lascivious manner before he adverted his eyes away. Men never turned their eyes away; this was new. Usually, the men that my father had hanging around would look at me like I was dinner. Shame never dwindled in their eyes; there was only hunger. Maxwell had that same look, this predatory gaze that would stop a timid being right in their tracks, but with him, there was something more, something gentle and also haunting.

  His gaze bore through me like the embers of a fire before it engulfed a forest. His eyes darkened like the calm right before a storm. I knew this man was not one to be trifled with. He was used to having his demands answered, his needs met. “Umm,” I choked, backing against one long shelf that capped the classics row. Right up against Dante and Dickens, he was stealing my sense, and maybe something more. “I don’t even know your name.” I had not even contemplated those words until I said them. This man who looked at me in such an intimate way was a stranger. I didn't know him, but I knew I wanted to. Never in my life had I been so intrigued by a man. Never had one touched my body with his eyes the way this scarred stranger did.

  “Maxwell.” He leaned closer, the sharp angle of his surprisingly elegant nose just millimeters from my ear, the heavy pants of his breath washing across my skin and sending shivers down my body. I had a strange desire to gently brush my hand across his scar. “What’s yours?”

  The vibration of his voice shuddered through me like a high voltage shock. His tone, like currents, pulsed through my veins, stimulating every nerve ending in my body. “Elle.” My eyes dropped closed and panic consumed me. I started to feel like the walls were closing in. I felt trapped. This man had trapped me. Fight or flight, fight or flight.

  When men got too close, when they ogled and defiled, my body took over. My survival instincts took over. My mother had always been hurt, but that was my dad's fault. My mother kept me safe the best she could.

  The next thing I knew, I was curled up in a ball on the floor, completely humiliated with tears streaking down my hot cheeks. Giant footsteps rushed away from me. Great; I had completely left myself vulnerable to this bear of a man that I didn't know. A man that looked at me with predatory eyes. I slowly lifted my head from my arms when I knew he was far away, but way too soon, his giant steps came crashing towards me and, once again, I felt my breaths accelerating.

  “Here, drink this.” His words were curt as he shoved a tall glass of ice-cold water at me. My hands trembling, I held the glass and took slow, deliberate sips. His eyes looked confused, menacing, and soft all at once. My eyes, of their own accord, shifted to his scar. I wondered how he’d gotten that violent slash on his face. How it must feel to have scars showing on the outside for the world to see.

  I knew all too well about scars. How they were ugly and deformed from the outside in. Daunting slashes scraped across layers of delicate flesh. Maxwell wore his scar on his face, I wore mine on the inside. Mine festered and did not heal. My scars destroyed me and made me run; his seemed to have destroyed him and made him hide.

  Maxell raised his hand and gently clasped my face. His rough palm, though formidable, was remarkably gentle. My breath hitched at his touch. I longed for it. It both excited me and left me agitated. I didn't trust it. He slowly moved his hand, brushing his fingers ever so gently along my arm. His touch felt like an artist’s brush and my body a blank canvas for him to mold. I was nothing and yet his touch made me feel like a priceless work of art. I had never been touched like this before, my body an inferno. I could almost feel the molecules buzzing with warmth and about to ignite.

  His gentle palm roamed my skin and hovered just above my breastbone, as if he held me suspended by his invisible sexual energy, before his long middle finger made contact at the cotton between the rounded globes of my breasts. He dragged one finger down my rib cage, brushing over the soft dip of my navel, before ending at my waistband. I shut my eyes, longing to get lost in his touch. I wanted to shut everything off and just feel. I wanted his fingers gently brushing my skin. I wanted to be his muse, I wanted him to make me forget, I wanted to be safe in his arms. “You’re a distraction,” he finished, and with my eyes still closed, I felt almost hap
py.

  His heavy hand clasped with my own, leaving me feeling oddly protected and calm. Why was he doing this? Why was I letting him?

  “Help me put away the rest of these books.” On another breath, he was gone, the air absent of his protection, my mind reeling from his simple touch, my body burning up.

  “Sure,” I stuttered, trying to get my bearings. I stumbled my way to the circulation desk and found my application in the trash and a stack of books in his arms that need shelving. “You’re throwing my application away? Please, Maxwell, I need this job. I love books, I am well read. My whole life was spent in the library. I am a hard worker and very dependable,” I rambled in desperation.

  “Got everything I need.” His eyes sparkled and his beautiful lips twinged with a smile before he adjusted the collar of his crisp shirt. My eyes cast on the bronzed hollow of his throat, over the sharp edge of his clavicle, down, down to the bronze dusting of hair layered brazenly across his muscled pectorals. Being in the same room with Maxwell Black was a disastrous distraction. “You were the only applicant anyway, so I didn’t have much of a selection.”

  I found my lips turning up on their own. This was my salvation, my escape. “I will take that as a compliment.”

  “It wasn't meant to be one. If I were giving you a compliment, beautiful Elle, you’d know it.” He paused and then moved his body behind me. “You’d feel it here,” he whispered at the nape of my neck and left shivers trailing down my body from his mere breath. “Definitely here.” His fingertips danced at the back of my thighs, inching higher by the centimeter before backing away again. “You’ll know when I want you.” His tone fell another octave and rumbled straight into my stomach, twisting my insides and coiling my core into a tightly wound spring.