It took Marian a moment to realize where she was when she awoke early the next morning. The familiar fragrances of lavender and sandalwood, which often wafted through the upstairs of the Hill home, were noticeably absent. Inhaling deeply, she was greeted with the unmistakable smell of leather and paper tinged with a hint of lavender – a unique combination that was distinctly Madison Public Library. Marian's eyes opening with a start, she glanced around trying to ascertain why she would be on her library floor, but then she remembered. A snowstorm.
She and Harold had been stranded here. Reminded of her husband, she glanced down at the familiar arm draped across her and instantly repressed an amused laugh. Harold's hand, which had curled possessively around her waist as they fell asleep last night, now firmly rested on her breast. She sighed. Her husband was nothing if not predictable, and his predilection for that particular portion of her anatomy was a constant source of mild embarrassment mixed with an odd sense of feminine pride for her. But embarrassed though she may be, the librarian made no efforts to remove her husband's hand from its comfortable resting spot.
Marian shifted and groaned as her back, accustomed to lying on the soft and comfortable mattress of their bed, protested after a night spent on the hard floor of the library. She wondered if she could convince Harold to work the kinks out for her when they returned home and then amended that thought to if they returned home. The storm that had howled so ferociously the night before seemed to have passed, but that didn't mean its effects would be navigable.
However, sunlight was slowly creeping through the upper windows, so perhaps it wouldn't be as bad as she feared. With that thought in mind, the librarian decided it best to wake her slumbering husband and see about departing the library before the rest of River City discovered their unorthodox accommodations. Although Harold had seemed unfazed by the potential gossip that could result from their predicament, Marian wasn't as comfortable with the ideas of tongue wagging. She had only recently begun to feel comfortable with the acceptance and friendship she'd received from those who'd once shunned her, and although the librarian knew the ladies no longer maliciously engaged in gossip concerning her, she certainly wasn't going to give them any fodder for any well-meaning gossip, either!
Gently removing his hand from its resting place, Marian turned in her husband's arms and smiled when she saw his sleeping face. He had propped a hand beneath one cheek and his brown curls, so meticulously combed and styled, spilled haphazardly over his forehead, giving him a decidedly boyish look, despite his 42 years. Marian felt a familiar and welcome warmth seep through her. Even after three weeks of waking up next to Harold, she couldn't contain the glee that raced through her when she witnessed unguarded moments such as these. Always in the midst of some grand scheme, her bombastic and boisterous music professor usually sported a wide grin or mischievous smile throughout the day and an amorous one when he swept in her arms to bring her to their room at night. But rarely did her husband possess such a look of calm serenity. The librarian found it oddly endearing, and she counted the moments when she was allowed to witness it as quite special, indeed.
Marian felt a wistful pang of guilt at the idea of interrupting Harold's sleep – he looked so peaceful and content – but they really needed to get going if they hoped to avoid any unwanted questions. Hoping to soften her disturbance, she raised her lips to his and wakened him with gentle kisses. Harold's mouth moved against hers, slowly at first, but then with more passion as he awoke. When Marian finally pulled away, his eyes remained closed, but a silly smile lifted the edges of his mouth.
"If that's the way you plan on waking me in the morning, I vote we sleep in the library every night." His hand stole around her waist and immediately moved lower to caress her backside through her skirt.
"Honestly, Harold!" Marian admonished with a good-natured swat to his arm.
Harold opened his eyes and grinned at her. "You started this, Madam Librarian. I'm merely contributing."
"Yes, I can see that." Marian smiled back at him, despite herself. "However, I think it's best if we collect our things and hurry home." She gently reached down and arrested the motions of his hand, which was now meandering lazily down the curve of her thigh. "Who knows who'll see us if we stay here much longer."
"Ah yes, we mustn't contribute to the River City party line," her husband teased, but nonetheless moved away and rose to his, stretching his arms above his head.
Marian opened her mouth to protest her husband's flippant comment, but she was stopped short when Harold reached down and brought her to stand with him. He gazed thoughtfully at her. "Darling, I realize your concern and even if I don't share it, I do understand it. So," he continued, bringing a hand to her disheveled hair, "what say you let me help you arrange this into something a bit more presentable and we'll head that way?"
Somewhat mollified, Marian simply nodded and turned to allow Harold to gather her hair and gently rework it until it somewhat resembled her usual chignon. She felt his hands drift to her shoulders when he was done and then his lips were on her neck, pressing soft kisses against her smooth skin. Marian almost moaned when she felt Harold's tongue gently trace along her neckline.
After their heated encounter last night, Marian had gone to sleep and had the most delicious dreams involving her husband and the continuation of their library explorations. At one point in the night, she had woken to realize she was unceremoniously moving against him and he was pressing back. Initially, she'd been too embarrassed to ask whether Harold was awake or not, but judging from the firmness that pressed back against her and the heightened breathing that filled her ear, she ascertained he most certainly was; however, she refrained from saying anything aloud lest he stop. They went on that way for several minutes until she heard Harold utter a frustrated groan and felt his arm slip around her waist to pull her closer to him. His arousal was unmistakable and for a moment, she wondered if he would finish what they had started earlier. But to her relief – and also disappointment – he didn't. Instead, his lips found their way to her ear and when she heard him softly whisper her name in a hoarse voice, she finally released the moan she'd been holding back.
Harold's voice floated to her, whispering soft endearments of love as his lips traced the curve of her ear. When he finally pulled away, she heard him sigh regretfully before informing her, "We will finish this later, Madam Librarian. I can promise you that."
Marian felt him settle down behind her and in a few minutes, his breathing was steady once more; however, the librarian lay awake for another hour, ruminating over the heated events of their evening before sleep finally claimed her.
Now, as he made love to her neck, Marian wondered if he planned making good on that promise here and now. Although a part of her was scandalized to consider such a thing, a larger part of her desperately hoped he would. But it seemed that, for once, Harold was to be the one to observe propriety, because a moment later, his lips left her warm skin and he stepped away, leaning down to gather their blankets in his arms.
"You are undeniably tempting, my dear," he informed her with a rueful smile. "However, I think you're probably right. We'd best get home while we can."
Desperately trying to calm her racing thoughts, Marian merely nodded and watched as Harold made his way down the staircase, saying nothing when her husband haphazardly folded the blankets and placed them on the wrong shelf in the closet.
Harold looked up to where she stood and smiled. "Darling, I'm going to poke my head out the door and make sure the coast is clear. Why don't you grab our coats and head on down here."
Marian managed what she hoped was a confident smile and nodded her agreement. When she saw Harold's head disappear outside the entrance doors, she took a deep breath and tried to collect her scattered thoughts.
Now that Harold was no longer in close proximity, she felt her sense of rationality returning and experienced a brief flicker of annoyance. Honestly, what had gotten in to her? Seriously contemplating making love to her husband here? In her library! Harold was obviously a poor influence on her in that regard. She was going to have a stern talking to with him when they returned home and remind him that it would behoove the both of them to exercise a bit more restraint when it came to their passion.
Once again in control of her wayward emotions, the librarian traversed the staircase and shut the closet door Harold had left slightly open. Then she followed her husband outside, firm in her resolve to be a model of decorum and propriety. Handing Harold his coat, Marian pulled her own tightly around her and buttoned it up – steadily ignoring her husband's cheeky smile – before turning away from him to secure the library doors; however, she had no sooner finished locking them when she heard Harold's footsteps behind her and felt his lips brush against her ear.
So much for propriety, Marian thought crossly. The librarian was about to turn around and admonish the music professor for his bold behavior, but stopped short when she heard the genuine longing and desire in his tone.
"Do you remember what I promised you last night, Marian?" Harold questioned in a low voice.
"I remember," she whispered shakily, her cheeks instantly turning a bright shade of pink. She was alarmed to discover her earlier resolve rapidly dissolving as her husband's mouth began caressing the curve of her ear with familiarity and ease.
"I'm glad," he murmured and brought his hand to the small of her back to trace lazy circles. His voice softened and a note of genuine remorse entered his voice. "Darling, I'm sorry if I took too many liberties last night and embarrassed you. That wasn't my intention. It's just that it's hard enough to control myself and not touch you when others are around. But last night, it was only the two of us, in the darkened library, the wind howling outside and not a soul around… the perfect setting for making love…" He trailed off, and cleared his throat. "I don't know about you, Madam Librarian, but I'm awfully eager to return home so I can make good on that promise," he whispered, a seductive note entering his voice once more. His teeth sank into her earlobe and began to gently tug on it. "How about you, my dear little librarian? Are you eager to finish what we started?"
Marian's eyes fluttered shut as images from the night before flashed through her mind – Harold's heated kisses, his fingers skillfully caressing her, the feel of him throbbing in her hands – and a small moan escaped her. When Harold chuckled softly behind her, Marian flushed crimson, realizing her husband had easily discerned the answer to his question. Flustered by his seductive confidence and her own libidinous thoughts, the librarian turned and hastily headed toward the stairs, but Harold halted her movements with a gentle hand on her elbow. When she glanced at him in confusion, he grinned at her, looking awfully pleased with himself.
"What? No tug?" he inquired, referencing her usual routine of giving the library doors a final pull to ensure they were well and truly locked.
If it were possible to melt through the concrete, Marian was certain she would have. After almost seven years of managing Madison Public Library, her daily routine of closing the building was well established. Neatly stow the carts by the dumbwaiter. Place the ledger and pencil on the countertop next to the stamp and inkpad. Draw the blinds. Exit the library. Lock the doors. Give them one last tug to ensure they were secure.
And she had followed this routine – without fail – almost every day for the past seven years. Until now. Not for the first time, Marian wondered how one man could knock her so off balance. She could feel Harold's amused gaze on her, but she pointedly ignored and with a quick step forward, the librarian checked the doors and then turned back to him, unable to mask the embarrassment gleaming in her eyes. "This storm has left me out of sorts," she murmured by way of feeble explanation.
Harold graciously said nothing, but Marian felt his heated gaze on her as he offered her his arm and pointedly escorted them down Oak Street toward their home.
XXX
The couple said little as they navigated their way through the heavy drifts of snow that covered the street. Harold found it difficult enough to trudge through the thick powder – even with his sturdy shoes and long trousers. But Marian, clad in the layers of clothing and footwear that etiquette demanded a lady don, apparently found the simple of task of navigating to be more than she initially bargained – she kept stopping abruptly and dragging him to a halt while she steadied herself. After her third precarious lurch – only halted by Harold's steady hold on her arm – the music professor decided to step in and take charge of the situation.
"Marian, perhaps I could assist you?" he offered, reaching out with his other hand to steady her waist as she wobbled precariously.
The librarian waved away his hand and almost fell again.
"Marian Paroo Hill!" This time Harold's voice rang out in an authoritarian tone she'd only ever heard him use with his boys. She stopped and looked at him with wide, startled eyes.
Glad to see that he'd finally gotten his wife's attention, Harold moved closer and easily scooped her up in his arms, ignoring her astonished protests and heated threats to put her down "this instant!" Blithely ignoring his wife, he continued to make his way down Oak Street, traveling a bit slower than before, but still making better time than they had when Marian had vainly attempted to navigate through the snow.
After a few more minutes, the librarian finally surrendered to the inevitable and wrapped her arms around his neck for better support. Harold refrained from making any teasing comments; the look in his wife's eyes told him she was decidedly unhappy. Praying that everyone else had the good sense to remain inside – Marian would really let him have it if someone happened to spot them – Harold gave his wife an apologetic smile and tightened his hold on her.
It was only when they reached their front door that the music professor finally lowered his wife back to the ground and allowed her to walk unassisted. Ever the gentleman, he opened the door for her and waited until she had entered their home before following inside behind her. The house was cool, having had no fire roaring in it the night before and their clothes, wet and covered in snow, clung to their legs, making the cool air brushing against them rather uncomfortable.
Although Marian shivered in their hallway, she still said nothing to him. But when Harold gently unwound her woolen scarf from around her neck and removed her hat for her, her rigid posture relaxed somewhat. He helped her out of her coat and then divested himself of his own soggy apparel before hanging his hat on its usual peg by the front door.
When Harold turned back to look at Marian, he found her gazing hat him with pensive eyes, and he wondered exactly how one went about apologizing for carrying his wife in his arms through the center of town. And he knew, with a sinking feeling, that he could probably forget about trying to finish what they'd started at the library… at least for the next few hours.
"Marian," he began, unsure of what to say. "I realize you're probably upset with me, but I thought it best if I… that is… your shoes, they aren't made for –"
"Harold," Marian interrupted in a quiet voice. "Do you realize last night was the first night we didn't make love since we returned home from Des Moines?" Her cheeks darkened as she said this, but her eyes remained steadily focused on his.
Harold swallowed. He had realized that, but after witnessing his wife's reticence upon his return from the washroom last night, he thought it best to leave that detail unmentioned. But, it sent pleasant little shivers down his spine to know he wasn't the only one who felt regret over their missed tryst. And it cheered him to see that perhaps he hadn't destroyed his chances for a long and delightful morning of lovemaking, after all.
"Oh my dear little librarian, of course I noticed." His hands reached for hers and tugged her close. When Marian stood mere inches from him, he lowered his head and placed a soft kiss behind her right ear before slowly trailing his lips along her neck. He paused when his mouth found the hollow of her throat and was rewarded for his actions with the delightful sound of Marian's eager sighs. When he raised his head, he was pleased to note his wife's half-closed eyes and dreamy smile.
Glancing down, he noticed their attire and couldn't help grinning. Marian's skirt – now thoroughly soaked – clung to her legs and hips, outlining her shapely frame quite nicely. While the upper portion of his trousers remained relatively dry, they had become noticeably tighter in the last few minutes, thanks to his wife's vocal appreciation of his kisses.
Harold decided they were both overdressed.
"Darling?"
"Mmmm?" Marian murmured, opening her eyes to gaze at him.
Harold felt a shiver run through him when he saw the desire in his wife's eyes, and he ran a hand along her cheek. "I think we should get you out of those wet clothes."
Marian's mouth lifted in a seductive smile. "Oh really, Professor Hill?"
"Really," Harold affirmed. "What's more, I think you need to spend the next few hours in our warm bed. After all, we wouldn't want you catching a cold."
Marian reached up to unravel his bow tie. "I think that's an excellent idea, Professor." She glanced down. "But your pants are soaked, as well."
Harold met her challenging grin with a naughty one of his own. "So they are," he conceded. "What should we do about that, I wonder?"
Laughing softly, Marian sauntered to their staircase, her hips swaying back and forth. Harold watched, spellbound, as she slowly ascended the stairs. When she reached the top of the stairs, his wife turned back to him, her eyes traveling up and down his soggy form, before boldly settling on an area that was becoming more constricted with every passing moment.
When Marian arched an expectant eyebrow at him and tilted her head, Harold could only gawk, the gift of gab having suddenly deserted him.
Marian, for her part, merely laughed and crooked a finger, beckoning him to follow. "Don't dawdle, Professor Hill," she coyly teased. "As I recall, you have a promise to keep."
Harold felt his pulse begin to race and a hundred sly replies leapt to his tongue. But he silenced them all and instead bounded up the stairs determined to show Marian all the ways he intended on keeping his word.