Finding Mr. Perfect
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“I could be your thesis. You’ll need hours of deep… oral analysis. And maybe a few hands-on experiments with your favorite instrument.”
He stopped walking. “Freya, are you—?”
“Warm. Very, very warm. And you—” she replied in a sultry voice, “—smell like danger and testosterone. And—oh my God, is that a library?” she gasped, turning toward another section of the building. “Let’s go in there and make… noise.”
Kenneth arched a brow. Sure, it would be hot to take his wife to the library. Kenneth had the keys to every part of the school. He had been prepared for that evening’s visit. However, the library had many cameras.