I pulled a cloth off another blocky shape. “Ah, here ya go.”
“Now that’s a man’s chair,” Landon said of the brown leather club chair.
“Is not!”
We exchanged a glance, a challenge, and then we ran for it.
Landon reached it first, laughing, and when I tried to put on the brakes so I didn’t crash into him, he grabbed me and pulled me into his lap. “I think there’s room for both of us.”
“No, there isn’t!” I squirmed, but I laughed even harder as he held on tight. Whoa. He had hard, muscled thighs, but that wasn’t the only hard thing I felt under my legs. “You win!” I said lamely as I wrenched myself away and tumbled onto an old Oriental rug.
He sat there, still chuckling and maybe just a teeny bit mortified.
“That’s a good whiskey-drinking chair,” I said as a distraction, then clambered up, dusting off my jeans. When I looked up, Landon was staring at my butt.
Yeah, so much for the distraction. I looked around. “Does that wall look broken to you?”
“Broken?” Landon hoisted himself out of the comfy chair, and I tried and failed not to notice the bulge in his jeans.
Gulp.
He approached the wall in question. On either side of the stone fireplace were elegant wood panels, a break from the bookcases. “Looks like some well-made wainscoting to me.”
“That one looks … off.”
He went closer and touched the indented panels to the left of the fireplace, then pressed his palms against the wood and rattled it.
“Don’t break it!”
“I won’t,” Landon said. “But it doesn’t feel right.”
“That’s what I thought. I mean, it didn’t look right. Maybe the house settling pushed it out of whack.”
And then he began pushing the wood. Sideways.
“What in the hell?” I came up next to him to stare as the whole panel pushed in and rolled to the left behind a set of bookcases. “It’s another door!”
“You mean two other doors.”
And so it was. Behind the sliding panel — the pocket door — was a more traditional door, oak with brass fixtures, set back just enough to allow for a doorknob.
“OK, that’s creepy,” I said. “Closet?”
“Good guess. But why hide it, and behind a second door, no less?”
“Maybe because the sliding door wasn’t secret enough. Maybe they wanted to lock it.”
He looked at the fluted glass knob, and then he looked at me. “Want to try it?”
I swallowed, reached out my hand gingerly and turned the knob. The door didn’t give at all. I pulled out the house key and inserted it into the keyhole. This time, there was no joy, even when Mr. Muscle tried it.
I frowned. I was tired and had to pee. But after seeing this awesome library, I was desperate to know what was behind the door. “Now what? Do we break it down?”
“That would be a shame. It’s a beautiful old door, and that hardware is gorgeous.”
“You and your hardware.”
“I’ve never heard any complaints before.” He shot me a sideways glance, eyebrow raised.
