I brush past him, tugging on his waistband to drag him along. “Surely there’s a shelf we can hide behind,” I say suggestively. “The History and Biography section is looking rather secluded.”
Levi’s face lights up and he grabs my wrist, leading me to thefar back corner of the store where a dark and narrow door is squeezed between shelves, a beautiful brass mezuzah affixed to the jamb. “In here,” he says, cocking a brow.
“After you.”
He fumbles for a key in his pocket and quickly unlocks the door, flipping on the lights as we enter. The cellar at Medusa swims before me, but the room we step into is nothing like Arla’s basement. Smaller and more square, its walls are lined with immaculate, ebony bookshelves, two mahogany tables taking up most of the floor with a couple of antique pressback chairs between them. Soft lamps glow down from sconces high in the corners of the room, and a banker’s lamp is waiting on the far table for someone to sit and crack a book open beneath it. Overhead, a ceiling light with a glass shade is dimmed. Book spines of every color crowd the shelves, while cabinets, cases, and boxes of varying size can be seen tucked among them, some with their own lock and keyhole.
“What is this room?” I ask as Levi burrows into my neck and hair from behind, his tongue tracing the muscles there.
“Rare editions,” he says. “Antiquities.” The last word comes out like a breath, and then his hands are peeling the coat from my shoulders, lifting my shirt over my head, spinning me around and pulling me against him as his hands slide past my waistband.
I want him everywhere at once and our mouths find each other, tasting long and hard. He turns me again as his hands cover my breasts, and I press back, anchored against the solidness of him. His hands are smooth as they unbutton my pants and then his own, gliding over me like I am silk, like I am parchment, like I am made of exquisite things. His fingers are deft when they slide between my legs, teasing out pleasure until I shudder and cry for more. He bends me over one of the tables, my chest flush with the wood as he sheathes a condom and enters me. A thick, hot pulse of energy fills me up again and again as he kisses the nape of my neck and whispers how I am the most intoxicating woman he has ever known. When we climax, it is like two refrains of musiclaid over each other, an unexpected harmony forming between the notes that is so bright, even the tomes around us ripple with ecstasy.
Afterward, we lie on the floor side by side, deflated and buzzing, our vitality spent.
“I’ve never done that,” I finally say.
Levi rolls on his side to look at me, curious. “You certainly don’t act like a beginner.”
I snicker. “I meanI’ve never seduced a man before,” I tell him. It’s always been men who come on to me, who wear me down or catch me at the right moment. But with Levi, I felt empowered.
“Well, congratulations,” he says, a finger winding its way along my breastbone. “You’ve gone from novice to master in one session.”
I laugh.
“Although, I hope you’ll continue to practice your talents on me for a while. I’m, uh, happy to be in your service,” he says, leaning down to give me an easy kiss.
“Oh, I will,” I reply with mock seriousness. “Exclusivelyon you, in fact. I like a willing captive.”
“Consider me your prisoner of love,” he says. “Helping you develop your erotic gifts is averyworthy cause.”
Laughing, I reach up to stroke his face, running my fingers through the shining lengths of his hair, finally freed of its neat bun. I barely recognize myself. I never flirted, even with Roger. I like this version of me, the woman Levi brings out. I like who I am with him.
Even this close, it’s like I suddenly can’t get enough of him—touching him, smelling him, watching him. I can feel the place where this began, that same night I found the invitation from the Fathom, but something has shifted dramatically over our weekend apart. As if an energy booster were applied to our connection. For the first time, I feel the burning my mother spoke of. Arla was right: There is a fire glowing in my belly, and something is feeding it. I should be afraid it will consume us like it has other Cole women.But fear seems unthinkable with him this close. All I feel is ravenous.
“What are all of these?” I ask him.
He looks around, shrugs. “First editions, collectible manuscripts, ephemera, niche antiques. Anything from literature to poetry to philosophy to history. The occult. Old letters. Photographs. Maps. All kinds of things, really. But we specialize in religious and occult texts and artifacts. This is where the real money is made in the booksellers’ industry.”
“All these years I’ve shopped this store, and I never even knew this room was here,” I tell him.
“My grandfather’s best-kept secret. This room is by appointment only,” he explains. “For real collectors.”
I nod. “Orman’s inner sanctum.”
Levi gives me a sly smile. “It sounds dirty when you say it.”
I kiss him lightly. “That’s because now it is.”
He throws his head back and laughs, and when he’s collected himself, he says, “It took us months to connect, and now it seems to have arrived all at once.”
“What?” I know what he means, but I want to hear him say it.
“Us.” He pauses when I don’t respond. “Is that okay for me to say? Is a relationship something you’re even looking for?”
“No,” I tell him frankly, and his smile dips. “I wasn’t. But now that it’s here, that it’syou, I’m glad.”
He perks up.
