WhatLiesBeneath Page 3

  “Oh god. That’s it. Make me come.” She abandoned any pretense at prim modesty, revealing a gloriously uninhibited wantonness.

  She locked her ankles behind his neck and tried to grind harder. Jericho feasted on her sexual frenzy, his tongue wildly swirling, his mouth fiercely sucking her engorged clitoris.

  The screams of pleasure he pretended to hear, the taste he imagined on his tongue, the sensual writhing of her body he wished was real—each fanciful sensory image stoked the pressure accumulating at the base of his penis. Coupled with the relentless up-and-down motion of his fist, it was only seconds before the tingling sensation exploded into a crippling orgasm. Every muscle in his body clenched as creamy white strands of ejaculate shot outward. Jericho stifled a shout, unwilling to reveal his clandestine masturbation session to his receptionist.

  He sat there for several minutes, trying to regain control of his body and emotions. It had been years since desperation drove him to jack off, and while the release had taken the edge off his sexual desire, he still felt restless.

  Disgusted at the mess in his lap, Jericho grabbed a couple of napkins left over from lunch. Tidy again, he stood and zipped up, determined to get his head together. If he couldn’t have a piece of the blonde, he’d settle for the next best thing.

  He opened his office door and hollered out to Vix. “Call Jimmy Roman’s for a pizza.” Before he had it closed again, he added, “And have them make it an extra large.”

  Chapter Five

  “That was a great meal, but I ate too much.” Will rubbed his stomach as he and Amanda exited the restaurant. “Would you like to walk a bit?”

  “Sure.” Twilight had brought a slight chill but it was a crisp, clear night. Will was proving to be delightful company, and Amanda was in no hurry for the outing to end. It took time to develop social connections in a new community, and while she had gotten acquainted with a few neighbors and coworkers, she hadn’t met anyone to hang out with yet. Her interests and hobbies occupied a big chunk her time, but she was an extrovert by nature and missed the stimulation of being with others.

  Although to be honest, there was only one person she was interested in stimulating …or being stimulated by.

  Sitting in the restaurant across the street from Jericho’s tattoo shop had been torture. Afraid her obsessive focus would give her away to Will, she’d ignored the chair he pulled out for her and had instead taken the seat that put her back to the window. It was purely coincidental that they’d ended up in such close proximity. When Will asked her to recommend a place, she’d suggested Fisherman’s Wharf or the more popular Pier 39. Too touristy, he’d objected, then asked if there was something in her neighborhood. Dumb luck provided the parking spot two storefronts down from Body of Art, an ironic twist of fate considering it trapped Amanda between real-life potential and wishful thinking.

  Now, determined not to disrespect Will by secretly scoping out Jericho’s studio, she guided him in the opposite direction. They walked close enough for their shoulders to bump but he didn’t attempt to hold her hand. That surprised her a bit, given his flirtatious banter during dinner. When it came to men and relationships, Amanda put herself midpoint between blushing virgin and sorority slut. The nature of her literary specialty exposed her to quite a few unusual erotic premises, and she’d dated enough through college to know her way around both male and female—her own!—anatomy. There was no mistaking Will’s interest, from the way he scooted his chair closer to hers to the occasional glance that strayed to her mouth or chest.

  The midweek pedestrian traffic was light, allowing for a leisurely stroll. Will paused frequently to take in the window displays, commenting on this or that. A few blocks from the restaurant they came upon one of Amanda’s favorite shops, and she suggested they go in.

  “You’re going to love this place,” she promised.

  A bell tinkled to announce their arrival and an attractive redhead Amanda recognized as the bookstore’s owner greeted them.

  “Welcome to Wicked Words.” Her lips pursed mischievously. “Is this your first visit?”

  “His,” Amanda said, nodding toward Will. “I’m familiar with your inventory.”

  The reminder seemed to jog the woman’s memory. “Shit! That’s right. You bought that exquisite volume of de Sade’s La Philosophie dans le Boudoir. Was it for your collection or did you actually read it?”

  “Is that the Marquis de Sade?” Will asked.

  Amanda couldn’t tell if he was amused, shocked or impressed. “The one and only. Philosophy in the Bedroom is his version of political commentary.” Responding to the bookstore owner’s question, she added, “Yes, every page.”

  “Damn. The deflowering of an innocent en Français. That must have been a fucking hot read. It’s almost enough to convince me to take French lessons.” She laughed and winked at Will. “Not that my French skills are lacking.”

  Will’s astonishment was priceless. Amanda had left with the same expression on her face the first few times she visited Wicked Words. Unaware of the shop’s provocative nature and its proprietor’s matching vocabulary, Amanda had wandered in one Saturday afternoon and then hidden behind a row of shelves when the redhead went off on an X-rated diatribe at some poor delivery driver. She forgot about the profane outburst when she realized all the books in front of her had titles related to sadomasochism. A quick inspection revealed sections on spanking, transvestitism and voyeurism. When she finally ventured out, Amanda overhead the cashier answer a phone call with, “Wicked Words, the ultimate source of erotic literature for historians, collectors and masturbators. What pornographic prose may I help you procure today?”

  The shop carried everything from dog-eared copies of gay, pulp-fiction paperbacks from the fifties and Kama Sutra lithographs, to seventeenth-century sex manuals and eighteenth-century directories of prostitutes. And if it wasn’t on a shelf, patrons could take advantage of the store’s Seek and We Shall Find service. Amanda usually bypassed the contemporary releases, happier to explore the historic material. Six modestly priced volumes had found their way into her collection since the first time she’d stumbled into the shop.

  The arrival of more customers spared Will from further expletives. Amanda wanted to show him something special, so she grabbed his hand.

  “Come on. You’ve got to see this.”

  A bank of cabinets at the rear of the shop housed an array of antique books and manuscripts. From previous visits, Amanda knew the glass cases were connected to an alarm system, as well as regulated to control temperature and humidity. Will scanned the books and whistled appreciatively.

  Pointing out a large hardbound book with richly detailed illustrations and gilded pages, Will whispered, “That is one of three copies known to exist. The last time one was offered at auction it went for more than half a million dollars.”

  “Nice, but look at that one.”

  Will followed the direction of Amanda’s gaze. “The tiny blue book?”

  “Yes.” She waited for a reaction. “Do you know what it is?”

  Squinting and tilting his head, he read, “Honoria’s Heartbreak. Never heard of it.”

  “Honoria was the real-life daughter of a wealthy merchant who lived in Italy near the end of the seventh century. She fell in love with a peasant from a nearby village and wrote about their romantic liaison in a secret diary, which was later made public as a means of humiliation when her father discovered the illicit relationship. Instead, the book inspired scores of other young women to seek out passionate affairs with men below their social stratum.” Fond memories made Amanda smile. “It was the first piece of historic literature I ever read. Because Honoria’s father had so many copies made, it isn’t worth as much as other volumes from that period.”

  “I wasn’t aware books were mass-produced in the Middle Ages,” Will said.

  “Oh they weren’t. According to historians, Honoria’s father was so incensed at his daughter’s promiscuity that he spent most of his fortun
e having the original diary copied by hand. He then distributed those books as a warning to other fathers and daughters.”

  “Whatever happened to the young woman and her lover?”

  “Later editions of the book include an epilogue that may or may not be true. Honoria was banished to a convent, and the peasant was flogged almost to death and banished from the village. A sympathetic band of minstrels rescued him. A year later, Honoria disappeared from the convent. Although they were never seen again, troubadours of the day performed a wildly popular song about a similar pair of desperate lovers ‘borne north on the wings of a dove’.” Amanda sighed. “Given the enormous pressure on social rankings and disparity between the classes during that period, it’s doubtful they lived happily ever after.”

  “A blinkered ending like that hardly makes it sound like a fairy tale,” Will said.

  “Blinkered? What does that mean?”

  “Narrow-minded.” He grinned. “Even a bloke like me knows true love is supposed to overcome everything. Too bad Honoria and her fella weren’t born a few centuries later. No one would bat an eye at them today.”

  Amanda thought of Jericho, with his ponytail, body art and biker wardrobe. Would her colleagues react as innocuously as Will implied if, by some quirk of fate, she struck up a relationship with him? As compelling as she found the tattoo artist, she doubted even her friends and family would have trouble not reacting to his unconventional livelihood and appearance.

  She imagined the reaction would be much the same if she showed up on the back of his Harley at some bar on the outskirts of town where ink and leather were de rigueur.

  “There’s no way of knowing with certainty how the story ended,” Amanda said. “Still, Honoria’s account of the affair is one of the most lyrical and poignant confessions I’ve ever read. It’s the kind of love every young girl dreams of experiencing.”

  “Ah, the dreamy-eyed romantic reveals herself,” Will teased. “Have you discovered such a passion yet?”

  Remembering the instinctive way her body and mind reacted to Jericho, an embarrassed flush heated her cheeks and she laughed self-consciously. “You make me sound like a naïve young schoolgirl. As much as I want to be carried away by desire, I believe there has to be more than passion for a relationship to succeed.”

  Her comment seemed to pique Will’s interest, for his gaze intensified. “And what would that entail?”

  She thought of Jericho and her compulsive attraction to him. Instantly her nipples pebbled and her belly flip-flopped. “Chemistry is important but you also need compatibility, shared values, common interests and similar goals in life. I’m not willing to give up my career or having a family one day, no matter how great the sex is.”

  “Then you’d better hold out for a gentleman who can provide all three.” Will looked pleased. “I’m all for working mums.”

  There was no misunderstanding his pointed remark, but it was more unsettling than flattering. Amanda genuinely liked the Brit. If graphic images of Jericho weren’t glued to the back of her eyelids, maybe she wouldn’t feel so conflicted.

  She reminded herself tonight’s outing with Will was their first date, if it could even be called a date. There was no reason to jump to conclusions about his intentions, and they had plenty of time to explore a possible mutual interest. Until such a day came, she had every right to enjoy his company and fantasies about her secret crush.

  Chapter Six

  “Knock, knock. Special delivery for Miss Fine.” Will’s voice sounded from outside the door to Amanda’s office before the knob twisted and his head popped through. “Tea and crumpets, straight from Windsor Palace.”

  Darn it. Amanda peeked at the wall clock and realized she had spent more than an hour idly browsing the Internet when she should have been grading papers. And now Will was here for their three o’clock tête-à-tête. The afternoon visits had become something of a daily routine over the past two weeks, and she usually had her desk cleared before he showed up with the authentic English refreshments he favored. Today, a flash of resentment struck, guilt quickly following. Will had no way of knowing he had interrupted her in the middle of very compelling online research.

  Amanda was trying to decide what kind of tattoo to get and where to put it.

  Minimizing the browser window so Will wouldn’t see, she dredged up a smile. “Hi. The day seems to be getting away from me.” She pushed aside a stack of folders to make room and offered him the mug she kept on hand.

  “Then we’ll keep it brief.” A delicate flourish of steam drifted upward while strong brown tea filled the cup. “I had hoped we would have time to work up our production schedule.”

  Thanks to his accent, it came out she-djul, a pronunciation that always amused her. She felt her annoyance lift.

  “We aren’t due to get started until next month,” she reminded him.

  “Weren’t.” He corrected her. “Weren’t due to get started—”

  “It’s here? The collection is here now?” Tattoo forgotten, she jumped up. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go.”

  Will’s laughter held a note of indulgence. “Calm yourself. You’ve not missed anything yet. The delivery date has been moved up. The lot of treasures will arrive in the next two weeks.”

  She ignored the tea, too excited to handle the hot mug. Pacing back and forth behind her desk, she ticked off a list of preparations that needed to be finalized. Whirling to face him, hands on hips, she inhaled a calming breath. “If Professor Mueller—”

  “Timothy.”

  “If Timothy,” she repeated, rolling her eyes, “saw me acting like a teenage groupie, he wouldn’t let me within fifty feet of those manuscripts.”

  The humorous glimmer in Will’s eyes darkened to something more serious. “I find your enthusiasm charming, just as does our esteemed friend, I’m sure. Your passion for these literary treasures is one of the things I admire most about you. There are not many eligible young women who would be thrilled at the prospect of spending the next six months archiving a musty collection of crumbling old papers. You know full well how much patience and painstaking effort this project is going to demand and yet you act as if this is a most extraordinary lark.”

  Setting his cup aside, he leaned forward in his seat. “Amanda, I have been hesitant to say anything for fear of jeopardizing our professional relationship and I do hope I’m not overstepping propriety, but I would very much like to see you outside the office.”

  For some reason she found herself evading his suggestion. “We already see each other outside the office. We took a day trip up to Napa just last weekend.”

  “Most of the department employees came along.” Brandishing a boyish smirk and dimples, he said, “I had something more intimate in mind.”

  Amanda couldn’t tell if the fluttery sensation in her stomach was anxiety or pleasure. She couldn’t say Will’s interest was unwanted. The more she got to know him, the more she liked him. He was good-looking, intelligent, had a clever sense of humor and was warm and outgoing. He was entertaining and fun to be with, and their personalities were well matched. If she weren’t harboring illicit fantasies about Jericho, she wouldn’t have any reservations about dating Will.

  That sounds so pathetic, a voice inside her head snapped. Here is a perfectly fabulous guy and you’re holding out because you have the hots for a tattoo artist who probably hasn’t given you a second thought since he mowed you down on the sidewalk two weeks ago.

  Happy to let her rational side duke it out with her impulsive side later, she decided to let things unfold naturally.

  “If you’re asking me out for a date, I accept.” This time there was no mistaking the tickle of anticipation in her belly.

  “Jolly good! What about dinner on Saturday?” He beamed at her.

  Laughing a bit, Amanda nodded. “Saturday is fine. Do you really talk like that back home?” she asked.

  “Good god, no! My mates would think I’m daft.” He exaggerated his British enuncia
tion. “It’s these ’ere American skirts. Without me accent, I’m just another bloke.”

  “Well you’re safe with me.” She returned to her seat and sipped the lukewarm tea.

  “On that encouraging note, I’ll take my tea and crumpets and leave you to your work.” At the door, he paused. “Saturday. Shall I pick you up at eight?”

  “I’ll be ready,” she promised.

  As the door closed, she folded her hands over her stomach and reclined in the chair. The move to San Francisco had so far exceeded every one of her Ohio farm girl dreams. Opportunities she’d never even imagined were being offered to her, making the possibility of even greater adventures seem likely.

  A delicious shiver undulated from head to toe, and she maximized the computer display, revealing several tattooed female figures. She scrolled through the images until one caught her eye, and instantly she knew she wanted something similar.

  Unable to wait, hoping she wouldn’t be interrupted, Amanda looked up the number of the tattoo studio, dialed and waited for someone to answer her call.

  Chapter Seven

  Jericho couldn’t wait to get home, have a few beers and catch something on TV. If he was honest with himself—a brutal habit he forced himself to maintain—he knew he wouldn’t make it through one beer. The titanium-cored resolve that kept him focused and dedicated enough to build a one-of-a-kind career as a tat artiste had also kept him from hanging out in front of his shop each morning in hopes of seeing the woman he had come to think of as His Blonde. Instead, after each night’s restless sleep, he was up by six and at the gym until nine. He got to the studio around ten and worked in his office until one, when his client hours began. Vix had no trouble keeping his schedule full until nine, meaning it was after ten by the time he closed up shop. A month of rigorous self-control was starting to wear on him, and tonight he wanted nothing more than to get drunk enough to forget the woman driving him insane.