WhatLiesBeneath (3 page)

“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 fortune
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.

“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 enunciation. “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.