Chapter Three
Nick paused at the café door, held it open and gestured her through. She passed close enough to inhale his cologne: fragrant wood, a touch of moss, and a hint of old books. When his warm breath brushed the back of her neck, her knees wobbled, just a tiny bit.
What was wrong with her? Handsome men came into her shop all the time. Why was this one making her so dizzy, so giddy?
Relax, she told herself. It’s just a coffee.
The tempting odor of fresh coffee and sweet baked treats reminded her she hadn’t eaten in several hours. Since Jared’s death, she often felt disconnected from her body, as if sensations like hunger or fatigue were happening to someone else across the room, not to her. But now, her stomach rumbled audibly as she passed the big glass case laden with tempting muffins and fat cookies.
“I’ll have a large cappuccino and one of those blueberry scones,” Nick told the waitress. “And the lady will have…” He smiled over his shoulder.
“I’ll have the same, thanks.” Her greedy stomach clamored for something more, but she restrained herself.
“Let’s sit over here by the fireplace.” Nick pulled up a chair for Clara and slid another close beside her. He took a bite of his scone, then carefully wiped his fingertips before opening the book he’d bought. The endpaper inside was swirled with cloud-like designs in delicate blues and grays. When he turned the page, Clara’s eyes widened, and her breath caught.
A Japanese courtier, his silk kimono open, presented a kneeling geisha with his huge, engorged shaft, dark purple and ridged with bulging veins.
Clara’s fingers clenched her scone, crushing it to smithereens.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” She dropped the mess onto her plate and then brushed the crumbs from the page, which sent them tumbling onto Nick’s lap. She reached for his leg, realized what she was doing, and snatched her hand back, mortified.
Her fingers flew to her glowing cheeks—probably just as flushed as that enormous painted penis.
“Here, let me get you another scone.” Nick rose and moved to the counter.
While his attention was diverted, Clara reached out a trembling hand to flip the page, then gulped. The two-page spread displayed an orgy scene: an elaborately-coiffed woman astride the huge cock of an elegant, balding man who reached out to diddle another woman between her wide-spread thighs. Surrounding them were six more women, each rubbing a companion’s foot against her own clitoris, all of them entwined in an intricate human knot.
Clara and Jared were adventurous lovers, but this was beyond anything they’d tried, or even imagined. She turned the book sideways and peered closer at the drawing. Something touched her shoulder and, startled, she squeaked like a little girl and slammed the book shut.
Beside her stood Nick, the smutty professor, holding a plate with two scones. Was that a blush coloring his chiseled cheeks? With his deep olive complexion, it was hard to tell. She lowered her gaze and found herself looking right at his crotch.
Damn it!
With no safe place to direct her gaze, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
“Sorry, Clara. Beautiful women bring out my devilish side. Please forgive me.” He slid a new scone onto her empty plate, then sat beside her. “I guess Shunga isn’t everyone’s cup of tea.”
“Shunga?”
Nick nodded. “This type of painting or woodblock print. There’s usually a funny text to go with it.” He balanced the book between them, resting on the arms of their two chairs, then glanced at her, an eyebrow raised.
Okay, Clara, time to put on your big girl panties. You can handle this.
She nodded.
Nick flipped to a new page. “The beautiful costumes and hair arrangements date from the Edo era, roughly the 1600s through the mid-1800s. And here’s the text.” He pointed to columns of delicate Oriental writing.
“Can you read it?”
“Not very well. I have a friend here at the university who can help with the translations. This really is an extraordinary book.” He sipped his coffee and flipped the page.
“Are their, um, private parts always so large?”
He shot her another devilish grin. “Always. You know, it’s funny. In European artwork, male genitals are often unusually small, compared to…” He glanced down at his own lap. She followed his gaze, then jerked her eyes away. Her voice creaked like a twelve-year-old boy’s. “Yes, I’ve—uh—I’ve noticed.”
“But in Shunga, all the genitals are outsized.”
“Doesn’t that scare women away?”
“On the contrary—these drawings were presented in ‘Pillow Books’ designed to instruct young couples in the art of love.”
He flipped another page. A lovely woman gazed serenely into the distance, combing her flowing black hair, while her open kimono displayed her large, fuzzy bush. A man crouched to watch her from behind a large urn appeared to be salivating.
Nick flipped the page again and pointed to an image of a couple going at it fiercely. “Notice how the woman’s toes are curled?”
She giggled. “I thought that was just an expression. You know, he made my toes curl.”
Nick closed the book and gazed into her eyes. The corner of his full lips twitched upward. “I hope someone’s curling your toes, lovely lady.”
Her breath escaped in a soft whoosh. Discussing sexy artwork with this gorgeous professor was uncomfortable, if titillating. But no way was she ready to discuss her own love life, or lack thereof. Nestled beside him in the squishy leather chair, her mind and body waged a battle. The combination of his warmth, his husky voice, and the beautiful, explicit images laid out before her—it was too much, leaving her hot and tingly, but also squirmy with embarrassment. She wasn’t ready to feel this way again. And yet, her body had other ideas.
She cleared her throat and sat up straighter. “I’m a widow, Mr. Papa—Nick. My husband passed away a year ago.”
Nick’s teasing smile melted away. His dark eyes shone with emotion. “I’m sorry, Clara. I hope I haven’t made you uncomfortable. I didn’t mean to pry.” He laid his hand over hers, his touch warm and soft. “I lost my wife two years ago. Cancer.”
The tension drained from her body like water through a sieve. He understood.
“My husband is the one who took care of our…” She gestured at the book. “…of our special collection. I haven’t set foot through that door since he died.”
Nick nodded and gave her hand a gentle squeeze.
“But we do get a lot of visitors wanting to see our collection. They used to talk to Jared, but now I have to screen them.”
“How do you decide who’s allowed inside?”
“Just gut instinct. People have a certain oily vibe when they just want to leer at dirty books. And they’d usually be disappointed. I mean, it’s mostly older artwork and stories, like this one here, and most of the books are quite expensive, which keeps the perverts away. They’re hoping for cheap porn, not art.”
“So, why did I pass the test?”
As he gazed into her eyes she noticed, deep within his dark irises, flecks of gold that caught the light. Mesmerizing.
“Well, you are a professor and all.”
“I am indeed. And you know what they say about us professors, ‘Publish or perish.’ I heard about you from a colleague at the university here. I’ve been under pressure to publish something new, so…” He pulled out his little tablet and tapped the screen.
“Here are some of the titles I’d like hope to buy for my department. It might take a few days to get an okay from our chairwoman. If I email you this list, will you hold these books for me?”
That meant he’d be back, giving her time to reflect on her feelings for this deliciously disturbing man.
As if reading her mind, he added, “I’d really appreciate your help. And if I can’t get funding, I’ll be back to buy them myself. These books are nearly as fascinating as their owner.”
She gaped at him for a moment, then folded her hands and carefully composed a smile she hoped radiated poise. “I’d be glad to hold the books for you, Nick.”
I’d be glad to hold anything you want me to hold.
For a terrifying moment, she was sure she’d said those words aloud. She took a deep trembling breath.
So did Nick. He gave her hand a final squeeze. They both stood, and she realized the top of her head came only to his chin. She’d always had a weakness for tall men, especially ones with deep, velvety voices, sparkling dark eyes, devilish smiles—
She squashed those dangerous thoughts. “Right. I look forward to seeing you soon.”
“Not as much as I look forward to seeing you, Clara.” Her name slid off his tongue like a caress.
As she walked back toward her shop, the heavy warmth of his gaze heated her back. Just to be sure, when she reached the sidewalk she turned for one last glimpse. He was still watching, a mysterious half-smile on his lips.