“Dude, this is the poetry place, right?”
Cat looked up as a group of teenagers tumbled through the door. The one who had spoken was clutching a pack of papers in his hand. Tattoos snaked up the side of his neck, seemingly at odds with the thick-rimmed glasses he wore. Two girls behind him laughed in that self-conscious way teenage girls had. One had long blue hair and blue fingernails to match and was garbed in a floor-length black dress. She had a pretty face, from what one could see under the heavy eyeliner and lipstick she wore. The other girl was dressed more plainly, in faded jeans and a ratty T-shirt under a black jacket, but had piercings in her eyebrow, cheek, and nose. And probably tongue.
“Yes, it is,” she answered. “Head over there by the podium and find a spot to make yourself comfortable. We’ve got coffee and a few treats from the coffee shop across the street, so help yourself.”
“Dude, free food!” said the other boy in the group, the one Cat hadn’t noticed at first. He was skinny as a rail, but watching him dive into the food, Cat knew she’d be lucky if there were anything left over for the other people now coming through the door. A couple of college-age girls entered, followed by the elderly couple who had been in earlier. The man winked at Eliza, who was across the room pulling out extra chairs.
“I told you we’d be back,” he said to Cat, a teasing glimmer in his eye. “C’mon, Myra, let’s go get a spot next to the blue-haired girl. She looks interesting.”
“Help yourself to coffee and snacks—while they last.” Cat turned to greet the next party coming in, a group of older ladies wearing red hats.
“Welcome to the Treasure Trove,” she said in greeting, “and to our first Poetry Night. We’ve got seats over there and a few refreshments, if you’re hungry or thirsty.”
“Oh, I shouldn’t have any sweets,” demurred one of the ladies, a plump little white-haired woman with a friendly face, as she made a beeline for the brownies.
Eliza sidled up to Cat. “Wow, did you think we’d get so many? There must be at least twenty people in here.”
Cat grinned. “I know. This is wonderful. But I think the posse of teenagers may lay waste to the food before anyone else has a shot at it.”
“Oh, don’t worry about that,” Eliza answered. “I can always run over and get more.”
Cat nodded, looking around the room and then back toward the door.
“He’s not here, is he?” Eliza asked.
“Who?” Cat ignored the butterflies in her stomach.
“Whadd’ya mean, who? Your guy, that’s who—Grayson!”
“He’s not my guy.” She had to admit, she was disappointed not to see him. Any woman with hormones would be. But perhaps it was better; she needed to focus on the business at hand, not moon after a sex-on-a-stick twenty-something with whom she’d never have a chance, a chance she shouldn’t want. “Anyway, I’ve gotta go open the floor. It’s time to get started.”
Cat crossed to stand behind the podium. “Welcome to the Treasure Trove’s first Poetry Night! We’re so glad you’re here and look forward to hearing what you have to share with us, whether it’s original compositions or some of your favorite poems. Anything goes, but let’s try to keep it profanity-free, all right?”
“Aw, shit,” she heard the tattooed boy mutter under his breath.
She went on. “I’m Cat Schreiber, and this is Eliza James, and we own the Treasure Trove. We hope you’ll spread the word about us.”
“Rah, rah!” Eliza called from the back.
“And now, without further ado, I turn the mic over to you.” Cat looked out over the small crowd. Nobody came up. She waved them forward with her hand. “Come on, who’s gonna break the ice? I promise we won’t laugh.”
“OK, dude, I’ll go,” said the boy with the tattoos. He adjusted his glasses and walked to the front. Cat moved off to stand at the side.
The boy gave what Cat assumed was intended to be a sultry look to the girl garbed in black and said, “Annika, this is for you.
“Your eyes so brown, your hair so blue.
Your bitchin’ body and nose ring, too.
Your way of smoking your cigarettes,
These are things I’ll never forget.”
Cat glanced at Eliza, struggling to control the laughter bubbling to the surface. I promised I wouldn’t, she told herself sternly as she bit down on her bottom lip. Briefly, her mind wandered to Ben. His poem hadn’t been much better. Eliza, who’d taken a seat next to her senior admirer, rolled her eyes and then pointed toward the object of the poem, who sat as if enraptured, gazing at the boy with wide eyes and a happy smile on her face.
“At least someone’s enjoying it,” whispered a voice from behind her. Jumping, Cat turned to see Grayson standing there.
“When did you come in?” Her voice came out sharper than she had intended, from the shock of seeing him and having him stand so close to her. Damn, he smelled good, of a heady cologne that, thank goodness, he hadn’t applied too heavily. She could feel the warmth of his body against her back. A shiver raced down her spine.
“I sneaked in while you were greeting the Red Hat Club over there. I was looking at a book while you were performing the opening ceremony.”
She relaxed her shoulders and gave him a brief smile, as the boy at the front continued.
“Your long, long tongue and soft sweet lips,
The sexy way you swing those hips,
It’s such a fuckin’—er, pardon me, friggin’—thrill to be
The dude for you, and you for me.”
Upon finishing his poem, the young man ran back to Annika, who was watching him with hero worship in her eyes. “I told you I was gonna do it, babe,” he said, and then kissed her.
After a minute, Eliza elbowed them from her other side. “This a family joint, guys,” she joked as they moved apart.
“The poem sucked, but points to him for getting such a reaction out of her,” Gray said. “She’ll be mooning after him for days now.”
His eyes bore into hers, and she sucked in a breath. The man exuded sensuality.
“You think that’s all it takes? Read a poem and we’ll fall at your feet?”
“We’ll see,” he responded. “But the little Red Hat lady with brownie on her shirt is going next.”
For the next hour, as they listened to everything from Shakespeare to long love poems about various pets, to what Cat could only call spoken rap, she was cognizant of Gray standing right behind her. As people spoke, he’d often whisper commentary into her ear, and the delicious feel of his breath on her neck sent the most delightful sizzles through her body. She was surprised, frankly, by the intensity of her body’s reaction to him. There was no other word for it than lust. Sheer lust. And yet, oddly, she was also grateful for it. She’d felt dead inside for so long, had denied the sexual side of herself forever. Too messy to deal with. But now, it felt as if an undercurrent of electricity was racing between them.
She shifted positions, locking her arms over her belly. She longed to glance back at him, to see if it was all one-sided, this attraction. But she kept her eyes fixed firmly ahead. If she were wrong, she didn’t want to ruin her delusions just yet.
Eliza looked over at her occasionally, once with a raised eyebrow, and once with a wink. She obviously thinks there’s something going on.
A few people had already drifted out and others seemed on the brink of sleep, lulled in part by the warm fire blazing behind the podium and the soft candlelight Eliza had set up around the room, when Grayson walked up to the front. Cat noticed a group of young college women sitting in front of her begin elbowing each other. They tittered back and forth as Grayson spoke.
“I hope you like this one. It’s always been one of my favorites, but lately I seem to be thinking of it more than usual,” he said, his voice soft as he glanced at Cat. “It’s called Première Soirée—The First Evening, by Arthur Rimbaud.”
He began reading, his voice rendered all the more sensual by the fact that the words dripping off his tongue were in French.
He’s reading in French? Cat glanced around. Did anyone understand him? It didn’t seem to matter whether they did or not; one of the Red Hat ladies had begun fanning herself with her hand as Grayson read, and it was clear the other women in the room were falling under his spell, as well. Even Myra had turned to look at Gray with an admiring gleam in her eye. Her husband, noticing, elbowed her.
Cat chuckled to herself as she heard Myra retort, “Turnabout’s fair play, Fred. Now let me enjoy the young man.”
Gray paused, having come to the end of the poem.
“This next one is dedicated to Cat, our fearless bookstore owner, for providing us with the space to meet tonight, and because we seem to like similar imagery,” he said, his voice silky.
The college girls in front of Cat turned and peered at her. Her cheeks burned as she remembered which image she and Grayson had last been discussing together.
As he began to speak, all eyes returned to him.
“‘Dip your fingers into my ink,
Spreading my flesh across your page.
Smooth me, shape me, shade me darkly with your hands.
Take my mouth and paint it raw,
Dripping oil down across your brush.
Feel me rise under your pen,
My skin an extension of your touch.
Make me come alive, color my world, draw me
In to who you are.’”
Cat stood, transfixed. It was as if an electric current were flowing between the two of them. She winced. That’s the kind of corny thing she’d expect Eliza to say.
While Grayson spoke, he kept his eyes, those startling, mesmerizing cerulean eyes, on her, barely glancing down at the words on the page. Several women in the room noticed, assessing her with disappointed looks on their faces. Cat broke eye contact with Grayson to note Eliza was watching her, too, looking back and forth between the two of them. Eliza sat back in her chair, smiling consolingly at Fred, who was looking morose now that Myra and all the rest of the women in the room were focused on the man behind the podium. The Goth girl, Annika, was leaning forward in her seat, as well, much to her boyfriend’s dismay. Not that I blame her.
Cat’s eyes were drawn back toward Grayson’s, pulled as if by a magnet. His eyelids flared as she met his gaze again.
As he finished speaking and silence covered the room, Eliza hopped up. “Well, that concludes our first Poetry Night. I hope you all enjoyed it. Please come back to visit us during regular business hours, and be on the lookout for announcements about our upcoming events here at the store.” Her bright, energetic voice broke the trance that had fallen over the crowd. She chatted with folks as they made their way to the door. After everyone but Grayson had left, Eliza waved at Cat and bounded upstairs before Cat could stop her.
Grayson was in the back of the room, cleaning up coffee cups and moving chairs. Once they were alone, he stopped, fixing his eyes on Cat. It was a hot, piercing gaze. Cat moved toward him slowly.
“What did you think of the poem?” His voice was low, intense.
“Um, well, it was pretty ... vivid,” Cat mumbled. “Which one of your feminist authors wrote it?”
He stepped forward and ran his thumb over her lower lip. “I did. Yesterday. When I was thinking of you. Of how I want you to be thinking of me.”
Cat swallowed. Grayson, this sex god, this unbelievably attractive, hot, seductive younger man, wanted her? Her?
Slowly, so slowly, he dipped his head and kissed her, a light kiss at first, a gentle tasting. After a moment he intensified the kiss, running his fingers through her hair as he ravished her mouth. Cat responded in kind, wrapping her arms around his neck, wanting to get closer to him. Her whole body felt aflame, on fire.
He broke off abruptly. “I’ve been wanting to do this since I first saw you,” he murmured, before swooping in to kiss her again. Cat ran her fingers through his hair as he moved his mouth across her cheek to her ear and down her neck, trailing soft kisses along the surface of her skin. Electric shivers raced up and down her spine and flamed out across her body.
“You have?” she panted. “Usually it’s Eliza the guys go nuts for.”
He chuckled as he pulled her into him, running his hands down her back. “She is beautiful,” he conceded, “but I was drawn to you, pulled in by you. I can see the passion in you. I can feel it.” He dipped to kiss her again. “You try to hide it, which is part of what makes you so irresistible. You need someone to bring you alive. You need me.”
“Oh,” she whispered. Then stopped talking.
He slid his hand down over her backside and pulled her hips full into his. She could feel how aroused he was. Emboldened, she slid her hands up under his shirt, marveling at the hot feel of his skin. He gasped, and then kissed his way down her throat to her chest. Slowly but skillfully he opened each button of her shirt, licking the skin as he exposed it. Cat grew wild with desire, wanting to devour him whole, wanting the heat of his skin against hers. She hadn’t felt this way in such a long time and it was utterly delicious.
They fell together on the sofa in front of the fireplace, murmuring words of desire and sex. He moved his fingers over her body, following each place he touched with his mouth. Trembling, she allowed him to remove her jeans, watching with wide eyes as he unzipped his. After pulling out a condom from the front pocket, he tossed them aside.
“Is this what you want?” His eyes were deep, dark, seductive pools.
She didn’t want to think. She wanted to feel. “Yes. Oh, yes,” she panted, marveling at how her body had come alive again.
Quickly he tore open the condom package. “Me, too. God, me, too.”
Rising over her, he shifted his hips between her legs, piercing her with his eyes, those intense, beautiful, impossibly blue eyes. He slid into her. I can’t believe I’m doing this; this isn’t me. And then there was no more space for thought—just joy and movement and bodies, and pleasure and release.