AllFreeNovel
Share Us
TWICE TEMPTED
BY WILLIAM JOSEPH
“I vow. You bow. We vow.”
? Shantel Tessier, The Ritual
CHAPTER ONE
Amelia picked a book out of the box atop her cart and ran her hand over the smooth leather that bound it. The coolness sent a chill through her body, and the book smelled delectable. Leather books were some of her favorites. They had the best smells. Between the covers and the pages. It’s like they only grew better with age, as long as they were taken care of and weren’t exposed to water or damage. In the library Amelia worked at as a librarian in Center city, she always made sure that each book was kept in impeccable condition. It was only when people rented books out and returned them that she’d find issues or damage, and this always upset her.
Everyone knew Amelia as the reserved type. She always kept to herself. She always showed up to work fifteen minutes early and always locked the place up at night. She was an impeccable employee and had a vast literary knowledge. From Dante and Virgil to Tolstoy, Shakespeare, Jane Austen, and Dickens, Amelia read and enjoyed everything. It was all she did. She lived a simple book-filled life. She didn’t go out, didn’t have friends outside of work, and didn’t have any family. Many would consider her a loner, and possibly socially withdrawn, but she never shied away from a conversation. She was just never the one to initiate.
Amelia always felt like a background character in everyone else’s life. She played a supportive role, and she was perfectly okay with that. She never married, and never had children. She lived at home with two cats and that was it. As for her appearance. Amelia was tall for a woman, almost six feet. She was slender, and what many would consider above average pretty, but in a plain Jane kind of way. She didn’t wear any makeup, always had her hair in messy buns, wore large, black-framed glasses, and dressed conservatively considering the modern state of the world and city she lived in. She didn’t like to rock the boat, always ate at the same places, did her laundry on the same day, and followed the same path to and from work in a near carbon copy step-for-step fashion day in and day out. She was a creature of habit, and she liked her routine. It comforted her. She never had to stress or worry about anyone but herself. She didn’t have to deal with peer pressure or any outside influences that could disrupt her life or professional career.
She was dedicated to a life of literature, and that was all she needed to thrive.
As Amelia pushed the step ladder with wheels over and then grabbed the next book to put away, she saw someone turn into her aisle at the corner of her eye.
“If I’m in your way, I apologize. I’ll be gone in just a moment,” she explained as she reached up and struggled to fit the book on the topmost shelf. Someone had stuck too many books on this shelf twice before and unless they were adjusted, it was almost impossible to wiggle an additional book without damaging it from forcefully jamming it in.
“No concern of mine,” a silky-smooth male voice said. “I’m just looking for some James Joyce.”
“James Joyce?” Amelia repeated. “I can help you find him once I’m done,” she said with a grunt as she was able to finagle getting the book in, her tongue slightly sticking out between her lips.
Amelia placed her hands on her hips and examined the row of books. Her eyes went from one side to the other, making sure it looked sturdy enough that nothing would randomly fall out and land on a customer. With a nod of self-affirmation, she began to descend the steps so she could help the man who had mentioned James Joyce.
“Are you looking for anything in particular?” she asked. “Ulysses? Finnegans Wake? Something else? I’m not sure how familiar with his work.”
Amelia rifled off her questions as she descended, finally planting her feet on the library carpet. Immediately she felt a tension in the air as the man who inquired suddenly appeared at her side. He went to move past her to get out of her way, but in his passing, they shared a long glance and Amelia’s heart instantly skipped a beat.
The man was the most gorgeous man she had ever seen. He didn’t even seem real. He had olive skin, and a trimmed goatee with a slight salt and pepper color to it. His hair was jet black, slicked, and combed straight back. He was in a large peacoat, black, and from what Amelia could see beneath it, he wore a black suit too.
He smiled as he moved to the other side of the steps she had used. Pearly whites, perfectly straight. He looked like something straight out of Hollywood if it were in Italy. Handsome wasn’t even in the same ballpark as him. His rich amber eyes looked Amelia up and down before he turned away and his eyes returned to the books alongside them.
A chill passed through Amelia. She could feel a jolt go through her body, her brain suddenly became clouded, and her thoughts and words jumbled. These were things that never happened to her. Sure, she’d been attracted to a man before. But this was something else entirely. She had never seen someone as gorgeous as him outside of a cologne advertisement on TV, or a magazine ad. And yet here he was, in a library. Her library.
“I own those already. I’ve read them, maybe a dozen times. I was looking more for something I haven’t read from him yet.”
Amelia tried to hide her smirk. The fact that this man liked James Joyce, someone whom Amelia considered one of the greatest writers of all time took her off guard. Not only was this man stunning, but he was intellectual too. Someone didn’t just pick up James Joyce for the fun of it. He was one of the greatest prose stylists of the century. And most people who had even heard of him, still have never actually read any of his work.
“Well,” Amelia said, needing to clear her throat with a fake cough as she followed him. “Excuse me,” she apologized. “Beyond those works, you have A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man and a book of short stories titled Dubliners.”
The man stopped in his tracks then. He turned to her as Amelia continued to walk, passing him. As she did, she took a whiff and was hit with pure ecstasy. She couldn’t help but close her eyes and smile, her expression and reaction concealed by having her back to the man. His scent had almost brought her to her knees. He smelled of luxury. Amber notes, with a warmth to it, and some sort of a spice.
“Mmm, what is that?” she blurted out, realizing that she spoke out loud rather than in her mind.
“What is, what?” he inquired, his voice full of amusement.
“That cologne,” Amelia asked, turning to look at the man who had his hands in his pockets and a smirk on his face.
“It’s Tom Ford, Noir Extreme,” he replied.
“It’s nice.”
“Thank you,” he said, taking a step closer to her.
Amelia felt like someone was playing a prank on her. Was this man some relative of one of her coworkers who sent him to tease her in some way? To try to get her out of her shell? It wouldn’t be the first time, but even this seemed a little farfetched, even for someone who read tons of literature.
