I dropped the dress back into the rack. Morrie offered me his arm. I hesitated. I can make out the door on my own. But it was dark and a headache flickered across my temples, the start of one of the migraines that plagued me more and more these days. Biting my lip in frustration, I looped my arm in his, and he led me back into the main room. We passed Quoth at the window, splashing water from my drink bottle over his hands, in a further attempt to wash away lingering drain gunk. I sat down on the bed while Heathcliff read passages from the letters aloud.
“‘Dear Madam’,” he intoned, his deep voice reverberating through my body, right down to my toes. “‘I hope this letter finds you well. I have enclosed the Works of Francis Bacon, ten volumes in large octavo, bound by J. Johnson of London in calf, gilt titles, and tooling, as you requested. The second has a slight imperfection on the cover, and I have adjusted my price accordingly. If you are compiling a collection of occult materials, I have enclosed a list of additional titles I hold in my possession. I draw your attention in particular to the Sphere Cabalistice Fatidicis numeris contexte I have recently acquired – this attractive Cabalist manuscript contains twenty-six leaves of divination tables and lists of animals and birds for augury. If you wish to possess this, please return my letter with haste, for I have two other interested buyers…’” Heathcliff set down the letter. “Most of the letters are of a similar vein, relating to the buying and selling of occult books. This particular missive was addressed to the infamous French clairvoyant, Madame de Thèbes. There are similar such missives between other noted occultists of the era. The woman who lived in this house – one Victoria Bainbridge – was a book dealer. She specialized in buying and selling rare antiquarian occult volumes.”
“A basic assessment judged solely through surface details, as to be expected from your savage, lazy mind,” Morrie sulked. “Give me the letter. I’ll be able to tell you her hair color, sister’s middle name, and views on colonialism.”
Heathcliff bristled at the word savage but didn’t rise to Morrie’s jab. Instead, he slotted the letter back into the desk. “The Victorian book trade was dominated by men, but Ms. Bainbridge made a name for herself by courting her clientele at the spiritualist gatherings in fine houses and amongst the intellectually curious of the upper classes. It seemed she had to keep a certain standard of living, as she frequently entertained clients at her home. However, from the looks of the ledger here, as she fell on hard times she had to dismiss staff. Likely, she also closed off rooms to lower heating and cleaning costs.”
I loved the idea that an enterprising woman lived here in Nevermore Bookshop, making a life for herself using her wit and intelligence.
“According to her latest letter, she’s visiting the continent for the winter to peruse the latest volumes of the French spiritualists and escape the inclement weather.” Heathcliff set the paper down. “Clever woman. She won’t be returning until after Christmas. Hence, I believe, the drop cloths over the furniture, to avoid an excess of dust when she returns.”
“Another bookseller,” Morrie noted. He shifted beside me, his body twitching with excitement. “This can’t be a coincidence.”
Heathcliff rubbed his eyes. “Likely not, but I’m too tired to consider it now.”
Tired? I was anything but tired. I wanted to know more about this woman. I wanted to pull out every drawer in that desk and try on every fine outfit in her closet. My skin tingled with anticipation. We’re on the cusp of figuring out Nevermore’s secrets, I can feel it.
A hand brushed my leg, and I realized that Heathcliff might have been thinking about bed, but not sleep.
“Yes,” I said, my voice catching as my heart pounded in my chest. “We’ve conducted our search, and it’s getting late. I think we should all go to bed.”
I pulled back the covers. Heathcliff held up the candle and inspected the bed to make sure it was clean. We had no idea what kind of woman Victoria Bainbridge was and what she did between these sheets. Heathcliff declared the bed safe and I slid in between the covers. Grimalkin bounded across the duvet and nuzzled into my hair.
“Not right now, kitty,” I whispered as I untangled her and dumped her on the floor. She meowed in complaint before scurrying off into the gloom.
“Wise move, gorgeous.” Morrie slid in beside me, slipping his arm beneath my head. “We wouldn’t want Grimalkin to see what was about to happen.”
“What’s about to happen?” I demanded, still not sure I wanted him right now, after the rude things he’d said. “You going to insult your friends some more?”
“Only if they get in the way.”
Morrie’s lips met mine. The kiss seared me inside and out, packed with all the promises he’d been teasing me with all day. I sank into the soft linens as Morrie’s hands explored my body, and all his niggling insults and barbed comments faded from memory as his touch lit me up.
I should be stronger… I should make him open up to me… but maybe later…
The bed creaked as Heathcliff climbed in behind Morrie. He’d snuffed all the candles bar one beside the bed, so all I could see was the corner of his head, the flickering light dancing against his wild hair. “Get your feet off my side,” he complained to Morrie.
“Sleep on the couch if you’re worried about our feet touching,” Morrie warned. “Mina and I have plans.”
“Don’t listen to Morrie. He’s being a wanker.” I reached behind Morrie and grabbed Heathcliff’s wrist, holding him in place. Morrie didn’t get to be in charge tonight. I did. And I wanted all of them in the bed with me, even if that meant…
Stop. Don’t think about it, or you’ll talk yourself out of it.
Quoth’s wings fluttered as he flew up to find a perch. His talons scraped about the chamber door. With my free hand, I patted the bed behind me. “Quoth, why don’t you come here?”
“Croak!”
“Yes, I’m sure.” I flashed him my brightest smile. “I’m sure.”
Heathcliff tugged at his arm, trying to free himself, but I held fast.
“Turn the light out, will you?” Morrie muttered, his lips trailing along my collarbone.
After checking his sword was within arms’ reach should any marauding dinosaur surprise us, Heathcliff blew out the nearest candle, plunging the room into darkness. Quoth fluttered down and landed on the pillow behind me. The bed creaked again as he forced his change, sliding his warm, naked body between the sheets. Between him and Morrie, my skin hummed with heat. I listened hard as Morrie laid trails of kisses along my neck, searching the silence for some sign from the other guys, some clue as to what they were thinking.
Morrie didn’t waste time. He clamped his lips over mine, and his hand reached under the waistband of my pajama bottoms, seeking the warmth between my legs. “What are you doing?” I whispered. “Take it slow. Quoth and Heathcliff are right here.”
“I know.” His voice rumbled in my chest. “Isn’t it delicious?”
A hand slid around my torso, pushing up my shirt. Lips pressed into my collarbone. Quoth. “Mina,” he murmured against my skin.
I still hadn’t released Heathcliff’s arm. He leaned his elbow into the pillow to bring his face closer to mine. “If this is how it’s going to be, Morrie better shuffle his fat arse over.”
Morrie swept me beneath him, pinning me to the bed with his body. “Better?”
“Much.” Heathcliff tipped my head toward his and claimed my mouth in his. His savage kiss threw me into the tumult of his mind. When Heathcliff kissed, there was no forgetting who he was or the ferocity with which he felt and acted.
My chest constricted. The intensity of the three of them with me, the heat rising from their bodies as they touched me and kissed me and claimed my body, pulled me deeper into their hearts. The room, the bookshop, the unanswered questions, my frustration with my broken eyes and with Morrie’s behavior… it all disappeared as they teased and stroked my body.
Heathcliff kicked back the sheets as Quoth gently lifted off my paja
ma top. Morrie, in a rare display of uncontrolled haste, tore my pants from my legs with such force I heard a seam tear. The air crackled against my bare skin, as though a magic spell weaved us four together.
How is any of this real? I gripped Heathcliff’s bicep, certain that at any moment I’d fall through the floor and wake up in my bed back at my mum’s flat, and they would no longer be living, breathing men but characters from books, and I never would have been kissed by three beautiful souls who lit my heart on fire.
Heathcliff's kisses drew me back to the present. Of course they were real. Only something real could feel this good. Quoth’s fingers danced over my chest – his featherlight touch shooting sparks through my body. His lips pressed against the small of my neck, and his hardness slid between the cheeks of my ass.
Morrie moved down my body, parting my legs. He pressed his lips between my thighs, right on the spot that buzzed with urgent desire. I moaned between Heathcliff’s lips as Morrie licked slowly along my slit. He paused over my clit, making me wait, waiting for me to beg. Quoth moved his mouth to my chest, tightening around my nipple.
Three sets of lips on me, kissing, pleasuring, pleading for more. Three sets of lips to drive out my fears.
I tightened my hips around Morrie’s head. He took the hint, his tongue lapping at my clit in his slow, gentle strokes, drawing out the ache inside me until it became a fire. Heathcliff deepened the kiss, pouring fire and brimstone straight down my throat and into my chest. My fingers reached down to curl in Quoth’s hair. He moaned and scraped his teeth against my nipple.
I came with a shudder that became a wave rippling through my body, pulling me under before dashing my body against the shore of their bodies. Heathcliff’s lips slipped from mine as I sank back into the cushions, riding that wave until it crashed over me and ebbed away into a steady, warm hum.
“What do you say, boys?” Morrie asked. “Should we try for one more?”
“I say it’s my turn down there,” Heathcliff shot back. A wild grin spread across my face. How is this my life?
Heathcliff and Morrie swapped places. Morrie pushed my face toward Quoth. “Give the little birdie some love,” he whispered, his fingers trailing down my back.
Eagerly, I took Quoth’s face in my hands, seeking the solace of his mouth. Quoth’s lips on mine were soft, tender, promising that he’d always look out for me. But then Heathcliff’s mouth met my clit, his tongue attacking me with all his pent-up aggression, and my back arched and I held Quoth to me, tightening my body against his and mirroring Heathcliff’s relentless onslaught.
Behind me, Morrie kissed and stroked my back. Under his fingers, the hairs on my skin stood upright, and warn shivers trickled through my skin. He angled me on my side, and his hands kneaded my thighs and ass. His hardness pressed between my ass cheeks, and his muscles tightened against me, as though he were very close to losing that tight grip on control.
What is Morrie up to?
I didn’t have time to ponder, because Heathcliff’s nails dug into my thighs and his tongue did this thing and Quoth’s lips opened and Morrie’s grapefruit-and-vanilla scent filled my nostrils and my body exploded. I floated in the dark space between waking and sleep, living in the pleasure until it released my body and I could sink back to earth.
“That’s two,” I could hear the satisfied smirk in Morrie’s voice. “Do you think she’ll come again if two of us are inside her at once?”
Excuse me, what?
“I think you’d better discuss that with Mina first,” Heathcliff said, a hint of warning in his voice.
“Obviously she’s down for it, or she wouldn’t have begged all three of us to be in bed with her.” Morrie’s fingers stroked my ass cheek. “I’ve been dying to be inside her arse ever since she sashayed that pretty thing into the shop.”
Oh no, he didn’t.
Quoth’s arms tightened around me. “Don’t let Morrie push you,” he whispered.
“Don’t worry. Morrie won’t be not pushing me into anything, or putting anything inside me, the way he’s acting right now.” I scrambled up in the bed to face Morrie. Quoth’s arms still held me tight. “As the owner of said arse, I’m weighing in. You don’t get to—”
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
A sharp voice broke through the darkness. Heathcliff sprung off me. Quoth’s arms tightened around me, pressing me into himself as though his body would shield me. Morrie, of course, rolled over as though he had all the time in the world.
“I sleep in that bed,” the voice snapped. A match flickered in the gloom. A moment later, a candle revealed a stern woman with a face like boiled cabbage. Behind her, Heathcliff lunged for his sword.
“Heathcliff, don’t!” I cried, just as his hand slid around the hilt and he swung the weapon at her head. The woman ducked under the blow, grabbed Heathcliff’s arm and twisted it around herself, applying pressure to his elbow until his fingers unlocked and he dropped the sword. Quoth yelped in fright. Feathers exploded across the bed as he shifted, swooping up to perch above the door.
“I learned that particular trick from Algernon Blackwood,” she said, a note of triumph in her voice.
Morrie clapped. “Brava!”
The woman straightened up, dropping Heathcliff to the floor, where he landed with a THUD. She picked up the weapon and swung it through the air. “This is a fine blade. Under the circumstances, I think I shall keep it. If he had told me you would use my boudoir for bacchanalian rituals and try to cut my head off, I wouldn’t have delayed my trip to Paris to meet you.”
Paris trip? I gasped as I made the connection. “You’re Victoria Bainbridge, the occult bookseller.”
She swept the candle over the bed, no doubt taking in our state of undress. “I am a dealer, thank you very much. A dealer who shall now have to burn her bedsheets and hire my dear friend Mr. Crowley to cleanse this space,” she declared. “I’ve half a mind to send you a bill to replace the sheets. What on earth possessed you to carry on in such a manner, given the gravity of the situation?”
“What situation? Who told you to come back for us?” Heathcliff demanded. “Who knew we would be here?”
“Is your friend Aleister Crowley? Did he tell you we’d be here?” Morrie said. “I’ve always been interested in meeting him.”
“Heavens no. Aleister would never get mixed up in this. He’d not wish to risk leaving his disciples in another century. I cannot tell you who forewarned me of your visit. The names of my clients are strictly confidential. You will not learn the time-traveler’s name from me. You are the girl Wilhelmina, correct?”
“How do you know my name?” I scrambled around for my Snoopy top and pulled it on.
Victoria went over to the desk. I heard her slide out a drawer and pop something open.
“Heathcliff, you missed a hidden drawer,” Morrie said. “I wouldn’t have missed the hidden drawer.”
“Go to hell, Morrie.”
Victoria leaned across the bed and waved something in front of my face. A small, white envelope. “Take it. He left it for you.”
“Who?” I demanded.
“Your father, of course.”
Chapter Three
I snorted. “I think you have me mixed up with someone else. My father was a useless waste-of-space petty criminal in my century who walked out on my mum right after I was born. He left me nothing except bitterness and deteriorating retinas.”
“You believe I have mistaken you for some other time-traveling girl named Wilhelmina with two rude men and a raven as companions?” Victoria smirked. “Take the letter. Perhaps there is more to your past then you have been led to believe.”
The paper slid between my fingers. Am I really holding something from my father? This didn’t make any sense. We’d entered this room looking for answers, but I never anticipated this.
“Now.” Victoria smoothed down the front of her corset. “Since I see you’ve ransacked my desk and upended my bath, I can assure you th
ere are no further clues to be found in my boudoir. If you could vacate my home at the earliest opportunity, I’d be most grateful. My client explained to me something called the ontological paradox. I’d hate for you to accidentally squash a spider and start the great spider/human war of your time.”
“Just in case, I’d like my sword back.” Heathcliff held out his hand, but Victoria dangled the blade out of his reach.
“How do we get back to our own time?” Morrie asked. “We can’t get the door open.”
“Wait until morning.” Victoria sighed and slunk into the darkness. “When he visited me, he always had to wait until morning. At one time I believed he meant it merely as an excuse to stay with me, but he assured me it was part of the room’s magic. I guess I shall have to sleep in my chair.”
“Meeeoorrww!” Grimalkin cried.
Victoria leaped to her feet. “I see my chair is already occupied.”
I tried to slide out of bed, but Morrie’s body weighed me down. “We shouldn’t steal your bed. The guys and I will take the chairs—”
“Meeerrw!” Grimalkin sounded indignant.
“I insist,” Victoria said. “After what you’ve been doing between those sheets, I do not wish to touch it. You may as well enjoy it for the rest of the night. However, your feline friend will have to join you.”
Grimalkin meowed as Victoria deposited her on my feet. The candlelight bobbed across the room. A sofa creaked as she threw back the covers and settled herself in. A moment later, the light flickered out.
“You heard the lady.” Morrie’s hand snaked around my chest again.
I threw him off. “You can’t seriously be thinking about that now?”
“Yes, yes I can.”
“Morrie, get off me. Aside from the fact that I’m holding a letter from my father and a Victorian book dealer is sleeping on the sofa three feet from the bed, so I have other shit on my mind, I’m angry with you.”
“Have I done something to offend?”
I snorted. “I’m not talking about this now. But when we get back, I’ll write you a list.”
Pride and Premeditation Page 2