LITMIR.BIZ

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system is for, right?”

      “But there isn’t just Dewey. There’s the Library of Congress classification system. Dewey is a clean, efficient system, ten main classes divided by ten and so on. The Library of Congress is alpha-numeric and based on 26 classes, one for each letter of the alphabet. Compared to Dewey it is crude and confusing, and I only had the library that way because of Maggie. It’s what she was used to.”

      “Alpha-numeric—so that’s your alphabet soup.”

      “Yes, and this library has been disorganized soup for far too long.” Daniel shook his head as he wrote out a series of numbers on an index card and slipped it inside the front cover of a book.

      “Oh my God,” Eleanor said, sounding utterly shocked.

      “What?”

      “You’re a nerd.”

      Daniel only looked at her a moment before laughing.

      “I am not a nerd. I’m a librarian.”

      “No way,” she said, recalling again the ferocious passion and the skill he’d demonstrated last night. “Guess they were right.”

      “Who?”

      “You know, whoever said ‘it’s always the quiet ones.’”

      Daniel’s mouth twitched to a wicked half grin. “I’m the quiet ones,” he said, flashing a look at Eleanor that nearly dropped her to her knees.

      She coughed and shook herself out of the erotic reverie she’d fallen into.

      “Okay,” she said, walking toward him with more gusto than guts. “I can accept that you’re a librarian and a sex god—”

      “Well, considering your lover is a pr—”

      “Nope. Nyet. Halt. I told you last night—”

      “Oh, yes. I had forgotten. Our mutual acquaintance is off-limits to discussion.”

      “If you want me to survive this week with what passes for my mental health intact, then yes.”

      “Which I do. So I apologize. But as we barely know each other, finding a topic of conversation apart from our mutual friend might be difficult.”

      “Oh, I doubt that,” she said, sitting on the table next to a stack of books. “We’ve got books in common, sex …” She ticked them off on her fingers.

      “All of two,” Daniel said skeptically.

      “Well …” She stuck out her foot and tapped his leg lightly. “We’ve got you.”

      “Me?”

      “Yeah. I’m curious. You’re a curiosity. As long as you don’t mind answering personal questions—”

      “How personal?” Daniel interrupted.

      “Unapologetically intrusive, knowing me. Unconscionably so.”

      “You have a large vocabulary, Eleanor.”

      “And you have a large …” She paused as he gave her a warning look. “House.”

      “I do.”

      “How does a librarian afford a house like this? That was the first unapologetically personal question, for those of you keeping count.”

      Daniel smiled but Eleanor saw the pale ghost of pain pass across his eyes.

      “Librarians can’t afford houses like this. But a partner in a Manhattan law firm can.”

      “Your wife? She was a lawyer?”

      “She was. A very powerful attorney.”

      “You married a shark?” Eleanor asked, laughing.

      “A corporate shark, in fact.”

      “Wow,” Eleanor said, duly impressed. “How did you meet her?”

      “At the library, of course.”

      “She read?”

      “She gave,” Daniel said with great emphasis on the last word. “She gave balls, galas, parties, charity events, fund-raisers of every stripe. She actually had a heart and a conscience. She was the human face of an otherwise very imposing old firm. She held a gala one year to raise money for a literary charity at the NYPL—”

      “Holy shit, you worked at the NYPL?”

      “Fifth Avenue, Main Branch,” he said with barely concealed pride.

      “With Lenox and Astor?” she asked, naming the two famous lions that guarded the legendary library.

      “On warm days I ate my lunch outside with Astor.”

      “Why not Lenox?”

      “He asked too many personal questions.”

      “I like him already. So you were both guests at the party?”

      “Oh no. She was the hostess. I happened to be working late that night in the Map Room. Lowly archivist. Not important enough for an invitation.”

      “So you were tucked away in a dusty corner alphabetizing 18^th century maps of Tierra del Fuego …”

      “Something to that effect—”

      “And she slips away from the suffocating crowd of the geriatrically wealthy—”

      “Has anyone ever told you that you should be a writer?”

      “No one who’s ever tried it themselves. But back to you and her. So you’re up to your elbows in Fuego and she rushes in all disheveled elegance, out of breath, desperate for just one moment of solitude …”

      “Actually I was examining a map of Eurasia for signs of wear; she strolled in quite calmly, apologized very politely when she saw me and said she simply wanted to see the library by night.”

      “I like my version better. But still that is romantic. You gave her a tour? It was love at first sight?”

      “Intrigue at first sight. I assumed she was just a guest at the gala. She was lovely, intelligent, a very young-looking thirty-nine.”

      “Ohh … an older woman. I love it.”

      “Her age or mine was never a factor. Or perhaps it was. She was older than me, powerful, wealthy … but at night when we were alone …”

      “She was your slave,” Eleanor said, finishing his sentence.

      “My slave. My property. My possession.”

      “Your possession … I know how she must have felt. Pressure to be in charge of the world. So much responsibility. The whole world on her … to let go and just give herself to you, to give up to you …”

      “I’m glad you understand,” Daniel said as he started sifting through another stack of books. “Few women do.”

      “Oh, they do. They’re just afraid to admit it. Yeah, equal pay for equal work and our bodies our selves and Gloria Steinem and all that jazz … but in that dusty dark little corner of every woman’s heart where we keep our maps of Tierra del Fuego lives the hunger to fetch a powerful man his slippers on her hands and knees.”

      Eleanor was pleased to see her words had a similar effect on Daniel as his did on her. His breath quickened just slightly as his hands deliberately stroked the leather binding of the book in his hand.

      “So you,” she said, meeting his eyes, “are a librarian. What does that make me then? A seven-day loan?”

      Daniel laughed as he set his book aside. He moved toward her and lightly gripped her knees.

      “Seven-day loan … I’m not sure I like the thought of giving you back.” He slid his hands up her thighs and took her by the hips.

      “But

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