Page 9 of Haunted Desires
With every step, my heart beats harder.
It’s a heady feeling, to follow him by candle light to the ancient books room. I’m certain that’s where we’re headed.
We walk together through the library, our footsteps echoing. Finley lets go of my arm to open a door in the middle of the back wall. It’s easy to ignore most of the time because it’s already locked, but this time, when he pulls it open?—
I actually gasp.
This room is full of candles.
It’s obvious he’s taken care to place them where they can’t tip over or damage any of the valuable books, but they’re everywhere. The old wooden desk in the back has several lit on it. Candles line the back walkway in various heights. There’s one window on the right side and tea lights sit on the windowsill.
The candles aren’t the only difference though. The room isn’t crammed with study tables, like it was when I got a glance inside my first year back. The two tables are gone, and there’s a blanket on the floor along with book stands to hold more candles, a low table, and a few cushions.
“You must love candles,” I breathe.
“The power went out,” Finley says with an amused smirk.
I cringe at my comment. “Right, right. And here I was, thinking you just wanted to set the atmosphere.” A nervous laugh leaves me and I’m very aware that my heart is damaging in my chest. My brain is screaming at me not to blow it.
Finley drops his hand to my lower back, and a little charge goes through me. From the way he exhales, he felt it, too. His hand on my body like that sends a shock through my entire system. I need more of it. Desire races through my veins.
“Maybe I was,” he teases. “Would you have liked it if I turned out all the lights?”
“As opposed to fate deciding for us?”
He laughs again, and this time it’s hotter and more knowing. “Do you think it was fate that caused the power outage?”
“Maybe it was,” I tease back, rocking slightly on my heels. Even through my coat and my clothes, I can feel the heat of his palm. It’s way too early in the evening to press myself closer to him, but damn—I want to. “Maybe everything that’s ever happened all happened to lead us to tonight, exactly how it is.” I try to say it casually, almost jokingly even, although I mean it. Everything happens for a reason.
“Nothing but moonlight and candles.” He comments as we walk closer to the blanket.
“Very pretty I think,” I comment and steal a glance at his sharp jaw line peppered with stubble. Oh how I wish to run my fingers down his jaw and kiss him.
“Yeah,” he says, blowing out a breath, and I’m quick to avert my gaze so he can’t read the thoughts. I’d meant to be lighthearted, but Finley seems relieved that I mentioned this fact about the moon so casually. “How long have you been practicing?”
“Do you mean…how long have I been researching?”
“No.” I see his smile out of the corner of my eye. “I meant practicing.” He pauses, looking right at me and seeing through the fake pretending. “It’s been about 11 years for me.”
Witchcraft. He wants to know how long I’ve been practicing witchcraft, because he’s been doing the same thing. My bottom lip drops in surprise just slightly. I can’t believe I never sensed that about him. I can’t believe I never thought to bring it up. There were a million chances to drop it into conversation. I’ve spent hours and hours here hovering around the same shelves, looking at the same kinds of historical documents, gathering facts about the same coven.
And Finley knew that. He’s known about the books I checked out. He handed me one of those books just yesterday.
Of course he would know.
Out of everyone in town, he probably knows the most about what I might be able to find, and I was crushing too hard to ask him about it directly.
Is this it? I think to the universe or fate or whoever is guiding the spell I cast last night. Is this the moment of clarity? Because it feels like it might be.
“Since college, at least seriously,” I answer, because he’s just waiting patiently, like we have all night. He’s in charge of opening and closing the library—I guess we do have as long as we want. “So, seven years? Eight?”
“That’s a good number.”
A smaller shiver goes down my spine. “I hadn’t thought about this being my seventh year.”
I bite my lip to keep from saying something totally inappropriate about how I mostly feel hot, overwhelming attraction right now so thinking or doing any kind of math is hard. Finley’s hand is still on my lower back as if he’s forgotten that he’s touching me or he wants to touch me so badly that he can’t bring himself to stop.
“This is beautiful tonight,” I say finally, the words sounding high and breathless. “I love the indoor picnic by candlelight.”
