Page 48 of An Acquired Taste

He glances down at our entangled fingers and back up at my face. His jaw works for a moment. “I doubt you’ll find my favorites to be of interest.”

“Try me.”

Holding my hand, he leads me into the tall shelves.

Truthfully, the books he shows me are not ones I would have paid attention to on my own, but it is fascinating to listen to him talk about them. He shows me outdated medical textbooks in Latin, Greek poetry, volumes and volumes of leatherboundbooks about the Victorian Language of Flowers. I have never heard him talk so much at once, and his voice has me swooning. So does the sight of him handling the books. The featherlight touch of his long fingers as he cradles the old texts, the way he slides his thumb lovingly along the spine before he places a book back on the shelf.

“Are these all vampire authors?” I ask only when his words trail off, because I have no desire to interrupt him.

“Mostly mortals, actually,” he says. “The majority of vampire knowledge is stored in the Solomon Court’s vaults, away from the public eye. It’s… an important point on which our courts have always disagreed. Had they absorbed us in the last war, as they tried to, I suspect we would have lost a great deal of this knowledge.”

I hesitate. He’s never spoken about the war before; that conversation earlier must have put it in his mind. Part of me is desperately curious, but it doesn’t seem like a good time to pry into his past. “You value human perspectives so much?”

“Oh, yes. I have always found mortals to be superior writers. Something about their awareness of time, of death, drives them to be better creators. Perhaps the sense of time running out.” He glances at the shelves and runs the tip of one finger along the spines. “Some would disagree, of course. But I have always been most interested in preserving human work. Especially the histories.”

“Huh.” I tilt my head. “I would’ve thought a human view of history would seem short-sighted to your kind.”

“Perhaps that’s what gives it value,” he says. “Vampires always view events from the outside, thinking themselves above it all. There’s such a sense ofhubrisabout it…” He glances at me and stops. “Pardon me. I’m ranting.”

I smile, run my thumb over his hand. “I like listening to you talk.”

He clears his throat and hesitates before asking, “But… what about you? You’re a writer as well, are you not?”

I blink, startled. “I don’t think we’ve ever talked about my writing.”

He averts his eyes. “Ah… no. I suppose not. But Ellen mentioned it.”

“Oh. Well…” Now I’m flushing. “I’ve always called myself a writer, but honestly I haven’t written in a long time.” Aside from the blog. But that’s such a silly thing, and not something I want to mention to Sebastian at all, especially now that I know other valentines are talking about it. I should probably go home and delete it the second I get a chance.

“Why not?”

“I…” I wind a strand of hair around my finger, trying to think of a decent answer. “I was just… too busy, I suppose. I know it’s a stupid excuse, but when I was with my ex, between working and chores, I just…” I trail off, embarrassed at trying to explain how I let my passion fall to the wayside for a failed relationship.

“It’s not,” he says. When I stop, I note that flicker of awkwardness in him again, but he continues. “It’s not a poor excuse. I think, with humans having lifespans as limited as they are, it is an incredible endeavor to take the time to write at all. Even with all of my endless hours, I myself have no talent for it, only a talent for preserving it. So I… I admire it. Greatly.”

A shy smile creeps onto my face. “You haven’t even read my writing,” I say. “It could be awful. It could be like… like all those sordid vampire romances I won’t name.”

“And as widely derided as they may be, those books captured the hearts and imaginations of millions,” he counters. “They are a testament to the power of fiction. I would respect you for it.”

A slow heat begins in my belly, floods up into my chest, warms my face. When I look at Sebastian, I see that his eyes are locked on mine. I feel, for perhaps the first time, that he islooking at me and truly seeing me. Seeing me in a way that even Declan didn’t over our years together. Dec never cared about my writing, never asked a single question about what I might want to work on if I had the chance.

I realize, too, how close Sebastian and I are standing. Our hands are still clasped. His eyes drop to my lips, and he doesn’t look away even when he catches me looking.

My heartbeat quickens. Is it ridiculous that I’m thinking about this? I’ve been telling myself that tonight is all about our contract, that I’m just fulfilling my duties… but valentines have unofficial duties, too, if you believe the gossip. And I’ve been sorely slacking on that side of the job.

Before I can second-guess myself, I press up on my tiptoes, slowly lean in, and press my lips against his. It is a shock to realize that despite our previous intimacy, this is the first time we’ve kissed. When I imagined kissing vampires, I did not quite think about the details: the chill of his skin, the bump of fangs behind his lips.

The kiss is chaste at first, but it feels wildly intimate. The tenderness in his touch, the reverent quiet of the library, the moment we just shared, something makes this feel different. It makes it feelreal, and my thoughts are too muddled for me to tell myself otherwise. Sebastian lifts the hand that isn’t clasping mine to grasp the back of my neck, and I tilt my head, opening my mouth against his as he deepens the kiss.

I wrap my arms around his neck. His grip on my waist tightens in response. It’s been so long since I’ve had any sort of intimacy. Even that all-too-brief encounter in the library was months ago now, and I amhungryfor it. I press myself closer and let out a needy little sound against his lips.

But as he begins to slide a hand under my dress, I grab his wrist, and he stops.

“I apologize,” he says. “I shouldn’t have…”

He trails off as I lower myself to my knees on the floorboards in front of him. I drink in the way his eyes change, his pupils blowing wide, as I slowly undo his belt buckle.

“I think it’s unfair,” I say, “that you gave me an orgasm and I’ve hardly been allowed to touch you.”

---