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he scooted his chair closer to hers to
the occasional glance that strayed to her mouth or chest.
    The midweek pedestrian traffic was light, allowing for a
leisurely stroll. Will paused frequently to take in the window displays,
commenting on this or that. A few blocks from the restaurant they came upon one
of Amanda’s favorite shops, and she suggested they go in.
    “You’re going to love this place,” she promised.
    A bell tinkled to announce their arrival and an attractive
redhead Amanda recognized as the bookstore’s owner greeted them.
    “Welcome to Wicked Words.” Her lips pursed mischievously.
“Is this your first visit?”
    “His,” Amanda said, nodding toward Will. “I’m familiar with
your inventory.”
    The reminder seemed to jog the woman’s memory. “Shit! That’s
right. You bought that exquisite volume of de Sade’s La Philosophie dans le
Boudoir . Was it for your collection or did you actually read it?”
    “Is that the Marquis de Sade?” Will asked.
    Amanda couldn’t tell if he was amused, shocked or impressed.
“The one and only. Philosophy in the Bedroom is his version of political
commentary.” Responding to the bookstore owner’s question, she added, “Yes, every
page.”
    “Damn. The deflowering of an innocent en Français .
That must have been a fucking hot read. It’s almost enough to convince me to
take French lessons.” She laughed and winked at Will. “Not that my French
skills are lacking.”
    Will’s astonishment was priceless. Amanda had left with the
same expression on her face the first few times she visited Wicked Words.
Unaware of the shop’s provocative nature and its proprietor’s matching
vocabulary, Amanda had wandered in one Saturday afternoon and then hidden
behind a row of shelves when the redhead went off on an X-rated diatribe at
some poor delivery driver. She forgot about the profane outburst when she
realized all the books in front of her had titles related to sadomasochism. A
quick inspection revealed sections on spanking, transvestitism and voyeurism.
When she finally ventured out, Amanda overhead the cashier answer a phone call
with, “Wicked Words, the ultimate source of erotic literature for historians,
collectors and masturbators. What pornographic prose may I help you procure
today?”
    The shop carried everything from dog-eared copies of gay,
pulp-fiction paperbacks from the fifties and Kama Sutra lithographs, to
seventeenth-century sex manuals and eighteenth-century directories of
prostitutes. And if it wasn’t on a shelf, patrons could take advantage of the
store’s Seek and We Shall Find service. Amanda usually bypassed the
contemporary releases, happier to explore the historic material. Six modestly
priced volumes had found their way into her collection since the first time she’d
stumbled into the shop.
    The arrival of more customers spared Will from further
expletives. Amanda wanted to show him something special, so she grabbed his
hand.
    “Come on. You’ve got to see this.”
    A bank of cabinets at the rear of the shop housed an array
of antique books and manuscripts. From previous visits, Amanda knew the glass
cases were connected to an alarm system, as well as regulated to control
temperature and humidity. Will scanned the books and whistled appreciatively.
    Pointing out a large hardbound book with richly detailed
illustrations and gilded pages, Will whispered, “That is one of three copies
known to exist. The last time one was offered at auction it went for more than
half a million dollars.”
    “Nice, but look at that one.”
    Will followed the direction of Amanda’s gaze. “The tiny blue
book?”
    “Yes.” She waited for a reaction. “Do you know what it is?”
    Squinting and tilting his head, he read, “ Honoria’s Heartbreak .
Never heard of it.”
    “Honoria was the real-life daughter of a wealthy merchant
who lived in Italy near the end of the seventh century. She fell in love with a
peasant from a nearby village