“Things are so much more intense here.” His mouth was close to her face. “Life happens fast and furious. Don’t you think?”

And then she knew that he was about to kiss her, and that she wasn’t going to stop him, in spite of her marriage, in spite of the fact that they were out in public. And God, it felt good—his mouth. His heat. He reached to touch her breast, and again she let him. She let him put his hand inside her coat, inside the tweed two-piece suit, until he found flesh. She wanted the abandon of this. She wanted him to touch her and kiss her here, in the taxi, moving through the city. And while they were moving through the traffic, giddy with alcohol, she could allow herself to just let it all happen. Because in any case, it was hardly real. It was barely more than a blur.

The taxi drew up outside Shakespeare and Company. They got out, and Monteray paid.

“Sylvia said I could stay a night or two in the apartment above the shop,” he explained. “Until I get myself properly set up, you understand.”

Out on the pavement in the chill evening air, she felt less sure of herself. She put a hand to her mouth, wiping away the smeared lipstick, while he searched for his keys.

“I know I’ve got them here somewhere…”

This seemed to go on forever. She shivered.

He turned and shrugged. “Seem to have mislaid them.”

“Perhaps we should go and knock at the apartment across the road. Sylvia’s bound to be there.”

“Nope. She and Adrienne were going out. Only one thing for it—I’ll have to climb up.”

“You can’t be serious.”

He put his hands on his hips and gazed up at the first-floor window. “It shouldn’t be so difficult. I’ll swing up by the sign.”

The taxi was already gone. The alcohol was wearing off. He spat on his hands and found a grip on the shop’s window frame, getting a firm footing on the ledge.

“Hope you’re watching,” he called out. “This is my best angle.” From there he lunged for the sign that was swinging from an iron hook just at the top of the door, the shop’s name on one face of it, a portrait of the dear old bard himself on the other. As Monteray trusted his weight to it, the hook bent alarmingly and creaked, and Genevieve gasped and covered her eyes.

“Keep watching,” came his voice again, as though he had eyes in the back of his head and was monitoring her every response.

She peeped through her fingers and saw that he was clambering up above the sign, using the shop’s closed-up awning for purchase, and reaching for the balcony of the first-floor window. She allowed herself to breathe. Seconds later he was safe and fumbling with the window catch.