The woman was entangled in her little book. True to her profession, she was a bookworm. Over the years her book collection had grown considerably, and since the solid roll of income had started coming again, saving up and discovering ancient, antique books had become her passion again. She simply could not help herself. It was her guilty pleasure. Many found this particular quirk of hers to be considered geeky behaviour, and her mother had always complained about how she should rather occupy her time in the kitchen rather than the dusty old bookshops. But Illyana didn’t care. She only shook her curly head and smiled. There was something magical about old books, muggle or not. It was as if she was back in the time of its creation, back to a time where things were hard, yet simpler.

Illyana was so wrapped up in her own thoughts and feelings that she had had no time to pay to her surroundings. The fact that James was sitting just a few seats away from her was completely lost on her. She sat quietly, nose in book, quietly nipping off her coffee and every now and then breaking off small bits of her blueberry muffing, all without looking away from the tattered, old pages. She was content. It was these little moments in life that she appreciated and found comforting. All that was missing was a dear someone to sit there quietly with her.

A deep handsome voice broke through her little bubble of solitude and she marked the place in her book where she last red with her thumb, and slowly looked up to see who had addressed her. She almost let out a gasp of surprise and thrill, but managed with just a sharp intake of air instead. She smiled shyly and laid her book face down in her lap. “Of course,” she said a little shakily, gesturing for the free chair opposite her.

Images of their last encounter a month ago flashed before her eyes and she took another sip of coffee to try calm herself. If only she could be as confident as she had been when they had met back then. Although on the other hand she had been willing to throw herself under his bulky body in order to get her way too, so maybe introducing alcohol hadn’t been the smartest thing to do. A voice inside her whispered: but it is the most pleasurable thing to do. And Illyana sure could use some pleasure right now. She smiled at the man. “How unexpected to see you here,” she said, fiddling a little with her words. She wasn’t quite sure how to proceed from where they had ended up the last time. Cocked blocked by Catherine, yet still there had been something there that would allow her to rip off all her clothes, and it could not be blamed on alcohol. “What brings you to this side of town?” she asked casually. They were in a muggle part of town after all, and Illyana knew very little, if anything, about his job.

Illyana had during the past month contemplated James and hers latest encounter and how abruptly it had ended. She wondered how it might’ve ended had Catherine not shown up, drunk out of her mind, wondering what the three of them should do. Although at the time Illyana had had no idea what the three of them might do, but she had a few ideas of what she and James could tangle themselves up in. The Greek woman could feel her cheeks glowing a little as she thought about it, as if a private joke passed through her mind. Although the previous night hadn’t ended as she had first intended it to be, she was not upset that he hadn’t contacted her, just as she hadn’t found it decent to contact him. And why should she? She hardly knew the man, and he was Catherine’s family, which complicated things a little. Although she was incredibly attracted to the man, it did not give her the right to demand an explanation for the lack of contact. Besides, it had probably been a onetime thing, and the interest was probably lost on his part. After all, she wasn’t the bubbly, sexy, confident woman she had been then, no, today she was just her boring all self, all quiet and observing. In her opinion there was nothing interesting about her. She had been told so on several occasions.

The woman smiled fondly as the man brought up the subject of her book. “Oh, this old thing?” she said looking down, resting a hand on the cover of the book. Her long, delicate fingers traced the title and she looked up. “It is a classic,” she said, a sort of light in her eyes. “It is called the Great Gatsby, by a muggle author. I tend to find muggle authors to be much more skilled in the arts of human interaction than magical authors. When the magic is out of the picture the raw feelings are exposed at it’s best,” she told him earnestly, feeling the desire to talk about books rising like a fever within her. She was truly passionate about her books, as silly as it sounded. But there was something profoundly beautiful and poetic about these old, classic, love stories that made her heart ache with such passion. “Have you heard about it?” she asked him, wondering if he was the sort of man to read books, or if he had other hobbies he liked to indulge it. it occurred to her that she was quite curious as to where exactly his passions laid. She wondered if she would ever find out. Because as friendly and open as she seemed, she couldn’t shake of the feeling that there were so much more than what met the eyes about this man.

Illyana had loved to disappear into the world of books ever since she was a young girl. She had always been fond of stories, but the real love for them had started when she was around 11 years old, about the same time that people started to pick on her for her size. She had escaped into the world of mystery and romance, and it had comforted her. Although she had changed the way she looked at things, her passion had lingered with her, and she now found herself with a lifelong passion. To collect them was just one of many little quirks about her.

The Greek woman smiled fondly when he mentioned kids. She wanted kids. She wanted lot of kids, at least three! She had always been a family kind of person. Having grown up in something more resembling a clan than a family, she was used to big crowds when gathering her loved ones, and she didn’t mind. In fact, Illyana loved the idea of a big family. There was even a time when she had thought it possible, very possible, until her fiancé abused her. Illyana tilted her head a little. “Oh, you have kids? How old are they?” she asked gently.

“No, I had no plan to stay the night,” she answered indifferently, but on a second thought she found it suddenly very unfortunate that it was the case. “However,” she trailed slowly, smiling a little, “if opportunity rises, I’m sure I can find a reason to stay,” she said teasingly. It was really quite unlike her, at least when sober. However, she felt intoxicated with desire around James, and there was no helping the kind of character that emerged then.

Illyana wanted kids. She adored kids. At one point she thought she might’ve been pregnant with Garret’s child. It just turned out that it was a late period and she hadn’t even been close to pregnant ever since. Garret hadn’t wanted children yet. He thought they had been too young, and now here Illyana was, passing her prime, letting opportunity silently slip away form her. There didn’t seem to be a man left who wanted children, either they didn’t want one or they already had one. There was no in-between. And Illyana had let her chance pass, it seemed. More and more she thought her womanly, warm, motherly love would be left untouched by a child.

The woman smiled, fondly at his answer. Two boys. How rowdy and lovely they must be. She couldn’t help but to wonder about the boy’s mother. She did recall that James was currently unattached, but she still wondered about him and his previous escapades. However, despite the curiosity and all that that might entail, she was not at all buffered by it. She was driven by desire, and unable to perceive around it. And although a desire spinning out of control might’ve troubled her in the past, she now welcomed it like an old friend, finding herself out in far water. It excited her how incredibly unattached to her usual self she was around James. How utterly mad he made her feel!

It was like she was an adolescent again, wildly controlled by her hormones and feelings. She tilted her head again at his offer, and all that that might entail. The better part of her knew she should decline, there was no telling what might happen if they spend an eve together, and yet the woman found herself saying: “I’d love to come for dinner”. She made no comment on the guest room, but a part of her was saying that she had no plans to occupy any sort of bed alone tonight. "Are you cooking?" she inquired further, a light smirk on her pretty lips.

Illyana did not usually allow herself to make such impulsive plans. She was the organized type; the kind of woman to pride herself with lists and carefully planned events. She had a calendar that she frequently used to make notes and dates. It lay in her purse no matter where she went. It was her life. This reckless, impulsive urge to say yes to whatever might happen was irrational to her, and frankly, often a mistake. She was giddy, like a schoolgirl. This foolish flirting made her feel like she was sixteen, a youth that had been stolen from her from laughing and mean teenagers who had nothing better to do than to tease her. This was youth relived, retaken, claimed by her in an age where she shouldn’t really be occupying herself with these kinds of thoughts. Still, she was unable to resist, and unwilling to resist. It was exciting, and fun! Illyana hadn’t felt this sort of feeling in a long, long time, and frankly she hadn’t thought she would ever feel the desire again. Not after Garret. Not after what he had done to her.

Illyana let herself be taken from the little coffee shop, her cheeks a little pink with the thrill. She felt an electrical surge through her every time the man laid a hand on her back, guiding her through the buzz of the city. She smiled every now and then, unable to contain it.

Reaching his apartment she looked around inquisitively. His apartment was very, clean, almost meticulously so. It was very urban, and in a way it lacked soul. Still, the fact it appeared to lack soul was a description in itself. Illyana tore herself from her first impression analysis and seated herself on the sofa. She shook off her long coat and placed her hat on top of it. She undid the messy bun in the back of her head and shook the knot loose with her fingers. Her long, curled, dark hair ran in waves down her back and smelled faintly of her vanilla shampoo. She looked up as he offered her something to drink and she nodded. “Gin and tonic please, if you have it?” she asked gently. She was suddenly nervous, and was sure that a glass of gin and tonic would soothe her nerves.

Illyana was surprised by how good it felt to be wanted. She was just starting to realise that. In fact, it was suddenly very clear to her exactly why she was there, why they both were there. It was now crudely obvious why she had come up here with him, why he had invited her to begin with. They both wanted the same thing, and she caught herself debating her options. She could continue through the night, making small-talk, eating dinner, waiting for the right opportunity to strike, or, they could skip the small talk. In truth, neither could avoid the inevitable, so why delay it? She understood what he was doing, his chivalry and courtship, and she appreciated it, she really did, but she was just starting to come to grips with her own desires, her own needs and wants, and a part of her screamed: fuck grace!

The dark hair woman took another sip of her gin and tonic, and then another. Her deep, sea blue eyes took a hold of James, and she was not afraid to let her interest show on her face. They were both past that point by now. She took a third sip. It was like liquid courage and she sat the almost empty glass down on his table before getting up, walking over to James. She stopped in front of him, for a moment just feeling the tension, feeling the sudden rush of blood, the sudden speed of her heart, before smiling slightly.

“I’m not really hungry,” she said slowly, taking another step toward the man, she was only inches away, “for food,” she continued, seducing the man with her eyes, leaning in ever so slightly. She could care less about being treated as a porcelain lady. She knew she was when she wanted to be, she knew she could spend her entire life being careful and sweet and doing everything by the book, but this, this was different. She leaned in even more, a hand coming in contact with his chest. “I know what you’re doing, and it’s sweet, but,” she hesitated and the desire to kiss him full on the mouth overcame her, and the hand that had rested on his chest travelled up to his neck where she gently, yet with determination pulled his face closer to hers where their lips finally met.