Her father and mother's old novels were in here, too, as well as three copies of the textbooks her father had written before she was born.
This was her special sanctuary and Julian was the first person, other than her parents, she had ever let inside it.
"You've been collecting books for quite some time," Julian said as he glanced around the crowded shelves.
She nodded. "They were my best friends growing up. I think the love of reading is probably the greatest gift my parents ever gave me." She held up Peter Pan. "This one was my father's when he was a boy. It's my most prized possession."
She put it back on a shelf and picked up a copy of Black Beauty. "This was the one my mother read over and over to me."
Grace gave him a quick tour of her books. "The Outsiders," she breathed reverently. "This was my favorite book in junior high school. Oh, and this one, Can You Sue Your Parents for Malpractice?"
Julian laughed. "I can tell how much they mean to you. Your entire face is glowing."
Something in his eyes made her think that he was contemplating a way he could make her glow, as well.
Swallowing at the thought, she turned and rummaged through the shelf on her right where she kept her classics while Julian looked at the books to her left.
"How about this one?" he asked, handing her one of her historical romance novels.
Grace laughed nervously at the half-dressed couple entwined on the cover. "Oh, I don't think so."
He looked at the cover with one highly arched brow.
"Okay," she said, taking it from his hand. "You've discovered my guilty secret. I'm an awful addict when it comes to historical romances, but the last thing you need is for me to read a steamy love scene out loud, thank you very much."
His gaze focused on her lips. "I would much rather create a steamy love scene," he breathed, moving to stand in front of her.
Grace trembled. With her back to the bookshelf, she couldn't retreat. He braced an arm above her head as he pressed his body against her, then lowered his mouth to hers.
Closing her eyes, all she could taste or smell was Julian. He surrounded her in a most disturbing way.
For once, he kept his hands to himself and touched only her lips with his. It didn't matter.
Her head still swam.
How could his wife ever have chosen another man over Julian? How could any woman in her right mind not want this man? He was heaven.
Julian deepened his kiss, exploring her mouth with his tongue. She felt his heart pounding as he pressed her back, felt his muscles flexing all around her.
Never before had she been so aware of another human being. He set her on edge, made her feel sensations she'd never known existed.
He pulled back and pressed his cheek against hers. His breath stirred her hair and sent chills all over her.
"I want to be inside you so badly, Grace," he whispered. "I want to feel your legs wrapped around me, feel your breasts against my chest, hear you moaning as I make slow, sweet love to you. I want your smell on my body, your breath on my skin."
His entire body went rigid before he pushed himself away from her.
"But then, I'm used to wanting things I can't have," he whispered.
She reached out and touched his arm. He captured her hand with his, then lifted it to his lips where he lightly kissed her knuckles.
The longing on his handsome face made her ache. "Find us a book, and I shall behave."
Grace swallowed as he left her. It was then her gaze fell to her old copy of The Iliad. She smiled. He would like that, she was sure of it.
Grabbing it, she went back downstairs.
Julian sat in front of the couch.
"Guess what I found!" she said excitedly.
"I have no idea."
She held it up and grinned. "The Iliad!"
His mood instantly lifted as he flashed those dimples at her. "Sing to me, O goddess."
"Very good," she said as she sat down beside him. "And you'll like this even more. It's got both the original Greek and the English translation."
She handed it to him.
He looked as if she had just handed him a king's treasure. He opened the book.
Immediately his eyes danced across the pages as he ran his hand reverently over the ancient Greek writing.
Julian couldn't believe it as he saw his language again after all this time. It had been so long since he'd last seen it anywhere other than on his arm.
He'd always loved The Iliad and The Odyssey. As a boy, he'd spent hours hidden behind the barracks, reading scrolls over and over again, or sneaking out to hear the bards in the town square.
He well understood how Grace felt about her books. He'd been the same way in his youth. Every chance he'd gotten, he had escaped into the world of fantasy where heroes always triumphed. Where demons and villains were vanquished. Where mothers and fathers loved their children.
In the stories, there was no hunger, no pain. There was freedom and hope. It was through such stories that he learned of compassion and kindness. Of honor and integrity.
Grace knelt beside him. "You miss your home, don't you?"
Julian looked away. The only thing he missed was his children.
Unlike Kyrian, he had never cared for battle. The stench of death and blood, the moans of the dying. He'd fought only because it was expected of him. And he'd led because, as Plato said, everyone by nature was suited to a particular activity, which ideally they would pursue. By his nature, Julian had always been a leader and not one to follow others.
No, he didn't really miss it, but...
"It was all I knew."
She touched his shoulder, yet it was the concern in her light gray eyes that undid him.
"Did you want your son to be a soldier?"
He shook his head. "I never wanted him to be cut down in his youth like so many of my soldiers had been," he said, his voice hoarse. "Rather ironic, isn't it? I wouldn't even allow him to keep the play-sword Kyrian had given him as a birthday gift, or to touch mine when I was home."
She placed her hand against his neck, then pulled him to her. Her touch was so incredibly soothing. So warm. It filled him with aching loneliness.
"What was his name?"
Julian swallowed. He hadn't uttered his children's names aloud since the day they'd died. He hadn't dared, and yet he wanted to share that with her. "Atolycus. My daughter was Callista."
Her smile was edged by sadness as if she shared his pain at their loss. "They had beautiful names."
"They were beautiful children."
"If they were anything like you, I can believe that."
That was the kindest thing anyone had ever said to him.
Julian ran his hand under her hair and let the silken strands fill his palm. Closing his eyes, he wanted to stay like this forever.
Fear of letting her go ripped through him. He'd never liked the idea of being sucked into his empty hell, but now the thought of never seeing her again, of never again smelling her sweet skin, of never again laying his palm against the warm blush of her cheek...
It was more than he could bear.
Gods, and he had thought himself cursed before.
She pulled back and kissed him lightly on the lips, then picked up the book.
Julian swallowed. She wanted to save him, and for the first time in centuries, he wanted to be saved.
He slid down lower on the floor to where she could return to lying against him. He loved feeling her there. Feeling her hair spilling across his arms, his chest.
They lay on the floor until the wee hours of the morning while Julian listened to her read of Odysseus and Achilles.
He watched as she grew tired, but she continued to read. The clock above struck three as she yawned and turned a page.
She tried to blink her eyes open, but her exhaustion was too much. Finally, she closed her eyes and fell asleep.
Julian smiled as he took the book from her hand and set it aside. He cupped her cheek while he watched her.
He wasn't sleepy. He didn't want to miss a single second of being with her. Watching her, touching her. Absorbing her. He would treasure it forever.
Never had he spent an evening like this, just lying comfortably with a woman without her groping his body, demanding that he touch and fill her.
In his day, men and women didn't spend much time together. During the times he was at home, Penelope had seldom spoken to him. In fact, she hadn't shown much interest in him at all.
On the nights when he sought her out, she hadn't refused him. But she was never eager for his touch, either. He'd always been able to coax a heated response from her body, but never one from her heart.
He brushed his hand through Grace's sable hair, delighting in the way it wrapped around his hand. His gaze dropped to his ring. It glinted dully in the light.
In his mind's eye he could see it coated in blood. Feel the way it bit into his finger as he wielded his sword in battle. That ring had meant everything to him, and it hadn't come easy. He'd earned it through the sweat of his brow and at the price of stinging attacks on his flesh. It had been costly, but it had been well worth it.