Slave to desire

She may have been studying literature but Rebecca’s favourite books were ones you could judge by the cover—sin and seduction, murder and intrigue.

Like Slave to Desire—a coquettish brunette, bodice heaving under the glare of a single streetlight. Her flatmate shrieked when she saw it. ‘She looks just like you.’

The blurb sounded creepily familiar. Rebecca started reading.

Like the Betty in the story she’d become infatuated with her lecturer. Recently she’d heard stories of his womanising. For Betty the realisations had come too late. Another student had disappeared. Now she was a scarlet woman, a jealous lover and a suspect.

Rebecca slammed the book shut. She ran to the night market intending to slip it into the bookseller’s stall from which it had come. But before she could, there was a voice behind her. ‘So this is where pretty students spend their evening. Admirable. All these books. But sometimes…’

She knew the line before he’d said it. …there are better places than this to spend the night—I’ll show you things you’ll remember forever.’

Her next words came as if she were reading them from the yellowed pages. ‘And there are things that I can show you.’ And even though she knew how the story ended she threw the book down and went with him.