Behind the Green Curtain (14 page)

Amelia’s lips covering hers,
though, all of Caton’s protests were swallowed by the veracity of her kiss.
Giving in instantly, she inhaled Amelia’s fire, tasted the wine on her tongue.
Even her hands were traitors, burying themselves in Amelia’s silken hair. And
when Amelia’s hand moved to her dress again, working its way beneath it, Caton
only half-heartedly tried to stop her, batting her away with little more than
minor discouragement.

Finding its target, Amelia’s hand
pressed against her panties, and Caton arched into her touch, heels slipping on
the wooden frame so that Amelia had to press closer to hold her up. She didn’t
want to believe any of it - Amelia’s kiss, the warm press of her body. Amelia’s
apology was always insincere, Amelia’s emotion was always false, but it never
felt false in the moment, when Amelia’s hands and eyes were on her, when
Amelia’s lips were caressing hers.

Pulling away to catch panting
breaths, Amelia’s fingers slipped beneath the fabric of Caton’s panties,
starting a rhythm that assured Caton wouldn’t dare try to stop her.

“Do you golf?” The random words cut
behind the curtain, and Caton tensed in Amelia’s embrace.

Only pulling back enough to glance
over her shoulder at the shadows hovering just outside the curtain, Amelia’s
body still trapped Caton against the window frame, her hand continuing to move
in perfect rhythm.

“Nah, not really,” a second voice
returned.

“That’s too bad. That’s the excuse
I use when I want to get away for a while. You know, it’s a good long one,
gives you plenty of time to shoot eighteen and still spend two hours at the bar
with her none-the-wiser.”

The second voice laughed. “I’ll
have to think about that. I think my old man had some clubs. They’re probably
in the attic or something.”

The tedious conversation should
have been enough to douse the flame that threatened to consume Caton, but,
instead, it prolonged it. The material of her dress suddenly too thick, Caton
sweat beneath it, breaths coming in shallow pants as she tried to swallow
enough oxygen.

“Uh, there she is now,” the first
guy moaned. “I got to go.”

“I should get back too,” the second
voice responded.

Then, the shadows were gone. Amelia
watched them go and turned back with a look Caton couldn’t make out in the
darkness, before pressing her lips to Caton’s again. It was almost like relief,
almost as if, for once, they were in it together.

Amelia’s fingers thrusting suddenly
into her, climax seized Caton without warning. Foot slipping from the edge of
the window frame, her shoe dropped to the floor beneath the curtain, but Amelia
caught her, held her, covering Caton’s mouth with her own so the sounds Caton
couldn’t help but make were sent into the depths of Amelia’s body.

Clutching at Amelia’s face, fingers
digging into the soft skin of Amelia’s neck, dark hair caressing the backs of
her hands, a flood of ecstasy engulfed Caton. Lips trembling against Amelia’s, she
forgot everything that was wrong with what they were doing and could feel only
what was right.

When some sense returned, she
half-expected Amelia to drop her, to call it a job well done and take her
leave. Instead, Caton felt the soft press of Amelia’s hands helping her stand
more upright, until her foot returned to the window ledge and she could hold
herself in place, before finally releasing her. Dropping to a crouch before
her, Amelia retrieved the shoe from the floor, coaxing Caton’s leg up with a
hand on the back of her ankle, and slipped it back onto her foot.

Watching Amelia stand in awe, Caton
wondered if she was drunk enough to imagine it, because it was damn near
reverential.

Hands on Caton again, Amelia
straightened her dress, skilled fingers moving with precision to make
everything exactly as it had been before her attack. Then, with a final glance,
though Caton couldn’t tell what lay behind her eyes in the darkness, Amelia turned
to go.

Reaching out on impulse, Caton
caught Amelia’s wrist and held her in place. Missing the feel of Amelia against
her the second she moved away, she took unsteady steps from the wood frame of
the window and bumped against Amelia’s side.

Her free hand sliding instantly to
Caton’s neck, Amelia pressed her lips to Caton’s in a kiss that was meant more
to comfort than arouse. Then, almost reluctantly, it seemed, she twisted her
arm out of Caton’s grasp and disappeared back through the curtains.

Chapter 23

If taking the job had done one
thing for Caton, it had made her a better liar. Returning to Laura with another
drink in hand, because God knew in the end they were both going to need it, the
excuses she had for her were almost the truth. She had gotten cornered by
Amelia, she told her, who wouldn’t let her go. The rest of the story Caton
could simply call detail, and convince herself was unimportant.

Like the detail that she wasn’t
merely relieved to discover Amelia still wanted her, but, when she stepped out
from behind the curtain a minute after Amelia disappeared through its soft
contours, she felt inexplicably content. It wasn’t exactly her idea of romance,
but Amelia had turned something that could have been condescending and
bordering on vicious into near perfection, and Caton swore she had felt
something shift between them.

She knew Amelia would play it off,
that she would return to her ways, given the chance, but it had been there,
both acknowledged and unacknowledged, and Caton had felt it, not just within
herself, but in Amelia’s hands, in Amelia’s kiss. There was more than the power
and lust and greed that seemed to fuel their uneven relationship. Caton wanted
the more. It grasped at her and wouldn’t let go. It didn’t matter why. It didn’t
need to make sense.

Walking nervously into the Halston
Palace Monday morning, she was met almost immediately by Amelia’s presence.
Standing in the kitchen with Sole, Amelia looked up as Caton entered. Eyes
meeting, for once Caton felt no pressure to avert hers.

“Hello, Caton,” Amelia greeted,
voice low and seductive.

Tamping down on the smile that
threatened in response, too telling, she knew, for Amelia and for Sole, Caton
failed to stop the rush of desire that came from nowhere and everywhere at
once. “Hi,” she husked.

“Good morning.” Sole turned from
her work at Amelia’s back to smile.

“Good morning,” Caton returned,
wrenching her eyes from Amelia’s.

“Coffee?” Sole offered.

“Sure,” Caton nodded, approaching
the bar slowly, afraid of what she might do if she got too close to Amelia,
already feeling any control she had around the other woman slipping. She
wondered if she would let Amelia take her right there on the bar, with the
curtains wide open and Sole as witness.

Gaze lowering, Caton watched
Amelia’s hand tap nervously at the counter, and when she risked looking up,
Amelia’s gaze was on her, warm and curious. Resisting the urge to reach across
the barrier and touch Amelia’s hand, or climb across the barrier and show
Amelia exactly what was in her head, Caton managed to turn her attention once
again to Sole as her coffee was delivered to its usual perfection.

“Thank you,” she said, voice coming
out little more than a whisper.

“Of course.” Sole smiled again.

“I’m going to head upstairs,” Caton
said, needing the space to breathe, silently hoping Amelia would follow.

Settling at her desk, thumb
stroking the smooth ceramic of her mug, warmed by the liquid within, Caton’s
thoughts led back to Amelia, just as they had every waking moment the day
before. After what happened at the party, after Amelia’s greeting downstairs,
she actually believed the feeling might be shared, but all morning Caton waited
for Amelia and Amelia didn’t come.

When Caton went to look for her
under the guise of a coffee refill, Sole said she wasn’t sure where Amelia
might be hiding. Realizing, if Amelia didn’t want to be found, she would never
find her in the vast recesses of the house, Caton went back to her workless
office to wait some more.

An hour passed like a day as she
bided the time between her morning exchange with Amelia and the moment she
finally heard Amelia next door in her office. The warm tones of persuasion
Amelia always used on the phone with potential donors carried through the
barrier of the door between them and Caton felt her body respond to her sheer
proximity, felt herself pulled in the direction of Amelia’s office. She could
be waiting the rest of her life, it suddenly hit her, if she waited for Amelia
to come to her.

It was always on Amelia’s whims, on
Amelia’s desires, but Caton couldn’t discount her part of the blame. For weeks,
she had been letting Amelia control her, manipulate their time together, call
every play and act between them. Why wouldn’t Amelia use the power handed over
so willingly to her?

When Amelia’s voice went silent,
Caton gathered the fragmented bits of her courage and traveled the abbreviated
distance from her office into Amelia’s. Looking up from where she was leaned
over her desk, digging through a pile of files, Amelia looked much too dignified
in a pant suit that was official, yet chic.

“Caton,” she proclaimed, voice
slightly surprised and carrying an underlying trace of something that sent a
wave of desperation through Caton’s body. “Do you need something?”

Caton needed her. Amelia was all she
needed. It had been true for weeks, but she couldn’t imagine admitting it to
the other woman. In her current state, Amelia didn’t look like the type one
could convince or rattle, and Caton’s bravery flickered, threatening to
extinguish.

But then, only two days before, she
had to remind herself, Amelia had looked like royalty, but had proven herself
the kind of royal who would drag a subject into a hidden alcove at the ball and
disrupt the monotony of her position. The same kind of royal who would call a subject
to her castle for a secret tryst and then return to the feast as if nothing had
happened.

As Sole once told her, Amelia
simply wasn’t who she seemed.

“I want to talk to you,” Caton
returned diplomatically.

“Well, it’ll have to wait,” Amelia
responded, finally locating the folder she was looking for and grabbing it as
she moved around her desk. “I have a meeting.”

It was clear how much Amelia
expected Caton to simply move aside at the words by the way she had to come to
an abrupt stop to keep from running right into her. Staring defiantly into
Amelia’s eyes, Caton tried to maintain her backbone in the face of Amelia’s
overwhelming sense of entitlement to be where she wanted to be when she wanted
to be there.

“Caton, I have to go,” Amelia
declared, but it was softer than usual, gentler than the orders she normally
gave. It was almost overly-kind, and Caton was in no mood to have her feelings
coddled when they could be fulfilled.

“Is it about your daughter?” she
questioned, and confusion passed over Amelia’s face, though Caton wasn’t sure
if it was the question or the fact that she was being questioned that came as
such surprise to her.

“Selene is in London,” Amelia
reminded her, though Caton needed no reminder.

“Then, there is nothing more
important than me,” she declared, plucking the folder from Amelia’s hand and
flinging it to the floor.

Watching its contents scatter,
Amelia didn’t look angry or even irritated. Her gaze returning to Caton, the
emotions weren’t that easily identified. Not that it mattered. Caton had kept
her mouth shut and catered to Amelia’s whims for as long as she could stand it.

“You,” she began, sliding her
fingers inside the loop of Amelia’s belt to pull her closer, “can have me
whenever you want me. A point you have gone out of your way to prove on several
occasions.” Bodies bumping together, Caton reveled in the gasp she forced from
Amelia’s lips. “But you need to accept the fact that I want you too.” Her hands
came together at Amelia’s waist. “And I am tired of waiting for space in your
schedule.”

Making fast work of the expensive
leather belt, she took more satisfaction than she should have in crushing the
perfectly pressed fabric of five-hundred-dollar slacks beneath her hands in her
search for all their hidden buttons. Without asking for or awaiting permission,
because Amelia never did, her hand slipped inside the fabric, past soft panties
and over softer skin.

When Amelia exhaled unsteadily in
reaction, hands flying to Caton’s shoulders to steady herself, Caton’s entire
body, coiled all morning, unwound. Stepping closer to Amelia, her cheek slid
against the smooth skin of Amelia’s, as her fingers teased inside warm flesh,
finding Amelia impossibly wet and open. “I want you now,” she confessed, and,
to her great surprise, Amelia sagged against her, instantly acquiescent.

“The door is open,” Amelia
breathed.

“I don’t care.” Caton’s words were
muffled against the smooth surface of Amelia’s neck. Darting her tongue out,
she tasted the moisture springing up on Amelia’s throat, and it acted as
aperitif, only making her craving more pronounced.

“And there are beds in this house,”
Amelia added, succeeding in stilling Caton’s hand and mouth.

Grasping Amelia’s collar with her
free hand, unwilling to let go until she was sure she wasn’t being played,
Caton pulled back enough to study Amelia’s face. It might have been a trick,
but, if it was, it didn’t show. Nothing seemed hidden or below the surface
where Amelia kept her emotions. She looked exposed, raw, as if she never
expected Caton to come to her, and now that she had, she had no idea what to do
about it.

Taking a chance on Amelia’s
sincerity, Caton extricated her hand from its intimate entanglement with
Amelia’s body, watching dark eyes flutter, and wanted to return her hand
instantly, do it again, just to prove that she could, that she could make
Amelia react, make her feel something, that she could penetrate those walls
even if only for brief moments and through sex.

Holding her slacks together with
one hand, Amelia grabbed Caton’s arm with the other, tugging her into the
hallway. The path was clear in either direction. Amelia could have just as
easily pulled her down the stairs to the front door and kicked her out for the
final time as led her into a guest bedroom as exquisitely-furnished and
impeccably-decorated as the rest of the house.

When Amelia chose the bedroom,
turning to face Caton inside the doorway, Caton knew she wasn’t wrong. It
wasn’t all wishful thinking. Something
had
changed. Something
was
there. Beyond their previous encounters, past the distance Amelia had tried so
hard to maintain, there was something worth seeking.

Pushing the door closed, Caton
stepped into Amelia, arms encircling her waist, hands splaying over a lightly
muscled lower back. Her lips met Amelia’s without protest, and the alien
sensation of Amelia’s arms wrapping around her shoulders, one hand cradling the
back of her head in a dizzyingly tender fashion, nearly stole Caton’s ability
to stand.

Mouth opening on a sigh, her breath
mingled with Amelia’s, her hands skimming the soft fabric of Amelia’s shirt.
Finding the top button, she worked it apart. Another button undone and, with
some effort, Caton pulled her lips from Amelia’s to lower them to the patch of
exposed skin, feeling Amelia’s heart beat faster against her fingertips where
they lingered at the slope of her breast.

Sliding each button slowly free,
mouth trailing behind, she tasted Amelia as she revealed her. Before, she
couldn’t have pinpointed it, but this was what she had been longing for, Caton
realized, what she had been craving, time to do as she wanted with Amelia, as
slowly as she wanted to do it. Pulling the tail of Amelia’s shirt from her
waistband, Caton slipped the final button free and dropped down to press her
lips to the skin above Amelia’s silk panties.

A shuddering exhalation from above
drew her gaze, and her breath caught at the sight of Amelia so utterly exposed
to her. Transfixed, she stared at Amelia’s expressive features until Amelia’s
eyes opened and dropped to meet her own. Suddenly too distant, Caton stood at
the same time Amelia’s fingers thrust into her hair, pulling her up, and their
lips came together in an almost painful crush.

Hands finding their way between
fabric and skin, Caton pushed Amelia’s shirt from her shoulders, catching it
with one hand and tossing it haphazardly toward the chair by the wall, doubting
it would make it there, but knowing, for once, that Amelia wouldn’t care.
Moving to the loose waistband of Amelia’s slacks, she pushed them down, and
felt Amelia move against her as she kicked them off along with her shoes, not
bothering to retrieve them from the pile at her feet.

When Amelia’s hands slipped beneath
her shirt, inching the fabric upward, Caton grabbed her wrists, removing the
seeking hands from her body, and Amelia pulled back to look at her, eyes darkly
intrigued. Nudging Amelia to the bed, Caton reached past her to pull down the
quilt and coaxed Amelia back onto soft sheets.

It was surprisingly easy. Amelia
was surprisingly accommodating. Watching her settle herself against one thick
pillow, Caton’s eyes trailed over light olive skin, fragmented only by the navy
patches of Amelia’s bra and panties, and felt her desire to take her time go
head to head with her urge to take everything Amelia was offering as quickly as
humanly possible. Devil and angel, Jekyll and Hyde. Caton moved her gaze back
to Amelia’s, and knew Amelia could read her mind by the smile that spread
slowly over her lips, not quite a smirk but far from unaware of the effect she
had.

That’s when Caton decided she would
take her time, even if killed her, if only because Amelia didn’t think she had
the willpower.

Climbing onto the bed next to
Amelia, close but not quite touching, when Amelia’s hand reached for her, Caton
impeded its path.

Free hand moving to Amelia’s
throat, Caton was nervous. She was overwhelmed. Courage shaken by the acute
awareness of just how much she wanted Amelia, how much she had wanted it to be
like this with her, her fingertips trailed the rise of Amelia’s chest, down
Amelia’s sternum. Pressing softly between the sides of Amelia’s rib cage, her
hand passed over the slight swell of Amelia’s stomach to skim along the top of
her panties, and there was some relief when Amelia jerked toward her hand.