Behind the Green Curtain (15 page)

“Impatient?” Caton murmured,
glancing up at Amelia’s face and feeling rather satisfied at the flush she’d
put there.

“No.” Amelia tried to appear
unmoved, and there was only the slightest tremor to her voice.

“Good,” Caton said, returning her
eyes to her hand, which retraced its path, past Amelia’s belly button, between
her breasts and over her chest to her shoulder. Trailing down Amelia’s sculpted
bicep, over her elbow, along her forearm, Caton watched goose bumps form.
“Cold?” she asked, hand curving around Amelia’s, fingertips teasing lightly
against her palm.

“No,” Amelia whispered, and the
honesty was almost shocking.

Hand sliding back up Amelia’s arm
to her jaw, Caton turned Amelia’s head enough to capture her lips, and Amelia
turned into her, body shifting closer. One knee captured between Amelia’s legs,
Caton pressed her back against the mattress, releasing her restrained arm and
dragging her lips along a soft cheek until she could suck gently at the skin
beneath Amelia’s jaw. Her hand closing over silk as she licked and nipped at
the expanse of Amelia’s throat, she finally drew a moan out of Amelia, though
she didn’t know if she owed it to the bite or her fingers circling Amelia’s
nipple through the blue fabric.

Unhooking the bra with a trained
hand, Caton tugged the barrier from Amelia’s body and tossed it toward the
other cast-off pieces. Hands curving around Amelia’s back, she felt the muscles
tense as she took one hard nipple into her mouth.

With a surprised moan, Amelia
arched from the bed, hand thrusting into Caton’s hair to hold her in place, and
Caton circled the nipple with her tongue, sucking harder until Amelia had no
choice but to cry out. Moving slowly across Amelia’s chest, she repeated the
actions, determined to take her time, to make it last, to make it more. But,
tongue flicking against Amelia’s nipple, she felt Hyde taking over as her need
to taste more of Amelia rose to a point of near madness.

Of their own volition, Caton’s
hands trailed the toned muscles of Amelia’s sides, catching the fabric of her
panties and sending them soaring to the floor. Glancing over the contours of
Amelia’s body, she settled between Amelia’s thighs, watching need swirl
dangerously behind dark eyes.

For someone who didn’t need
anything, Amelia’s need was on flagrant display, and Caton understood that
danger well. Dropping the gaze, she opened her mouth at the bottom of Amelia’s
rib cage, tongue trailing flawless skin, lips closing against it in gentle
caress. The firm pressure of Amelia’s hands on her shoulders prodded her downward,
and Caton resisted, lips trailing the twitching muscles of Amelia’s lower
abdomen. It was a power play, Amelia’s determination to get what she needed
versus Caton’s determination to take what she wanted.

“Caton,” Amelia pled, and Caton
gave up the fight in an instant.

Hands slipping beneath
sweat-slickened thighs, she pulled Amelia toward her, dropping her lips beneath
a perfectly-waxed patch of hair to trace a long, wet path in uncharted
territory. Groaning at the deeply satisfying flavor of Amelia, she forced her
eyes to stay open, watching Amelia’s head press back against the pillow, hands
flexing beside her on the mattress.

Days before, even minutes before,
Caton couldn’t have imagined it, Amelia completely exposed and utterly
compliant, trusting Caton with her body. Pushing deeper, Caton wanted to invade
Amelia, to take over as Amelia had taken possession of her, to be inside
Amelia, to consume her mind, to insinuate herself into Amelia’s very soul.

Tasting, teasing, Caton listened to
the sounds above her, each gasping breath, each long moan Amelia probably
didn’t know she was producing. The idea that she could make Amelia do something
against her will went to Caton’s head and she felt drunk on the sheer power.

She was in no hurry. She was content
where she was, a place she had yearned to be welcome for weeks. When Amelia’s
moans turned into near whimpers, though, when she rocked against Caton, leg
bending and foot pressing into the mattress in desperation, Caton sacrificed
her contentment for Amelia’s, concentrating fully on Amelia’s need, moving to
Amelia’s rhythm, giving Amelia exactly what she yearned for until that pleasure
broke over her in electric waves.

Riding the current with her, Caton
closed her mouth around Amelia again as it began to subside, Amelia’s clit firm
beneath her tongue. Feeling a hand at her shoulder, as if it might try to stop
her, Caton thrust her fingers into Amelia in a seamless motion that made the
hand dig in instead. With a moan, Amelia pushed down against her hand, and
Caton reveled in each hitch of Amelia’s breath as she pressed deeper inside of
her.

At a stroke of Caton’s tongue,
Amelia arched from the bed, the hand on Caton’s shoulder moving to her hair,
holding painfully tight as she tugged her upward. Caton’s free arm circled
Amelia’s waist, and she held her up, lips finding Amelia’s and drinking in her
uneven exhalations as her fingers continued to move inside of her, unwilling to
relinquish their claim.

Without warning, Amelia jerked her
mouth from Caton’s, struggling for breath, arms tightening around Caton’s
shoulders as a maelstrom of sensations, not all identifiable, seized them both.
Amelia throbbing around her fingers, Caton felt Amelia’s climax echoed in her
own body, a barrage of inexplicable vibrations that left her nearly as anemic
as Amelia.

Trembling in the aftermath, Caton
lowered Amelia to the bed and panted above her, fingers still enveloped in her
velvet warmth. When Amelia moved, her fingers wrapping around Caton’s wrist to
force her hand away, Caton realized it was the moment she had feared, the
moment when Amelia realized what just happened, how much she had given, how
much she had revealed, and closed herself off, kicking Caton out of bed, and
possibly her life, forever.

Amelia’s eyes slowly unshuttering,
Caton awaited the fallout. Where it should have been, though, there was only
Amelia’s hand, moving from Caton’s upper back to her face, thumb stroking
gently over skin that tried to meld into her touch, and Amelia’s eyes searching
for something Caton was certain she would find without effort.

When Amelia’s eyes at last fell
closed, her hand dropping from Caton’s cheek to her shoulder, it was invitation
enough that Caton lowered herself next to Amelia, pressing her lips to Amelia’s
neck as she listened to her struggle to catch her breath. Arm slipping
tentatively over Amelia’s waist, Caton sighed in relief when Amelia’s hand came
to rest on her back, not pulling her closer, but not pushing her away.

Chapter 24

Time was fading on the day when
they at last rose from the bed. From the cryptic clues Jack had dropped that
morning, Amelia suspected he would be home earlier than usual. Though, she
wasn’t sure when that might be, she did know they were pushing the limits of
the time allotted them.

It had been so long since she felt
anything like it that Amelia scarcely recognized the feeling sweeping over her
as shyness as she pulled her clothes on across the bed from Caton, trying to
regain her traction. They had been moving quickly, picking up momentum even,
she would concede that - she’d been shifting most of the gears herself - but
they had been on a closed course where everything was within her control. Now,
it was as if Caton had flung the gate open and sent them reeling into unbounded
territory. It was far more dangerous, but also more exhilarating, Amelia had to
admit, as Caton looked up and smiled at her, and she felt the same thing that
flared in her the night she went to Caton’s apartment, and again at the company
party when she watched Caton enter with Laura and wanted to stake a claim that
wasn’t hers to stake.

Jack could sleep with all the women
he wanted, and it had little impact beyond her pride. Seeing Caton with someone
else, though no one even knew it was an affront to her, had gutted her in an
instant, leaving her hollow in a way she finally realized only Caton could
undo. Punishing Caton for having someone else, despite her own very-married
situation, was reflex, but forcing her way back into Caton’s arms was even more
impulsive and far more effective at filling those empty spaces.

Of course, she would never tell
Caton that.

Dressed and mostly presentable,
they walked downstairs in silence, little to discuss after they had spent most
of the day making nonverbal declarations that it would be difficult to take
back. Amelia wondered if it was fair for her to feel without restraint, to be
honest with her touch. If Caton wanted more from her, Amelia wanted to give it
to her, but each time she let Caton step closer, she felt as if she was making
promises she could never keep.

“Hungry?” Sole asked as they
entered the kitchen, giving no allusion to anything other than a burning
curiosity as to the state of their stomachs.

“Starving,” Amelia returned, and
Sole spun instantly, but not before Amelia caught the traces of the smirk that
appeared on her face.

“I made empanadas,” Sole announced,
retrieving them from the warming drawer and sliding them onto the counter.

Cocking her head, Amelia lifted an
eyebrow that Sole pretended not to see. So, she did know. Amelia suspected she
had known for some time, though she never expected Sole to tip her hand, or her
hat, by commemorating their afternoon in bed with Amelia’s favorite
special-occasion dish.

“Are you eating together?” Sole
asked, smirk replaced by an impeccable smile that even a priest would have
bought as innocent.

Faltering, Amelia realized she
didn’t know. She could feel Caton beside her. She knew Caton hadn’t eaten all
day and had done more than her share of calorie-burning. She was sure Caton
needed sustenance. She just wasn’t sure if Caton wanted to get it with her.
Unable to recall a time when uncertainty had benefited her, Amelia nodded
without so much as a glance at Caton. “Yes. We’ll take it to the dining room.”

As Sole readied their plates, the
thought that Caton may have somewhere else to be entered Amelia’s mind, but
Caton didn’t make it known if she couldn’t stay and Amelia decided to take
Caton’s silence as acceptance. As she always had.

“While we’re eating, could you call
Mrs. Dreese?” Amelia requested. “I was supposed to meet -”

“I already did,” Sole cut in,
sliding their plates across the bar. “When you were running late and I didn’t
find you in your office, I knew you had something more pressing.” Innocent
intent slipping, she glanced toward Caton. “She never misses meetings.”

Giving Sole a look that promised
retribution for the unnecessary addendum, Amelia picked up her plate and headed
toward the dining room.

“I’ll bring you some drinks,” Sole
said, and Amelia heard Caton mumble her thanks before following.

Pulling out her usual chair at the
nearest corner, Amelia watched Caton sink down at the head of the table. As
they awaited Sole, they had an acceptable reason for their silence, but, once
she came and went, there was simply no excuse for two people who had spent the
day as they had being unable to talk to each other. Searching her repertoire of
conversation pieces, though, Amelia found none satisfactory and had no idea
what to say.

Sinking her fork into the pastry
instead, she watched it split open and took her first bite, delighting in the
decadence, as she had in so many things that day.

“Sole said you were born in
Venezuela,” Caton began softly, glancing at Amelia through shielded eyes.

Not sure whether to be flattered or
concerned that Caton and Sole had talked about her, Amelia swallowed and
nodded. “Caracas,” she responded. “You?”

“Toledo... Ohio,” Caton answered,
taking a small bite and chewing thoughtfully, before glancing to Amelia again.
“So, how did you end up here?”

The question was too much too soon,
and Amelia felt her defenses engage at once, the strange serenity she felt
slipping through her fingers. It was hardly Caton’s fault. She couldn’t
possibly know what not to ask, but, still, Caton backpedaled instantly. “I mean,”
she qualified, “did you go to college here or something?”

“No,” Amelia replied, feeling her
heart slow in response to Caton’s reversal. “I never went to college. I assume
you did.”

Nodding quickly, Caton tucked a
somewhat larger bite into her mouth without elaborating, and minor amusement
put a grin on Amelia’s lips. “Are you going to tell me where?”

The way Caton looked at her, Amelia
suspected Caton didn’t think she would care, and the knowledge snaked through
Amelia with a surprising twinge.

“The University of Michigan and
Northwestern,” Caton returned at last.

“What did you study?” Amelia
encouraged.

“Philosophy, but I minored in
sociology.”

Nodding at the information, Amelia
glanced toward her plate. “Explains the attraction to the social worker.”

When Caton’s eyes jumped to her,
Amelia realized how jealous the words sounded. Even more surprising was that
she felt it again, the jealousy. It rose out of nowhere, totally uninvited.
Irritated, she cut a bite from the empanada and occupied her mouth. Stealing a
glance at Caton, she watched the tines of Caton’s fork move against her plate
without purpose. “You don’t like it?” she asked, pulling the cloth napkin from
her lap to wipe her mouth.

“No, I do,” Caton responded, but
still didn’t take a bite. Finally, she lowered the fork to the edge of the
plate and sat back in the chair, looking Amelia full-on. “What’s going to
happen tomorrow?”

With the force of a shove, the
question pressed Amelia back against the seat. She hadn’t been expecting the
day she’d just had. She couldn’t begin to imagine the next. Picking up her
glass, she took a drink, trying to decide on the proper response. “What do you
mean?” she finally asked, taking the easy route of playing dumb.

“I mean, are you going to treat me
like you have been treating me?” Caton asked with amazing calm. “Or are you
going to treat me like this?”

Fair as the question was, it still
made Amelia flinch. It was her chance to renege. Caton was expecting it. If she
said, ‘I think it’s best if we keep things savage and bitter between us,’ Caton
would agree. Watching Caton’s gaze fall away, Amelia knew she would accept
whatever response she was given.

“You don’t have to answer that,”
Caton whispered at last, her hands clutching the tabletop as if she was trying
to steady herself.

Caton was right. She didn’t have to
answer. It was one of the best things about Amelia’s status in the world. She
rarely had to answers questions she didn’t want to, and most people let her get
away with it.

Looking at Caton’s fingertips, so
delicate and attentive all day, turning to stone against the African mahogany,
Amelia couldn’t let the question go unanswered either. The need to atone for
past behavior overriding her reservations, she slid her hand over Caton’s,
feeling the tension crackle beneath her palm. When Caton looked up at her,
though, Amelia still didn’t know what to say. This hadn’t been her intent. She
wasn’t sure what her intent had been, but she knew the bolts that shot up her
wrist and into her arm at barely touching Caton’s hand wasn’t it.

“Sole!” Jack’s voice suddenly
called from somewhere beyond the dining room, shattering the moment in an
instant.

Looking to the door that led
through the piano room and into the foyer, Caton ripped her hand from under
Amelia’s, dropping it to her lap, and Amelia sat back in her chair, eyes not
leaving Caton until Sole led Jack into the dining room from the kitchen.

“What are you doing here?” Amelia
asked, as Jack stepped up behind Caton, hand alighting on the back of her
chair.

“I live here,” he reminded her,
leaning over Caton. “What are you doing here?”

“Sole made empanadas,” Amelia
replied quickly. “Caton wanted to try them.”

“Hope you didn’t eat my share,”
Jack said with a grin, hand moving from the back of Caton’s chair to her shoulder.

“I’m sure there are plenty.” Amelia
gave her husband a glare that made him release Caton.

“Good,” Jack said, turning to where
Sole waited in the doorway. “Get me a plate. I’ll join them.”

Moving around the table to pull out
the chair opposite Amelia, he made himself comfortable in an intimate moment
that didn’t belong to him, and Sole sent Amelia an apologetic glance before
following the command.

“Actually...” Caton rushed to
stand. “I have to go. Thank you for...” She glanced fleetingly in Amelia’s direction,
and Amelia leaned forward unconsciously, but, like Caton, could think of no
appropriate way to finish the thought.

Whirling around, Caton escaped
through the kitchen door, and Amelia stared after her, not entirely sure she
wanted to stop her.

“Just you and me, Darling,” Jack
said, looking across the table with amusement bordering contempt. Pulling
Caton’s plate in front of him, he picked up the remainder of the empanada and
stuffed it into his mouth, and, discovering she had no appetite after all, Amelia
pushed her plate away.