Behind the Green Curtain (16 page)

Chapter 25

For a moment, weak and unwise,
Caton let herself believe.

She had been so good at discerning
what was real and what wasn’t, what she could and couldn’t have from Amelia.
Sitting at the table, though, away from the sexual intimacy, Amelia seemed
almost... interested... in her.

Nothing had changed, though,
nothing really could. Jack was a painful reminder of that. Amelia was still
married, Caton was still the third party, and, when all was said and done,
there would be nothing for her. It was an unwinnable game she never should have
been playing in the first place.

Yet, when Caton walked into the
kitchen the next day to find Amelia sitting at the bar, reading a newspaper and
drinking her coffee in a relaxed fashion Caton had never seen on her, it looked
as if everything had changed.

Amelia lifted her head, looking at
Caton in a way Caton couldn’t shake off even if she wanted to, as if she had
been waiting for her, as if she was happy to see her.

“Good morning,” Sole greeted,
pouring Caton coffee without asking, and Caton didn’t know whether to meet or
avoid Amelia’s eyes, so she chose a combination, glancing toward her and
looking away before she could stare.

Taking the coffee that Sole slid
across the bar, she tried to think of something to say that sounded normal, but
couldn’t find any normalcy in the room. “I guess I’ll go on up,” she mumbled,
spinning toward the door. Though she was certain she looked ridiculous, it was
safer to back away than walk straight into the patch of thorns so clearly
visible.

Putting the mug down on the desk in
her office, Caton noted the light tremble in it. She had just enough time to
drop her bag into her chair and punch the computer on with more vigor than was
necessary before the noise came at her back. She didn’t need to turn to know it
was Amelia, but felt compelled to turn anyway.

Leaning in the doorway, Amelia
stared at her with a question she didn’t bother to voice, stepping into the
room instead, and, as unsteady as Caton felt on them, her feet took automatic
steps to meet Amelia. Amelia’s arms sliding around her waist, Caton tilted her
head up, finding Amelia’s seeking lips and sighing into the welcome sensation.
Hands coming to rest on Amelia’s upper arms, she was almost surprised to find
her tangible.

Caton wondered if it was exactly
the kind of thing from which she should have been running, to which she should
have been putting her foot down and holding her ground. Letting herself believe
that she could be any more than Amelia’s few-month work fling was a wayward,
impossible fantasy she couldn’t afford to entertain. No matter how she felt in
Amelia’s arms.

Relaxing into the other woman’s
embrace, it was as if she had been waiting for it since she woke up. Maybe she
had.

Composure Caton once thought was
unshakable faltering for just an instant, Amelia glanced away, pulling Caton’s
mouth into a hesitant smile. She had seen Amelia surprised, flushed, wanton,
but she had never seen Amelia genuinely flustered. “I have some work that I
need you to help me with,” Amelia finally said. “But maybe later we could do
something else?”

Warm eyes returning to Caton’s,
they left little to the imagination, and Caton’s entire body jumpstarted at the
look alone. ‘Now would be better,’ she thought, staring at Amelia’s lips,
wondering how she had developed such a rapid addiction. Again, it occurred to
her that she should try to resist, that what she was doing was unwise, that
nothing good could come of it in the end.

“Okay,” she breathed, despite all
her logical reservations. Apparently no amount of reality could shake her from
the feel of Amelia’s arms around her by choice, or from her kiss that felt
sincere.

~ ~ ~

It was the kind of path one could
only veer from at the beginning. Once committed, the only available stops were
the slow deceleration at the bottom or a painful one along the way.

When Caton followed Amelia into the
same bedroom that afternoon, she knew it was her final chance to escape, her
last opportunity to abandon the ride before there were only those two ends in
sight. Amelia looked at Caton as if she wanted to be there with her, though, as
if she was the only thing on Earth that mattered at that moment, and, if it was
an illusion, it was an illusion that broke Caton’s will.

Things weren’t comfortable, they
weren’t easy, but over the following days, things were at least different
enough that when she heard the sound of the piano floating up the stairway, Caton
felt the freedom to get up from her desk to investigate. The logical part of
her knew it must be Amelia, but she didn’t believe it until she turned the
corner into the piano room and saw her perched on the bench, fingers moving
tentatively over the keys.

Amelia looked uncertain for a
moment as she glanced up, missing several notes before she dropped her eyes
back to her hands and regained her place, and Caton was almost afraid to
approach, afraid Amelia would stop, that the surprising new information about
Amelia would shrivel before her eyes.

Sliding over on the bench, though,
Amelia didn’t miss a beat, and Caton sat down in the space beside her, feeling
the vibration through the body next to her every time Amelia hit a powerful
chord. It was far from perfect, the song, but Caton heard only the right notes
as she watched Amelia’s fingers crawl the keys in front of her, reaching across
her to hit the last high note, before Amelia pulled her hands away and glanced
over.

“You play the piano.” Caton saved
the data to memory.

“Not very well.” Amelia’s gentle
laugh was like a note left behind. “Not for a long time.”

Her hands returning to the keys,
they moved across them with obvious affection, and Caton wondered how many
things Amelia had given up along the way to being the person she had become, a
woman seemingly devoid of interests outside her desire to fulfill her proper
place in society.

“It sounded good to me,” Caton
declared.

Eyes never leaving the piano, there
was a sad tilt to Amelia’s smile. “You would say that,” she returned.

“Why?” Caton questioned in mock
offense. “You think I have no musical talent?”

“I think you’re...” Amelia breathed
instantly, stopping herself, and Caton wished she knew what she was really
going to say. “You’re careful about what you say to people. You try to be
tactful.”

With a light laugh, Caton leaned
into Amelia’s shoulder, the desire to touch her too strong to resist. “Not with
everyone,” she reminded her. “Not with you two months ago.”

“Well, that didn’t turn out that
bad,” Amelia replied, finger pressing a key to send a single tone through the
room. “And you could have been worse. God knows I was. But things have changed,
haven’t they?”

The question felt overwhelmingly
intimate, and when Amelia looked over at her, Caton didn’t know if she should
answer. If she could. These moments between them, increasing in frequency,
always felt so authentic, but they were always so fleeting.

Hand rising to Amelia’s face, Caton
allowed herself an indulgence, savoring the feel of Amelia’s heat and skin
beneath her fingertips, before brushing her lips against Amelia’s, scarcely
believing she had gained such standing that she could do so without question,
still somewhat afraid Amelia would pull rank.

Sighing, Amelia turned into her,
mouth opening, tongue sliding between Caton’s lips, and Caton responded the
only way she knew how, by giving Amelia exactly what she wanted. It had been
only hours since they last left the bedroom, but she knew they would end up
there again.

Fully invested in the feel of
Amelia’s tongue dueling with her own, Caton hardly registered Amelia’s hand
grasping hers and guiding it down her body until it came to rest against the
heated fabric between Amelia’s thighs. Pulling her lips from Amelia’s, she
dropped her gaze to the hand, fingertips teasing ever so lightly against the
seam of Amelia’s pants, and smiled when Amelia shifted against them.

Hands going to her waist, Amelia
unfastened her pants with dexterous fingers, urging Caton’s hand inside, and
Caton’s fingers slipped beneath the fabric of her panties, her free hand going
to Amelia’s back when it looked as if she might keel backward off the bench.

Caton was well aware of where they
sat, of the uncovered windows that would provide a perfect view from the right
vantage point, but Amelia didn’t seem to care how exposed they were, or that
Sole could walk in at any moment.

Rising enough to throw one leg
across the bench, Caton turned Amelia without ceasing the touch, drawing a gasp
from Amelia as she pulled her closer, hissing at the upswell of sensation as
Amelia’s body pressed back between her legs.

Amelia relaxed against her, arching
from the bench to give Caton more access, and, free hand slipping beneath the
soft cashmere of Amelia’s sweater, Caton felt Amelia’s stomach muscles tighten
with need, tension fluttering against her fingertips, as Amelia reached back,
hand threading through Caton’s hair to pull her closer.

Breathing in the hair at her face,
Caton latched onto an exposed patch of skin on Amelia’s neck, drawing from the
spot until Amelia moaned in response, the sound reverberating through both of
them, as Amelia’s thrusts grew more desperate against Caton’s hand.

The sound of the front door
invading on their intimacy, they froze as one, both sets of eyes going to the
open pocket doors to the foyer as footsteps fell against the marble floor.
Extracting her hands hastily from Amelia’s body, Caton watched Amelia scramble
to her feet, struggling to find her footing and refasten her pants. She had
just straightened her sweater when a teenage girl, whom Caton would have
recognized at once as Amelia’s offspring even if there wasn’t a photo of her
sitting two feet away, walked into the room.

Turning toward the doorway,
Amelia’s face froze upon seeing her daughter, before her shock broke into a
sincere, surprised smile. “Selene.”

“Yeah.” Selene shrugged as if her
mother wasn’t staring at her as if she was the most amazing thing ever created.

“You’re home.” Amelia’s voice held
a touch of wonder.

“I told Dad I was coming,” Selene
stated. “He didn’t tell you?”

Anger tightening her smile, Amelia
shook her head. “No,” she uttered, shaking it off as quickly as it appeared.
“But I am so happy you’re here.”

Amelia sounded happy, she looked
happy, but, moving slowly toward her daughter, she also appeared
overly-cautious, as if she thought Selene might slip away from her. Watching
from the corner of her eye, Caton knew she too was infringing on a private
moment, but she still watched as Amelia pulled Selene into an awkward embrace,
the cashmere at her neck slipping slightly, revealing the deep red mark Caton had
just left on her skin.

Pulling away before Amelia was
ready to let her go, Selene didn’t seem interested enough in her mother to
notice. Staring blankly at Amelia, her expression was disturbingly familiar to
Caton. It was the same look Amelia had worn like a mask when she first met her.

“Where’s Dad?” Selene asked.

“He’s at work,” Amelia returned.

“Who’s that?” Selene finally cast
her eyes in Caton’s direction, and Caton tried not to be intimidated by the
glare of a teenager.

When Amelia glanced toward her,
eyes warming as a small smile curved her lips, it eased Caton’s growing
discomfort. “This is Caton. She works here.”

“What happened to Sole?” Selene
questioned at once, finally showing some emotion.

“She’s still here,” Amelia assured
her with a smile, laying a hesitant hand on her daughter’s arm. “Caton is my
assistant.”

“Oh, okay.” Selene shrugged out of
Amelia’s touch. “I’m going up to my room.”

“Okay, but...” Amelia stepped
forward as Selene turned and walked from the room. “Do you need anything?” she
called into the hall.

“No,” Selene’s dull voice returned,
and, no reason left to fake it, Amelia’s smile fell from her lips.

Staring at the space where her
daughter had just been, it took Amelia a moment to remember she wasn’t alone.
“That was Selene,” she stated, turning back to Caton at the piano.

“I gathered,” Caton said softly,
sliding off the bench and approaching her cautiously, afraid of breaking the
other woman with a wrong word, because, as unbelievable as the sight was,
Amelia looked that fragile.

“I didn’t know she was coming,”
Amelia uttered, more to herself than to Caton. “She was supposed to be in
Germany with friends. I wonder what happened.”

“You could go ask her,” Caton
suggested, observing Amelia carefully for reaction.

“What?” Amelia returned absently,
glancing to Caton before returning her gaze to the empty doorway. “Oh, no. No.
She’ll come down when she’s ready.”

Nodding without comprehension,
Caton could think of nothing consoling to say “Do you want me to leave?” she
asked, dreading Amelia’s response.

Eyes whirling toward her, Amelia
frowned. “No, of course not,” she returned. “But we probably shouldn’t...”

“No,” Caton agreed, stepping closer
to Amelia anyway, the heat radiating between them serving as momentary
consolation.

“I’m sorry,” Amelia whispered.

“Don’t be sorry,” Caton returned.
“Your daughter is home. I know that makes you happy.” Recalling the few things
Amelia had said about Selene in the quiet, unguarded moments when they had to
catch their breath, she watched Amelia find her smile again. “I’m here to work,
so I’ll work. If nothing else, I know where there’s plenty of filing.”

Laughing softly, Amelia’s eyes
roamed her face, and Caton wanted to know how, in all their recent
conversations that sounded like honesty, she never picked up on the fact that Amelia’s
relationship with Selene was fractured.