Behind the Green Curtain (22 page)

Returning to the couch, Laura
pulled on her shoes, reaching for the camera she’d taken out to show Caton the
photos from her trip only an hour ago when they were still on speaking terms. Dropping
the camera into her bag, she slid it onto her shoulder and grabbed her jacket
on the way to the door.

“Laura,” Caton said as Laura’s hand
turned the knob. It was her last chance to stop her, to tell Laura how wrong
she had been, that Amelia was a mistake, that she would quit her job and be the
kind of person she could count on. “I’m sorry,” was all she managed.

When Laura looked back, it was the
only time Caton would ever see her look as cold and emotionless as Amelia. “You
should be,” she said, walking out, the door slamming at her back.

Alone in the silence, Caton
realized she had nothing left. Even if she could win Laura back, she couldn’t
change her own feelings. Letting Laura go was one of the few decent things she
had done in weeks. She just wasn’t sure if it was the noblest or stupidest
decision she had ever made.

Chapter 32

Pulling up outside the Halston
Palace Monday morning, Caton looked at the soaring beams, a grand entrance
designed for important people, or for those who thought they were. It wasn’t
her life. She had never wanted it to be. Throughout her youth, she had seen
people like the ones who lived in these houses look down on her parents because
they worked hard for what they had, and she had never wanted any part of it.
There was nothing in the world of excess Caton ever thought she would need,
until she found the one thing she did.

Laura was right, though. This was
what she was up against. Her opposition wasn’t just a sleazy, rich husband. It
was perfectly-manicured lawns, and extra rooms no one ever used, and gourmet
meals served without ever lifting a finger, and diamond-and-platinum pendants
like the one around her neck that felt suddenly like an albatross.

Making her way through the empty
spaces into the kitchen, Caton tried to smile as Sole greeted her with the
usual enthusiasm.

“Hey, how was your weekend?” The
question was casual enough, but Caton could tell by the look Sole directed
toward her that she knew how’d she’d spent at least part of it.

“It was... eventful,” Caton said,
lacking the wherewithal to lie.

“Good or bad?” Sole asked.

“Some good, some bad,” Caton
admitted. Lately, they had fused together so much, they were almost one and the
same.

Delivering her coffee to the bar,
Sole gave her a sympathetic smile, and Caton returned it gratefully. “Thanks.”

At the sound behind her, Caton
could admit to herself that she had just been waiting for Amelia’s entrance.
Moving into the room, Amelia appeared the picture of confidence and perfection
in a suit just formal enough for business and just fitted enough to make anyone
who saw her forget about business entirely.

“Good morning, Caton,” she
murmured, a barely-there smile lifting one corner of her mouth.

“Good morning,” Caton returned
carefully, wondering if she could trust it.

“Can I get you anything?” Sole
asked.

“No, I’m already running late,”
Amelia replied, sidling up at Caton’s side, so close it would have been
inappropriate if Sole weren’t already clearly aware of everything. “I have a
lunch meeting at eleven-thirty. The information is in my datebook. Could you
call Ms. Laurence and ask if we can move it to noon?”

“Yeah, of course.” Caton nodded
nervously.

Stepping closer, Amelia’s body
pressed against hers, and Caton lifted her eyes to Amelia’s, overwhelmed with
the desire to make her abandon her lunch date and whomever it was she was
running late to meet. “I have meetings all day,” Amelia said quietly, smile
genuine as she reached up to toy with the pendant at Caton’s throat. “I don’t
know what time I’ll be back. Will you wait for me?”

It felt like all Caton had been
doing, waiting for Amelia, but she didn’t have it in her to say no to the
request. Nodding slowly, she watched Amelia glance toward Sole, who had already
busied herself on the other side of the kitchen, but made an extra show of
paying no attention to them.

Amelia’s head dipped to capture her
lips and Caton melted against her mouth, savoring the unique flavor of Amelia,
as the backs of Amelia’s fingers brushed the skin of her chest. Pulling away,
Amelia gently squeezed Caton’s arm on her departure, and Caton turned shakily
back to her coffee. These were the moments of danger, she knew, the ones that
seemed normal, but couldn’t possibly be. There was nothing normal about the
situation, and she needed to keep that in perspective.

When Sole turned back around,
Caton’s hands clenched the mug tighter between them. She always anticipated
judgment now, knowing she had it coming. But, smiling, Sole turned the
conversation to neutral subjects, no mention of Amelia, until she reminded
Caton on her way from the kitchen to move Amelia’s lunch meeting, as if she
could tell Caton lost all retention the moment Amelia laid lips on her.

After making the call, Caton found
a few things on Amelia’s desk with which to busy herself, needing something to
keep her from fixating on Amelia’s return. Afternoon came, and, as Caton dined
on Sole’s lunch offering in the kitchen, she thought about Amelia sharing lunch
with some potential investor, undoubtedly talking the woman into adding an
extra zero to whatever she intended to donate.

How many of them fell for Amelia?
Surely, the night of the opera wasn’t the first time a donor had tried to get
more from her. They were probably all in love with her, or at least with the
persona Amelia projected. As far as believing it could be more than the spell
of a seductress, though, Caton thought she might be alone in her delusion.

Regardless, Amelia told her to
wait, so Caton waited, and when Amelia alighted in the doorway with the grace
of a dancer, Caton swiveled to face her with the most neutral expression she
could muster. It would do no good for Amelia to know how anxious she always was
to see her.

“I’ve been asked to plan an event
for one of Jack’s associates,” Amelia announced, walking into the room and
leaning against the edge of the desk. “It’s going to be a pain, and I’m going
to need your help.”

Caton nodded, eyes trailing down
Amelia’s tailored suit, marred now with a few wrinkles from her busy day. “Is
that why you wanted me to wait?”

An irresistible smile coming to her
lips, Amelia wrapped her hand around the arm of Caton’s chair, turning it
toward her. The hand dropping to Caton’s knee to uncross her legs, she slid
from the edge of the desk, sinking into Caton’s lap, hands slipping beneath
Caton’s hips and tugging her forward when the arms of the chair proved an
impediment.

Whatever sense Caton managed to
maintain dissipated at the feel of Amelia’s body pressing her into the chair.
Hands smoothing up Amelia’s slacks, they settled at the bend of her hips, and
Caton groaned as Amelia’s hands wound into her hair to tug her head back.

“Not exactly,” Amelia whispered and
seized Caton’s mouth in a long, slow caress that weakened Caton’s body and
resolve instantly. “Can you stay?” Amelia asked.

Distracted brain trying to make
sense of the question, Caton shook her head. “No,” she reasoned. “Jack will be
home.”

“Not until at least midnight,”
Amelia replied, lips hovering so close Caton could still taste her breath.

“How do you know that?” Caton
asked.

“Because if there is one thing I
know, whether I want to or not, it’s Jack” Amelia stated, pulling back to meet
Caton’s eyes.

Despite the reality check, Caton’s
body strained toward Amelia. What she knew she should do and what she wanted to
do were in opposite directions, but Amelia was always the stronger pull, her
gravity undeniable.

“I’ll make you dinner,” Amelia
tempted, and Caton smiled in spite of herself.

“You mean, you’ll have Sole make me
dinner.”

Looking almost pleasantly offended,
Amelia abandoned Caton’s lap, leaving a red aura of desire in her wake, and
walked to the intercom inside the door, fitted slacks hugging every curve.

“Sole?” she said, holding down the
talk button and releasing it.

“Yes, Amelia?” Sole’s voice
returned several seconds later from somewhere inside the house, creeping Caton
out as much as usual.

“Why don’t you take the night off?”
Amelia commanded.

“Okay,” Sole returned, as if she
was expecting it. “Is there anything you need before I go?”

Glancing back, Amelia’s eyes
ignited, and Caton was sure she would catch fire. “I have everything I need,”
Amelia returned, and Caton knew she wouldn’t deny Amelia, couldn’t deny Amelia.

“All right.” Sole’s voice filtered
into the room. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” Amelia released the
button, turning to lean against the door frame with a smirk. “Do you believe me
now?”

“What choice do I have?” Caton
asked. What choice did she ever have? “How can I resist that?”

“You can’t.” Amelia’s smile was
victorious as she pushed off the frame. “I’m going to go change. Don’t run off
anywhere.”

Eyes following Amelia’s retreat,
Caton swallowed roughly, thinking it was exactly what she should do. Running
was her only real option. Every time she thought about running from Amelia,
though, she ended up running toward her, so Caton thought it best to just not
move at all.

~ ~ ~

Stepping out of her shoes, Amelia
put them in their proper place, arranged by color and heel, and wished
everything in her life was so easily organized. For the first time in what felt
like a lifetime, she had no idea what she was doing, no idea how to get what
she wanted. She had no idea what she wanted.

However she felt about her life,
she did know her role in it, how she was supposed to act, what she was supposed
to say. She was used to the script. With Caton, everything felt like
improvisation, and Amelia was often as surprised by the things coming out of
her own mouth, by her own actions, as she was by the things Caton said and did.

Slipping out of her suit, she hung
each piece carefully, wondering if it was too late to come up with an excuse,
something effective, but believable, as to why Caton had to leave after all.
She could have forgotten a meeting. Jack could have called and said he was on
his way home. It wouldn’t be difficult to invent a reason, and Amelia knew
Caton would go whether she believed the excuse or not.

If
she wanted Caton to go,
which, Amelia admitted to herself as she reached into her bottom drawer for her
favorite jeans and a long-sleeve t-shirt, she didn’t. If she didn’t want Caton
to stay, she wouldn’t have asked, but, now that Caton had agreed, Amelia had no
idea what to do with her.

Padding down the stairs after
delaying as long as she could, Amelia landed in the doorway of Caton’s office,
and Caton’s eyes rose silently to her. Taking her in, they paused on Amelia’s
slipper boots, and a small smile tugged at Caton’s mouth. “Want a pair?” Amelia
offered, only half-kidding. “I have more.”

“I’m fine.” Caton laughed lightly,
standing and stretching, and Amelia was struck by the simplicity of it, the
ease of the exchange. It was almost normal, almost mundane. She wondered if it
could be like that with them, if she wanted it to be that way.

“Come on.”She turned from the
doorway and headed down the stairs, Caton’s footsteps behind her inordinately
nerve-racking.

Through the kitchen doorway, she
felt even less at ease as she realized Sole had already taken her leave and she
had no one on whom to fall back if she needed reinforcements. Yet, somehow more
comfortable at the same time. In this room, she knew what to do, granted to a
minimal extent, but at least it was a step-by-step process. She would have paid
top-dollar for a recipe for Caton.

“Sit down,” she invited, but
realized it might have sounded like an order when Caton did it promptly, as if
afraid of repercussion. It was surprisingly subordinate, and Amelia wondered
how Caton could still feel that way with her. After the way things had been
before she left, after she invited Amelia to her apartment, Caton had seemed
more sure in her place.

But then, maybe Caton was sure.
Maybe she was just as nervous as Amelia.

Pulling the perfect Chianti from
the wine cooler without thought, it was a grating reminder of how fluent Amelia
was in so many insignificant things, and how ignorant she was in subjects of
value. The cork popping with ease, she pulled two glasses from the rack beside
the cooler, filling them on the way to the bar. Offering one to Caton, Amelia’s
breath caught as Caton’s fingers brushed over her own, a perfect demonstration
of her profound ignorance. After everywhere those fingers had been on and in
her, she simply couldn’t wrap her head around the science of how it was still
possible to so keenly feel the fleeting contact.

“Thank you.” Caton took the touch
away and raised the glass to her lips.

Head nodding in response, Amelia
sat the bottle on the bar and gulped half her wine, before turning to face her
objective. Trying to remember where everything was so she didn’t look like a
stranger in her own kitchen, she gathered what she needed and dropped the items
on a counter, pressing the button to start the electric kettle before washing
her hands. Every move she made, Caton’s eyes followed, gaze so focused, Amelia
could only imagine what she saw.

Opening the flour as if Caton’s
observation wasn’t distracting, she dipped her hand inside, pulling out a
handful and then another. It felt natural, though she never did it anymore.
This was how she had been taught to cook, by hand, by feel, and the return to
the basics helped Amelia relax into Caton’s gaze, the silence between them less
uncomfortable than she feared it would be.

“What are you making?” Caton asked
at last, and Amelia swore she heard a trace of suspicion in the question.

“Pizza,” she responded.

“Pizza?” Caton seemed amused by the
response.

“I haven’t spent a lot of my adult
life in the kitchen, as you know,” Amelia explained. “I think it’s best to keep
it simple. I don’t want to give you food poisoning.”

“I appreciate that,” Caton replied,
and Amelia risked a glance over her shoulder, watching Caton smile against the
rim of her glass.

Only realizing her glance had
turned into a stare when Caton tilted her glass and obstructed her view, Amelia
turned back to the counter, pressing the dough through her fingers one last
time, before covering it and washing the debris from her hands. After setting
the timer and returning everything to its rightful place, she had no further
excuse to avoid Caton’s presence, and it was with great effort that she didn’t
shrink under Caton’s forceful gaze as she walked to the bar. “That will take a
while,” she said, retrieving her glass and swallowing most of what was left.