Behind the Green Curtain (24 page)

Not quite an admission, it was
close enough to speed Caton’s heart, going to her head faster than the wine,
Amelia’s touch, or any of the other surprises over the past few hours. Like
everything else, it could easily be illusion, so she chose to ignore the
sensation. She also suspected Amelia would regret most of the conversation when
she didn’t have half a bottle of wine coursing through her.

“You have to understand,” Amelia’s
eyes returned to Caton’s, near plea in them. “It’s not all bad. I am not the
only one Jack elevated above her surroundings. He brought my parents to the
U.S. for the first time. They’ve traveled here since. They live in a villa with
my family. They have plenty to eat. They have good health. They have a view of
the ocean. They don’t have to worry. And I can visit them whenever I want. I
don’t know,” she shrugged helplessly. “Maybe we all wanted to believe in the
miracle.”

Unable to produce even fake
amusement at the notion of Jack as a savior, Caton’s jaw tensed, disquieted but
the entire narrative, but one part lingering more than any other. “You are more
than Jack’s equal,” she declared, throat tight against all the accusations she
wanted to hurl at Jack, at the hatred she felt toward him, growing even in his
absence. “You are better than him.”

Amelia smiled half-heartedly,
unconvinced, and Caton bit back any further exposition. She had pushed enough
for one night, had gotten more than she ever expected, knew more than she
really wanted to know, and didn’t know what else to say. By the way Amelia’s
hand moved inside her pant leg to gently massage the back of her calf, Caton
thought maybe Amelia didn’t want her to say anything.

The feel of Amelia’s leg moving
beneath her came an instant before Amelia’s toes pressed against the seam of
Caton’s pants, and Caton’s eyes fell closed on a gasp. Another distraction, it
was effective just the same. Instinctively, Caton shifted forward as Amelia’s
foot pressed into her, resulting in a collision that forced a moan over her
lips, and when she opened her eyes, gazing across the short distance, the smile
on Amelia’s face was pure wickedness. “Think I can make you orgasm from here?”

“I’m certain you can,” Caton
replied, no doubt Amelia could make her climax hands- and mouth-free in less
time than it should have taken anyone, sans a magician.

Just as Caton acknowledged the
fact, though, Amelia abandoned her opportunity to prove it. Retracting the
foot, she flipped to her knees, crawling across the cushions to hover over
Caton, smile fading into something less-easily identified. As Amelia’s lips
descended on hers, Caton slid down on the sofa, pulling Amelia with her, and,
at the press of Amelia’s hips between her legs, she ripped her mouth from
Amelia’s on a hiss. Smirking, Amelia seemed just as content to prove her
talents in close proximity.

The conceit was genuine, and it
wasn’t. Amelia knew the areas in which she had talents, how alluring she was to
people, but, beneath all that, Caton saw the woman who was honestly unaware of
her true worth. So much of their early time together she had spent thinking
Amelia needed humbled, only to discover humbling was the last thing Amelia needed.

Sharp trill of the phone jolting
them both, Amelia thrust closer, and Caton grasped the back of the sofa with a
helpless whimper. “You should get that,” she gasped.

“I don’t have to,” Amelia
responded, eyes never leaving Caton’s as the press of her body turned more
deliberate.

“You should see who it is, at
least,” Caton stated breathlessly, not sure if she was trying to excuse Amelia
or save herself. “It’s late. What if it’s important?”

With reluctance, Amelia pulled
back, eyes scanning Caton’s face for signs of subterfuge, and Caton smiled, not
sure what she was trying to avoid exactly, but almost relieved when Amelia
disentangled herself and walked the few steps to the phone. When Amelia grabbed
it with haste, though, she worried she had unintentionally wished Amelia bad
luck.

“Selene?” Amelia answered, voice
edging on worry. “Are you okay? Why are you up so early?” Glancing toward the
clock, she finally sighed in relief. “Yes, of course we can talk.”

On her feet before Amelia could
turn apologetically, Caton pulled her shoes on and grabbed her bag, smiling as
she moved silently toward the door. A hand on her wrist stopping her, she was
drawn back toward Amelia. Noting the expression of disappointment on Amelia’s
face, Caton thought it safest to attribute it to too much wine and unfulfilled
arousal.

“Honey, could you hold on for a
second?” Amelia said into the phone. Pressing the receiver against her
shoulder, she took the small step that carried her into Caton, her thumb moving
over the skin at Caton’s wrist dangerously hypnotic. “Are you okay to drive?”
she asked.

“I’m fine.” Caton nodded.

“Are you sure? I can get you a
car.”

“I’m fine,” Caton assured her. “I
can walk a straight line, find my nose with my finger. I’m good.”

“Okay,” Amelia smiled, voice barely
a whisper. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Nodding in response, Caton could do
nothing but respond when Amelia’s mouth brushed hers, too weak to tamp her own
feelings, which rose up unexpectedly to take a choking hold on her. Pulling
away with as much poise as she could muster, she turned from the claustrophobic
intimacy of Amelia’s presence, the room, and the house, wondering as she
escaped through the front door why in the hell she hadn’t done it hours ago.

Chapter 34

Waking to the dull throbbing and thickly-coated
palate of too much wine and too little sense, Caton forced herself out of bed
and plodded to the kitchen to hydrate. Gulping lukewarm tap water, the memory
of the night before spilled over her in a cacophony of sensations, both
pleasant and unnerving. She had woken with more insight into Amelia than she
had come to expect, but Amelia would have to wake up too, and Caton could only
control one of their reactions.

After making it through her morning
routine on resolve alone, Caton found everything as expected at the Halston
Palace - Sole alone in the kitchen and Amelia in hiding. Not in the kitchen,
not in her office, Amelia’s absence was exactly the consequence Caton feared.
As much as she had given in to the allure of confidences shared, she knew
Amelia would regret her loose tongue come morning.

In the time it took for her to drop
her bag on her temporary desk and turn on the computer, footsteps in the
hallway drew Caton’s gaze to the door of her office, where Amelia appeared an
instant later in white silk pajamas and the same slippers from the night
before. All her expensive, tailored clothes and perfect hair days, and Amelia
had never looked as insanely beautiful as she did half-awake and disheveled.

“Good morning,” Amelia said, the
hint of doubt in her tone belying her casual appearance.

“Good morning,” Caton uttered,
heart clenching in prophetic anguish.

“About last night...” Amelia began,
stepping into the room, head bowed demurely, and Caton awaited the fallout.

Forget everything that happened.

Don’t ask me anything else.

Take your stuff and go.

There were a slew of possible
endings to the introduction, each worse than the last, and Caton had
anticipated them all throughout the morning. Perhaps most disturbing was the
fact that any one of them might provide a less painful conclusion to their
doomed liaison than what might lie ahead.

“I’m sorry.” Amelia’s declaration
was among the last things Caton expected to hear. “That Selene called.” She
seemed to think further explanation was needed. “I mean, I’m not sorry she
called. But I’m sorry you left.”

Maybe it was the unexpected
declaration, the strange informality of Amelia stumbling directly out of bed
and into her presence; maybe it was the fact that there was no detectable
gimmick behind the declaration; or maybe Caton just wanted to believe it,
because the possibility that it was sincere was too tempting to resist.

“Me too,” she confessed in turn.

Amelia’s slow smile of response
melted Caton on the spot, fusing her feet to the floor, so she couldn’t run
even if she had the inclination. A rush of steps carrying her forward, Amelia
took Caton’s face in her hands, the light scent of cinnamon infusing the last
breath between them before Amelia’s lips met hers with gentle urgency.

It was the same feeling with which
Amelia had made her entrance, not sudden or surprising, more like a
continuation of the night before, embers left smoldering all night, waiting to
be fanned back to life. Knees giving out under the sudden onslaught, Caton
clutched Amelia’s hips for support, as, pulling back just enough to be
torturous, Amelia’s eyes moved over her face, a dark swirl of unexpressed
thoughts.

When Amelia’s warm hand trailed her
arm to wrap around her hand, and Amelia took her first leisurely step backward,
Caton followed without resistance. She knew where they were going, where they
always seemed to end up. “I thought we had work,” she appealed to her own
willpower.

“It can wait,” Amelia quashed it in
an instant. “I can’t.”

Two doors down, the guest bedroom welcomed
them like a sanctuary dedicated to a single purpose - her communion with
Amelia. Caton knew it was a dangerous path to enlightenment, that there would
be consequence. She was a pagan in a Christian world. Eventually, the
inquisition would come.

Pushing the door closed at her
back, she watched Amelia slide open the buttons on her nightshirt until she
could slip the fabric from her shoulders - a goddess revealed - and knew it
didn’t matter. The woman who once seemed to thrive on domination and vengeance
appeared humble and benevolent before her. Caton couldn’t unlearn the truth,
she couldn’t unknow the real Amelia. Until they tied her atop the pyre, she
would be a true believer.

Disturbed by the realization, she
drifted away, chest fluttering anxiously as she stopped at the chair by the
wall and fumbled at the hem of her shirt. Jerking it over her head, she draped
it over the back of the chair, the tidiness of the action doing nothing to
clear up the chaotic screeching inside her head.

It blared so loud, and Amelia’s
approach came so quiet, Caton didn’t know she was there until soft breasts
yielded against her upper back and Amelia’s hands crossed over her stomach,
pulling Caton against her. Moaning at the unexpected contact, at the feelings
it never failed to elicit, Caton knew she had been, and would continue to be, a
willing sacrifice, no matter what Amelia proved herself to be next.

Lips opening against Caton’s
shoulder, Amelia’s tongue laved a spot with comfort before her teeth dug in
with seductive brutality, dropping Caton’s head forward on a sound that was
half moan and half sigh. Feeling Amelia’s hands on her back, her sides, her
hips, she barely registered her clothing falling away until the pieces were
lying on the floor around her. If she wasn’t careful, Caton knew she could be
subjected to the same fate - picked apart and scattered before she knew what
was happening.

Amelia’s hands cupped her breasts,
lips softening against Caton’s skin to move across her shoulders and down her
upper back, savagery giving way to such care Caton thought she would dissolve
on the spot. Reaching back, her fingers found the bare skin of Amelia’s hip as
Amelia’s tongue flicked at her shoulder blade, and she couldn’t endure the
languid pace.

Turning in Amelia’s arms, she wound
her fingers into the hair at Amelia’s shoulders, yanking with enough force to
make Amelia groan before swallowing the sound with hungry lips. Each voracious
kiss was met with equal response, and Caton tripped over her own feet as she
was turned and propelled backward without warning.

Falling onto the bed, she reached
for Amelia with greedy hands, and Amelia urged her backward. Heeding the
command and rebelling against it at the same time, Caton directed Amelia’s lips
back to her own, impeding their progress as they scrambled onto the bed in a
flurry of want so overwhelming, it was the only driving force in the room.

Amelia’s knee was insistent between
Caton’s thighs, separating them with bruising force, but the hand that slipped
between them, feathering against over-sensitized flesh, eased all pain. Pushing
toward the seeking fingers, Caton knew she was begging. Silently, but
undeniably. Shameless efforts rewarded by Amelia’s hand pushing deeply into
her, intense and invasive, she was beyond pride.

If not for the overwhelming need to
respond to Amelia’s touch in turn, she would have surrendered completely.

Hand skimming along Amelia’s side,
it wedged between their bodies, and Caton exhaled in relief when her fingers
met the silken heat of Amelia’s desire. Her breath mingling with Amelia’s
muffled moan, it formed an intimate duet as her fingers thrust inside Amelia.

Mouth. Thighs. Fingers. Stomach.
There was nowhere Amelia wasn’t, and there was nothing Caton wanted more than
to be consumed completely by her. Lost to the feel of Amelia against her, to
the thrumming intensity of her own body under Amelia’s control, to the pulsing
point ahead, Caton rushed to the precipice, floating at the edge for only an
instant before giving in.

Wrenched from reality, head
floating, she was hyperaware. Amelia’s face was smooth softness against her
cheek. Amelia’s leg was solid strength between her thighs. She could smell the
sweat on Amelia’s skin and hear Amelia’s quiet gasps turn to whimpers, before
easing into silence as Amelia tensed and succumbed beneath her hands.

Tremors leaping between them,
Amelia fell on top of her in a display that Caton was certain looked more
graceful than it felt. The sensation of skin on skin sent an aftershock through
her, and Caton fought the reflexive urge to push Amelia away, to create a safe
distance in which she had control over her own body, her mind, and her
erratically-firing nerves.

When her hands did finally move,
though, it wasn’t to relocate Amelia off of her, but to pull her more firmly
against her. Nestled against her hip, Amelia’s top half sprawled over Caton,
caging her in, as her head tucked into the hollow of Caton’s neck.

Stillness fell and lingered,
contentment fitted to the moment, but not to the circumstances surrounding it.
She was an idiot for letting it come to this, Caton knew, the real affair, the
emotional entanglement, but, lying there with Amelia pressed against her, chill
settling on her skin as the occasional creak of the house echoed loudly against
the quiet, she knew that’s exactly what it had become. At what point they
stopped being two people fucking and became these two people, she couldn’t say,
but she also couldn’t deny.

“So...” Amelia’s voice was rough.
“Jack will be gone next weekend.”

Flinching slightly at the mention,
Caton’s sudden tension dissipated just as quickly as Amelia’s hand moved upward
from her hip, dancing along her rib cage, fingertip sneaking up to circle her
nipple.

“He goes on an annual retreat with
three college friends.” The words blew across Caton’s skin. “At least, that’s
where he says he is, and it may be the only thing he’s ever told me I actually
believe.”

Amelia’s finger still moving,
Caton’s body arched into the touch. Absently, she hoped she wasn’t expected to
verbally respond.

“I was thinking, we could spend the
weekend together.” Amelia’s fingernail scraped across her hard nipple, and
Caton sucked in a breath in response. “It doesn’t have to be here. I could come
to your place, or we could go somewhere else.” Amelia’s deep inhalation pressed
against Caton’s side before Amelia released it on a sigh. “It doesn’t matter
where.”

‘Yes,’ Caton thought instantly,
roping in the response before it could leave her lips, not sure if she was
responding to the suggestion or to Amelia’s touch. Either way, she wanted it,
time with Amelia, more than stolen moments, often so fleeting she couldn’t be
sure they had happened at all.

The logical part of her, though,
the part that retained the flicker of sanity she had left, knew it was wrong.
Things were already too complicated. She was already too wrapped up. There were
certain paths of no return, she’d taken most of them, and this had all the
markings of one.

Amelia’s hand stilled suddenly,
moving to rest on her rib cage, and Caton’s mind unfogged somewhat.

“Unless, of course, you’re busy.”
The hard edge was just barely evident in Amelia’s voice. If it hadn’t been for
the unusual serenity leading up to it, Caton may not have even noticed. “With
Laura, maybe.”

Caton wasn’t sure if it was a jab
or a question, but it provided a good excuse either way. Real or a figment of
Amelia’s imagination, Laura was a perfect obstacle between them, a barrier
impeding their way. When Amelia’s weight grew heavier against her, though,
tension palpable throughout her body, Caton couldn’t let her believe it.

“I’m not,” she uttered, hand
running up and down the crackling bones of Amelia’s spine, her fanatical
worship leaving her weak and obedient. “Laura’s not really around anymore.”

When Amelia became worryingly still
at the statement, Caton wasn’t sure the truth was what Amelia wanted after all.

Finally shifting, Amelia cautiously
raised her head, almost as if she was afraid to look at her. “Since when?” she
questioned quietly, eyes searching Caton’s face for truths Caton couldn’t bring
herself to reveal.

Shaking her head in response,
Caton’s eyes darted away, returning to Amelia’s as Amelia shifted above her.
Her gaze met Amelia’s for only an instant before Amelia’s lips were on hers,
bold and possessive, and whatever answer Caton might have given was rendered
suddenly insignificant.