Behind the Green Curtain (6 page)

Chapter 13

When you come in Monday, you’ll
be upstairs.

That was the declaration that
haunted Caton all weekend. Along with the guilt, which plagued her each time
Laura smiled at her, and the memory of Amelia’s touch each time she was alone.

Workday only half through, following
Amelia’s hasty retreat from the storage room, Caton had no choice but to pick
herself up and try to readjust to reality. When she had emerged from the
dungeon at the end of the day, the late afternoon sun streamed through the
stained-glass windows of the foyer, and she had been drawn in the wrong
direction.

Finding herself at the foot of the
stairs, knowing Amelia was up there somewhere, she wanted to climb, to find
Amelia and see what she had to say for herself. Or what she might do given
another chance. Those stairs led to the unknown, though, and Caton couldn’t
work up the nerve to face any more surprises.

Apparently no place was safe from
surprise, though, she had discovered in the kitchen when she’d gone in to say
goodnight and Sole hit her with the news.

“When you come in Monday, you’ll be
upstairs.”

“Oh, okay,” Caton responded,
glancing away, feeling the panic of not knowing rear up. “Why?”

With a shrug that indicated she had
no idea what had happened on the floor below, Sole walked to the bar to start
dicing. “Amelia needs your help with some project.” She glanced up just long
enough to toss Caton a smile. “Congratulations. Sounds like you’ve been
promoted.”

The situation was not without
irony, Caton acknowledged, as she’d made her way to her car. Refusal to play
the games at Halston & Company had led her to her current career placement,
and, somehow, she had still managed to fuck her way to the upper floors.

~ ~ ~

With a change in position came a
necessary change in attire. That was Caton’s internal excuse for ditching the
casual wear and the conservative clothing choices she wore largely to keep Jack
at bay for something more presentable and flattering. She knew she had overdone
both when she walked through the kitchen door and Sole did a double-take, her
brief glance turning into a lingering gaze that made Caton shift in place.

“Good morning,” Sole smiled.

“Good morning,” Caton replied,
uneasily. “Do you know where she wants me?”

Smirk flashing over Sole’s lips,
Caton wished she had chosen any other phrasing. “She’ll be down for you,” Sole
assured her. “Just relax.” As if that was possible. “Do you want some coffee?”

Managing no more than a nod, Caton
walked to the bar and steadied herself on the edge, trying to ignore the
erratic excitement and gnawing trepidation threatening to combine into hysteria
inside of her. Glancing over her shoulder as Sole poured the steaming liquid,
she watched her back, both anticipating and fearing Amelia’s entrance, not sure
she could endure too sudden an appearance. Hearing the thud of the mug hitting
the bar, she turned back, picking up the offering Sole pushed toward her and
watching the coffee slosh dangerously close to the rim before returning it to
the flat surface in an effort to prevent second degree burns.

“What are you afraid she’s going to
do to you?” Sole questioned.

Eyes flashing upward, Caton forced
a laugh that was meant to sound casual, but came out more demented than
anything. “Nothing,” she croaked. “I’m not afraid.”

“You shouldn’t be,” Sole countered
gently. “You know, Amelia’s really not who she seems.”

Caton was fairly certain she knew
that better than just about anyone, but it was easier to pick up her coffee and
sip mindlessly than let her mind wander down that track. “No?” she tossed out
absently.

“When I came to this country,” Sole
continued. “I spoke hardly any English. Amelia made sure I still got this job.
She made it so I could move into the guesthouse, so I would have more money to
send home. She even got me an English tutor, and every day she would take time
to talk to me so I could practice. She’s kinder than she wants people to know.”

Amelia was definitely not the
public portrait she painted, Caton silently agreed, coming in straight from a
workout to fuck her in the middle of a dusty basement. Leaving her utterly
undone without any remorse wasn’t exactly what Caton would call kind, though.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she uttered.

The sound at her back drawing her
attention instantly, she watched Amelia walk in with her usual self-assured
perfection. If the Amelia from Friday was a hot mess, Monday-morning-Amelia was
a perfectly-coifed aristocrat, in a pencil skirt and tailored blouse,
unbuttoned just enough to divert Caton’s attention. It was hard to believe the
two were one in the same, and Caton wondered if the event of the previous week
had actually taken place at all.

“Good morning,” Amelia greeted, and
the instantaneous reaction of Caton’s body assured her it had. Apparently, she
couldn’t even hear Amelia’s voice without feeling those hands on her,
abnormally soft, with more skill than she could have imagined.

Opening her mouth to return the
greeting, air wisped pointlessly across Caton’s lips as Sole poured another cup
of coffee without missing a beat and slid it across the bar. Stepping up next
to Caton without hesitation, Amelia was seemingly unbothered by their
proximity.

“Thank you.” Amelia smiled at Sole.

“You’re welcome,” Sole replied, and
Caton wondered how they were being so normal when the entire room was whirling
like a vortex.

When Amelia’s attention turned to
her, Caton firmed her shoulders, meeting her gaze in a manner that would have
been challenging in the animal kingdom. Those eyes were as unreadable as ever,
justifying Caton’s anxiety that she would have no clue about anything from that
moment on. Whatever Amelia chose to do, whenever she chose to do it, Caton
would never see it coming.

“Caton,” Amelia stated, voice low
and commanding, and every muscle in Caton’s body went weak. “Come with me.”

Looking for anywhere to avert her
eyes, Caton landed on Sole, and wasn’t sure if she felt better or worse when
Sole winked her support, though she did manage to fake enough poise to follow
Amelia out of the kitchen.

Walking the familiar path through
the front room and into the foyer - ‘the scene of the crime,’ as Caton now
thought of it - they made their way up the stairs, past Amelia’s office. Having
been beyond Amelia’s office door only once before, when Sole had showed her
around in the absence of the house’s masters, Caton felt as if she was being
granted further liberties. To what, she wasn’t entirely sure.

The room next to Amelia’s office
had undergone a transformation, the storage space turned into a high-end
office, unneeded equipment carried off someplace unknown.

“This is quite the set-up.” Caton
tried to inject a modicum of normalcy back into the situation.

“There’s a lot to do,” Amelia
replied.

“So, you do need help.” Caton made
no effort to withhold the reply, and something slipped in Amelia’s gaze, as if
a reaction might actually leak out.

It could have been a good thing,
Caton considered, returning them to a place of mutual distrust, where Amelia
would order her back to the dungeons and Caton might survive by distance alone.
Whatever Amelia was thinking, though, she never revealed it, and distrust was
hardly the overwhelming sensation in the room.

“What do you need?” Caton asked,
voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, she wasn’t asking a
work-related question, and she was convinced Amelia wanted more than her
assistance. When Amelia looked away, though, the spell ended before it could
truly take hold, leaving Caton unsteady in its wake.

“I have to organize an event for
investors,” Amelia said, moving toward the computer and powering it on. “It’s
one of Jack’s pet projects, an organization that designs clean water devices.”

“Shining Life,” Caton stated, and
Amelia glanced back, eyes dipping down Caton’s body for an instant, before
returning to Caton’s.

“You know about Shining Life?” She
sounded impressed.

“Yes.”

“Good,” Amelia replied. “That will
make things easier.” Picking up a pile of papers from the desk top, she tugged
the chair from beneath the desk. “Here. Sit.”

Gaze locking on Amelia’s hand on
the back of the expensive office chair, Caton was slow in following the
directive. As she at last dropped into the seat, Amelia’s fingers brushed the
back of her shirt, and Caton closed her eyes against the rush of memory of
where those fingers last touched her.

Leaning over her shoulder, Amelia
laid the papers back on the desk, her hand spreading out next to them, long,
skilled fingers on flagrant display.

“Here,” she whispered, lips so
close to Caton’s ear any other manner of speaking would have sounded like
yelling. “This is a list of potential investors. I need to talk to all of these
people, but ninety-five percent of them will insist on scheduling those
conversations. So, I need you to make appointments for me.”

“Okay,” Caton said quickly, hoping
to back Amelia off for the sake of her sanity.

Amelia only leaned closer, though,
breasts pressing against Caton’s upper back, hair falling forward to cast
shadow on Caton’s face, her free hand moving to Caton’s shoulder as if it was
the type of work that required physical direction. “If, by some chance, you do
get one of them directly,” Amelia softly continued, “just put him or her on
hold and come get me. I’ll show you how to transfer it.”

It was intentional, that Caton
knew. She just wished she knew why. Refusing to be played by desire, she
glanced toward Amelia with some sense of indignation, finding the thin column
of Amelia’s neck too close. Any determined glare she might have produced to
ward Amelia off was eclipsed by the immediate impulse to thread her fingers
through the dark fall of hair and pull Amelia’s lips to her own. “Okay,” she
breathed.

Eyes finding Caton’s for an
instant, Amelia finally moved away. Her hand abandoning Caton’s shoulder, the
touch lingered.

“I’ll be right next door,” Amelia
said, turning and disappearing into the hall, and Caton released the breath
lodged in her throat.

She didn’t need any reminding. She
knew well where Amelia would be. It was what worried her the most.

Chapter 14

Maybe it wouldn’t happen again.
That was the thought that tormented and comforted Caton in the days to come.
Perhaps, it was a one-time error in Amelia’s judgment, and Caton doubted she
made many such errors.

Not that Amelia wasn’t seductive,
accidentally brushing against her, dropping innuendos in the guise of workplace
conversation, looking more and more appealing each day.

Not that Caton didn’t have it
coming. Every morning, she rushed to work. She leaned into Amelia’s casual
touches, she held Amelia’s long glances, hopelessly wondering where they might
lead. The more time she spent around Amelia, the more Amelia enveloped her, and
the more Caton craved the tease turning into something substantial that didn’t
leave her utterly pent-up and dissatisfied at the end of each achingly long
work day.

Days turning to weeks, though,
Amelia seemed content to toy with Caton, never approaching with the same
possessive intent she had in the basement, and it occurred to Caton it could
have been a fluke, an isolated event that would never happen again.

Maybe torture was Amelia’s true
pleasure.

Or, maybe, Amelia was simply too
busy.

From a distance, Amelia’s life
looked like one of leisure. From a closer perspective, Caton could see that
Amelia’s position as Jack’s wife was, in fact, work. What Amelia did for her
husband would have earned her an executive-level salary at any company. How
good she was at the job would have earned her multi-million-dollar bonuses and
respect in the field.

Over the weeks they had worked
together, Caton watched Amelia talk people into donations, future alliances and
volunteering armed with nothing but charm and sincerity. When Amelia opened the
door between their offices, creating an express pathway between them that felt
like a particularly cruel tease, Caton could hear the other woman’s throaty
voice captivating her distant audiences and extracting promises from them in
one way or another. It was the kind of passionate dedication that came only
from true belief.

Those whom she couldn’t convince
over the phone, Amelia talked into letting her have another shot at them. She
invited diplomats and businessmen to dinners and parties, agreeing to attend as
many. She met potential donors at hockey games and concerts. Caton entered event
after event, watching Amelia’s calendar fill up like the squares on a bingo
card, and wondered how much of her life Amelia had spent being Jack’s full-time
employee and whether she ever left the house on her own time.

It was as Caton was packing up to
leave one evening, having seen Amelia little throughout the day, that Amelia
came through the shared door, her unexpected presence enough to send a jolt
through Caton’s body. Far from resistant, Caton had grown used to the sensation
of Amelia. Being near her was a constant state of arousal, nothing tempered it,
so she had learned to live with it much as she learned to endure her
sixth-grade crush on her English teacher.

Brushing Caton’s arm unnecessarily
as she passed, Amelia turned to lean against the edge of the desk, skirt riding
up as her legs crossed next to Caton. “Do you like the opera?” she asked.

“I don’t know.” Caton sighed at her
own juvenile libido, which simply refused to be tempered in Amelia’s presence.
“I can’t say I’ve had a lot of exposure.”

“You’re going to find out,” Amelia
declared.

“Okay,” Caton drawled uncertainly.
Hand resting an inch from Amelia’s hip, she sent every ounce of willpower to
the appendage to keep it from reaching for the silky fabric of Amelia’s skirt.

“I have to meet with some potential
donors,” Amelia went on. “I know absolutely nothing about them beyond the fact
that they like to be around beautiful women. That means you. So, I expect you
to come with me.”

Feeling the flush crawl instantly
over her face, Caton dropped her head, feeling every bit the hormonal teenager,
hoping Amelia didn’t see. It wasn’t just a bad idea. It was perhaps the worst
idea. Getting involved in Amelia’s dealings outside of her agreed-upon work
schedule was the last thing she needed.

“Please.” Amelia’s hand moved from
its resting place against her thigh to the back of Caton’s hand, fingertips
stroking gentle paths over her skin.

Even knowing Amelia was doing it to
get what she wanted, any objections Caton might have made disappeared into the
realm of unspoken reservations. “All right,” she whispered.

Pulling her hand slowly away,
Amelia’s fingertips trailed against skin so sensitive, Caton feared it would
catch fire beneath her touch.

When Amelia at last pushed off the
edge of the desk, the same hand alighted on Caton’s shoulder. “Goodnight,
Caton,” she murmured, fingertips tickling down Caton’s shoulder blade, before
trailing away.