Free Behind the Green Curtain by Riley Lashea Page A
Authors: Riley Lashea
hear?”
Feeling read like pop fiction, all
her secrets quickly and easily uncovered, Caton tried not to let anything else
show. “I should go,” she said quickly, standing up and pulling the strap of her
bag over her arm. “Thank you for the cookie. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” Sole returned, and
Caton could almost hear the smirk break free as she rushed from the room.
~ ~ ~
Whatever Caton wanted, the dungeon
was what she had. Boxes and boxes of files, and drawers upon drawers into which
to shove them. Nothing more. Just a ridiculous amount of money for mindless,
seemingly never-ending work and the silence in which to drive herself crazy.
That was what she had for another
day and a half, at least, until Amelia suddenly alighted in the doorway like
she owned the place, which, of course, she did. The house, the room, and
everything in it. Caton wondered if that included her, for the bargain price of
seventy-five-hundred dollars a month.
Unlike the time Amelia had been
there before, the sound didn’t blend, and there was no mistaking who stood at
her back. Caton made no false attributions to the creaking of the house or to
her own imagination, sensing Amelia as surely as if she had her eyes plastered
to the doorway, just awaiting her arrival.
She was supposed to turn around and
acknowledge Amelia’s presence, she was certain, with a curtsy, perhaps, or
something equally deferential. Days before, in the wake of the undeniable
feelings Amelia had stirred, Caton might have done just that. Days before, she
might have been more delighted than she let on to see Amelia. Having been kept
waiting, though, intentionally ignored, without explanation or justification,
Caton wasn’t exactly feeling the loyal subject.
With scarcely a glance toward the
doorway, she grabbed more files from a box and flipped through them, coming
away with the fleeting image of Amelia’s casually-dressed outline and confident
stance. It must have been a powerful feeling for Amelia, she thought bitterly,
to know she couldn’t be completely ignored, but, still, Caton did her best.
Entering the room when she decided,
at the pace of her choosing, Amelia’s footsteps were different than normal.
Softer. Less pronounced. Caton could feel her drawing quietly closer, a
pressing threat, almost predatory. Trying to ignore the sensation, she flipped
a folder, shoving it into the metal cabinet with such vigor, the tab bent
beneath her hand.
In the instant it took Caton to
glance back down at the pile she held, Amelia flattened against her, out of sight
and without sound at her back, and that Caton couldn’t ignore. The rush of
Amelia’s breath stirring the hair at the back of her neck, her smell was
invasive, the faded remnants of expensive shampoo and soap, masked by the
earthy smell of sweat. It should have been a turnoff, but goddamn if Amelia’s
sweat couldn’t have been its own high-dollar fragrance.
Caton tried not to drown in it, the
feel of Amelia’s body, her smell, the sound of her breath, but she was only
treading water. With the paralyzing sensation of Amelia against her, she
couldn’t swim away if she wanted to, but, of all the desires racing through her
veins, getting away was least amongst them.
Amelia pressed closer, fingers
grasping Caton’s hips to pull her more tightly into her, and the folders in
Caton’s hands fell to the floor in a mess. Whenever Amelia came into the room,
it seemed, she brought disarray along with her.
Overwhelmed by the heat engulfing
her, Caton didn’t move, didn’t breathe. She didn’t try. Not until Amelia’s
hands slid across her stomach and forced the breath from her lips. She had been
waiting. She could tell herself it was for an explanation, for clarity, for
apology, but this was what Caton had been waiting for, Amelia to finish what
she had started.
Hand sliding up Caton’s body,
Amelia’s fingers splayed across her breast, branding Caton through the thin
fabric of her shirt, palm teasing
Feeling read like pop fiction, all
her secrets quickly and easily uncovered, Caton tried not to let anything else
show. “I should go,” she said quickly, standing up and pulling the strap of her
bag over her arm. “Thank you for the cookie. Goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” Sole returned, and
Caton could almost hear the smirk break free as she rushed from the room.
~ ~ ~
Whatever Caton wanted, the dungeon
was what she had. Boxes and boxes of files, and drawers upon drawers into which
to shove them. Nothing more. Just a ridiculous amount of money for mindless,
seemingly never-ending work and the silence in which to drive herself crazy.
That was what she had for another
day and a half, at least, until Amelia suddenly alighted in the doorway like
she owned the place, which, of course, she did. The house, the room, and
everything in it. Caton wondered if that included her, for the bargain price of
seventy-five-hundred dollars a month.
Unlike the time Amelia had been
there before, the sound didn’t blend, and there was no mistaking who stood at
her back. Caton made no false attributions to the creaking of the house or to
her own imagination, sensing Amelia as surely as if she had her eyes plastered
to the doorway, just awaiting her arrival.
She was supposed to turn around and
acknowledge Amelia’s presence, she was certain, with a curtsy, perhaps, or
something equally deferential. Days before, in the wake of the undeniable
feelings Amelia had stirred, Caton might have done just that. Days before, she
might have been more delighted than she let on to see Amelia. Having been kept
waiting, though, intentionally ignored, without explanation or justification,
Caton wasn’t exactly feeling the loyal subject.
With scarcely a glance toward the
doorway, she grabbed more files from a box and flipped through them, coming
away with the fleeting image of Amelia’s casually-dressed outline and confident
stance. It must have been a powerful feeling for Amelia, she thought bitterly,
to know she couldn’t be completely ignored, but, still, Caton did her best.
Entering the room when she decided,
at the pace of her choosing, Amelia’s footsteps were different than normal.
Softer. Less pronounced. Caton could feel her drawing quietly closer, a
pressing threat, almost predatory. Trying to ignore the sensation, she flipped
a folder, shoving it into the metal cabinet with such vigor, the tab bent
beneath her hand.
In the instant it took Caton to
glance back down at the pile she held, Amelia flattened against her, out of sight
and without sound at her back, and that Caton couldn’t ignore. The rush of
Amelia’s breath stirring the hair at the back of her neck, her smell was
invasive, the faded remnants of expensive shampoo and soap, masked by the
earthy smell of sweat. It should have been a turnoff, but goddamn if Amelia’s
sweat couldn’t have been its own high-dollar fragrance.
Caton tried not to drown in it, the
feel of Amelia’s body, her smell, the sound of her breath, but she was only
treading water. With the paralyzing sensation of Amelia against her, she
couldn’t swim away if she wanted to, but, of all the desires racing through her
veins, getting away was least amongst them.
Amelia pressed closer, fingers
grasping Caton’s hips to pull her more tightly into her, and the folders in
Caton’s hands fell to the floor in a mess. Whenever Amelia came into the room,
it seemed, she brought disarray along with her.
Overwhelmed by the heat engulfing
her, Caton didn’t move, didn’t breathe. She didn’t try. Not until Amelia’s
hands slid across her stomach and forced the breath from her lips. She had been
waiting. She could tell herself it was for an explanation, for clarity, for
apology, but this was what Caton had been waiting for, Amelia to finish what
she had started.
Hand sliding up Caton’s body,
Amelia’s fingers splayed across her breast, branding Caton through the thin
fabric of her shirt, palm teasing