A Lady Under Siege

42

“Where’s the Find on this thing?”

“You don’t know how to find Find?”

“I don’t use this browser. Here it is. I’m fine. I’m fine at finding Find.”

Derek’s hard drive had crashed, so he’d invited himself over to use Meghan’s computer. “It’s actually for something we should do together,” he’d said.

“Which is?”

“Research your Thomas of Gastoncoe. Trawl through the Domesday Book and any other medieval census we can get our hands on.”

“You think I haven’t done that?”

“I’m sure you have. I have too, actually. I’d just like to try some more.”

“It’s not just an excuse to get into my house?”

“Do I need an excuse?”

“No,” she’d said. “Come on over.”

She’d been working upstairs in her studio, and invited him to sit at the computer there. While he conducted his research she worked freehand at her drafting table, glancing over at him occasionally. She felt a delicious tension, knowing that they would soon be lovers. How could he not know it too? The last time they’d been together they’d kissed, and she’d told him she was ready. Now they sat in a hurricane’s eye, pretending a kind of quiet domesticity, as if they were already lovers of long standing. She felt eager, yet patient—she wanted him to start the wheel in motion. He sat at the computer, muttering about Latinate surnames and the incompleteness of documents. She’d lost herself in a drawing when she heard him say, “I’ve found him.” She looked up quickly to see Derek swivelling in his chair toward her, a big boyish grin on his face, his hair pushed down and falling over his forehead in bangs, the way Thomas wore it.

“Very funny,” she smiled. He looked very handsome that way.

“Do I look like him like this?”

“A lot.”

“Here’s what I’m thinking,” he said. “If you want to get to know me better, it’s good we’re here on your home turf. At my place there would be too many surprises—threadbare sheets and empty toilet rolls. And if you want to imagine that it’s Thomas, come to you from across the centuries, you can take him to the same bed you’ve dreamed him in.”

“You’ve got it all figured out, don’t you,” she said.

He came close to her. His skin really did smell of Ivory soap.

“Betsy’s in school till when?”

“We have three hours.”

“Perfect.”

She took his hand and led him to her bedroom. The sheets were white linen. “Looks comfy,” he said appreciatively. “Home field advantage was the right choice.”

“Derek, don’t say anything.”

“That’s gonna be diffi—”

“Shhh! Nothing.”

She was wearing a tank top and jeans. She pushed him back on the bed, then slipped the top over her head, and peeled her jeans past her hips to the floor. She stepped out of them, clad only in black bra and panties.

“You’re so lovely.”

“I had a funny feeling this morning,” she said. “I chose these specially—I just knew I’d be showing them off.”

She smiled, but then the look in her eyes became so very serious, so possessed, that for a moment Derek felt uncertain, almost frightened. He pulled her to him on the bed and cloaked her face and shoulders with a rain of kisses, hiding himself in the concave privacy of her neck, to keep himself from looking into those fierce eyes. Him, Thomas, Meghan, Sylvanne, sanity, insanity, truth or hallucination, it didn’t matter—he felt the urgent need of her body, and met it with his own. She was beautiful, possessed, and too impatient to unbutton his shirt, tearing at it blindly like a child shredding Christmas wrapping. He took hold of her wrists for a moment to slow her, whispering, “Let me help you.” Then they were both naked on white linen in the sunlit morning.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“Feel how wet I am.”

“Yes.”

Her unblinking eyes held his gaze as she guided him inside her. She was yielding, yet in charge, setting the rhythm, controlling him with her eyes, seeking something within him that made him feel jealousy in his want, and redoubled his desire. At the height of her orgasm she closed her eyes, and gave herself up to the helpless pleasure that comes in waves and ends in ripples. Derek came at the same time, and as the intensity of his surrender faded, his first thought was, She must realise I’m the one who gave her this. Not Thomas, me. She shifted her head so she could look at his face, and said, with less urgency than before, “The eyes—let me see. Let me see them.”

“You don’t need to find Thomas every second, do you?”

“No. I’m just curious to know that he’s there.”

“Is he?”

“I think so. Yes, I’m sure he is.”

They were both still breathing raggedly, warm and damp with a cleansing, cathartic sweat. He lay on his back so that she would have to look at him in profile, without the soul-piercing contact of the eyes.

“I hope he liked it,” Derek said. “I know I did.”

“I did too.”

“Maybe we should show him some more. I bet he’d like to see some tricks they didn’t get back in the day.”

“We already showed him how to put on a condom,” she smiled. “What else did you have in mind?”

“Oral pleasure.”

“Are you sure you’re only thinking of him?”

“Of course. Him, and you. I’ll do you first.”

She sat up on an elbow. “Eye contact would be tricky.”

“But not impossible.”

“I think I’d rather be on top next. I’d like him to suck on my breasts. You, I mean. You too. But first let’s rest a bit, let’s snuggle and you hold me. I think I’m feeling him, even through your skin. You have nice skin, Derek.”