Behind the Green Curtain by Riley Lashea Page B

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