Chapter 14 Close To Me
CLOSE TO ME
The clatter of cutlery and Jasper Dalton’s booming voice competed to fill the lofty space of the dining room.
A banquet of dishes sprawled across the table, and the only remaining seat was between Hugo and my dad.
Francesca didn’t even look up from her leaned-in conversation with Jeremy.
Hugo beamed and patted the chair beside him.
“Saved you a seat, Catherine.”
I summoned a gracious smile and sat. Hugo took the liberty of unfolding my napkin and placing it on my knees. Normally I’d have slapped his porky hands away, but I was too distracted watching Francesca touching Jeremy’s arm and giggling. I bunched the napkin in my fists.
When the din died down, Jasper turned his attention to Francesca — Jeremy’s guest of honour, as he called her. He quizzed her about her background, university life, and plans for the future. Jane squeezed his arm and stage-whispered, “It’s not a job interview, darling.”
Francesca politely smiled and performed beautifully, not only answering Jasper’s many questions, but embellishing her answers with stories and earning genuine laughter from the Daltons and the Beaumonts.
All the while, Jeremy looked at her like an eager puppy, ready to roll over on command.
His pride was palpable — he’d brought home this bright young thing.
Jeremy and Francesca were of the same calibre; they were in the same league — how could I compete?
A mishmash of food was passed around the table: vol-au-vents, quiches, mini prawn cocktails, stuffed potato skins — Jane’s attempt to be on-trend seemed to have delighted the other guests but turned my stomach.
I picked out a couple of items and prodded at them with my fork, while my mind chewed over everything with Francesca and Jeremy, and whether it would be too needy and desperate to ask her to be clearer about us, about what I was to her.
Or should I just try to relax and go with the flow?
I’d been accused of being uptight before now; I didn’t want to scare her off by pushing too hard.
“Penny for them,” Hugo said, leaning into me more than was necessary.
I jolted back to myself and lifted my eyes, momentarily feeling sorry for him. None of this was his fault. “Sorry, I just feel a bit—”
He placed a hand on my back.
“If I may…” He inhaled as if preparing to say something profound, then leaned over, speared the vol-au-vent on my plate, and popped it into his mouth whole.
Too much; it was all too much. I needed some space because my thoughts were as tangled as my limbs had been with Francesca’s just a few days ago. I whipped the napkin from my lap and stood. My chair scraped across the parquet floor, and every head turned to look at me.
“Sorry,” I said, my voice sounding breathy and pathetic. “I—”
“Everything alright, Catherine?” Jasper’s brow furrowed.
I glanced around at the questioning faces, my eyes settling on Francesca, who stared back, one eyebrow arched in cool appraisal.
Dad touched my hand. “What’s up, love?”
I looked down at him and mustered a smile. “I’m fine. I just need some air.”
“Shall I come with you?”
“No, stay and have fun.”
Dad nodded, and I paced out of the room with their conversation following me.
“What did you do, Hugo?” asked Jeremy.
“Nothing! Well, I ate her vol-au-vent, but she wasn’t eating it, so…”
A burst of laughter chased me down the hall.
By the time I’d reached the front door, tears were tracking down my cheeks. I felt ridiculous, particularly because Francesca had kissed me before dinner. She told me that she still wanted me, that she was going to have me. That should have settled the churning in my stomach. But it hadn’t.
I stepped out into the freezing night air and wrapped my shivering arms around myself. Shit. I’d forgotten my coat, and the door had locked behind me. I couldn’t ring the bell; I felt stupid enough already.
As I charged along the track with my head down, sleet began to fall — wet, icy and soaking my thin blouse.
I rolled my eyes to the sky as if there were some malevolent force at work doing this to spite me.
By the time I’d reached the cottage, my shirt was wet through, and my hands shook as I tried to unlock the door with the spare key in the porch.
“Why did you leave like that?”
“Fuckin’ hell,” I screamed and dropped the keys.
Francesca puffed out a laugh behind me. I didn’t look around because I didn’t want her to see me like this — no doubt looking as pathetic as I felt. I picked up the key, but my hands were shaking so much I couldn’t get it in the lock. I wanted to scream.
“Here, let me.” She took the key from me, opened the door, and invited herself in.
The warmth of the cottage enveloped me like a hug.
I grabbed a towel from the bathroom to dry my wet hair and returned to see Francesca glancing around.
The space was humble compared to the manor house, but it was cosy and warm, and it was home.
She wrinkled her nose. “It’s like a little hobbit house.”
“It’s a cottage,” I said flatly. “Why did you come after me?”
Francesca narrowed her eyes. “Why did you leave?”
Almost as if the cold had snapped some sense into me, I realised I was bored with this bullshit.
“Because I can’t bear to watch you and Jeremy act like a loved-up couple.
Because I felt sick listening to the Daltons fawn over you like you’re Jeremy’s girlfriend.
” The words spewed out of me, and the release felt good, like lancing a boil. “Can’t you see what it looks like?”
Francesca poked her tongue into her cheek. “Fuck Jeremy,” she said in a low growl.
“Have you? Have you fucked Jeremy?”
“That shade of green is very unbecoming on you, Catherine.” She laughed, and I wanted to launch myself at her. I wanted to slap her smug face and kiss her at the same time.
She was confusing, and this was exhausting.
I slumped onto the sofa and stared into the fireplace as a burst of embers crackled from a blackened log. Francesca removed her coat and crossed the room. She perched next to me and placed a warm hand on my knee, then spoke softly, her voice coaxing, like she was luring prey.
“It’s all theatrics. I’m just having fun.”
“Well, it’s not fun for me. I wasn’t acting. I thought this was real.”
Francesca moved a finger between us. “This…is…real,” she said, each word deliberate.
Tears sprang from my eyes again, and the next thing I knew, I was sobbing into her lap. She wrapped her arms around me and rocked me slightly. A long moment passed before she spoke again.
“You’re freezing. I think we need to get you out of these wet clothes.”
I looked up at her, aware that my face would be a messy fright, but she cupped my cheeks and gently rubbed the smeared makeup from under my eyes with her thumbs.
I met her gaze, and she bent, covering my mouth with her own.
Her tongue pushed past my flimsy defences, past all the red flags and barbed words, until I was disarmed and lying on my back.
She hitched up her dress and knelt above me, unbuttoning my wet shirt and peeling it from my damp skin before casting it across the room. She kissed my neck, her breath hot as she traced her tongue along my collarbone. As I arched up, offering myself for her to consume, my eyes flicked to the door.
“My Dad will be home—”
“Where’s your bedroom?”
Our mouths fused together, hot, wet and hungry, as we crossed the room in a tangle of limbs. Behind my closed bedroom door, she turned her back to me, peering over her shoulder with an incendiary stare.
“Unzip me,” she murmured.
I swept aside her hair and slowly lowered the zip of her dress, revealing the porcelain flesh of her back. I ghosted my fingers over her skin, almost afraid to touch her, but I needed to know this was real, that she was really here, and we were really about to do this… again.
She turned, dark eyes on me as the material fell from her shoulders and slipped down her body. She stepped out of the dress, now pooled at her ankles, and moved towards my bed, catching my wrist and pulling me with her.
She knelt before me and unbuttoned my fly.
I released a gasp full of want as she roughly tugged down my trousers and underwear.
I didn’t have time to be embarrassed or unsure, because after a quick glance up she gripped my arse and pulled me into her mouth.
I released a guttural groan as she plunged her hot tongue into my wetness.
Instinctively, I reached for her head, bunching fistfuls of her hair in my hands as the sensation of her tongue sent pleasure rippling through my core.
Each movement was a desperate, primal response, a need to hold on, to deepen the connection, to drown in the overwhelming tide of desire crashing over me.
“That’s it, fuck my face like a good girl,” she panted, moaning as she dived into me. My hips bucked, seeking more pressure until she was right on the spot, flicking the tip of her tongue and sucking my…
“Oh, fuck,” I gasped. Francesca continued to lap, holding firm arms around me as my orgasm pulsed and turned my legs to jelly. She gripped my hands and got to her feet.
“Feel better now?” she grinned, the slick of me glistening on her lips.
“What are you doing to me?” I threaded our fingers together.
“I do believe they call that cunnilingus. Want to try it?” Her lip hitched in a half-smile.
“I want to try everything with you.”
“Good,” she purred and pulled me down onto the bed.
Beneath the covers, she twisted around until she was straddling one of my thighs, and as we kissed, I moved my hand, reaching between us and daring to touch her through the barrier of her silky underwear. She moaned into my mouth and reached her own hand down to tug her knickers aside.
I paused, hesitating. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to touch her; I just didn’t want to get it wrong. She pulled back to look at me, confusion etched on her face.