st_illunsmeared | [For Jack] A post-Valentine's nightcap

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[For Jack] A post-Valentine's nightcap

Still in the grip of yesterday's affliction, Phryne retired early and dismissed Dot for the evening. Distress in no small part due to not having been able to find a rational cause for the lust outbreak, she sought to distract herself with a mystery novel. But the inspector had none of Jack's cleverness or finesse, and she soon found herself wandering aimlessly from one room of her suite to the next.

That was the other part of the distress, she was woman enough to admit. Jack. It had hurt unbelievably to see him kiss another woman. Even knowing the truth of why, the mental image made her chest ache and her jaw clench. It was uncomfortable for more reasons than one.

"Fie," she muttered, turned on her heel and called room service (which usually amounted to one of the bartenders cashiering the nearest available person to roll the cart to her room).

An hour, a cocktail, and a long soak later found her draped over her sitting room couch with another novel (this one with a female sleuth) and another cocktail, dressed to please herself and no one else.

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As he'd gotten out of the habit of calling ahead when he intended to visit Phryne for an evening nightcap, and saw no particular reason to get back into the habit when they'd found each other at the Inn, Jack didn't call ahead tonight, either. As much as possible, he wanted to present, consistently, his desire that the previous day's events not ruin what they were finally, slowly building.

The flowers were therefore not an apology, exactly. They were bright and vibrant and as such had reminded him of her, and thus made an appropriate gift.

And if there was a flicker of uncertainty as he knocked on Phryne's now-familiar door, he ignored it. They both deserved better than last-second cowardice from him.

Not expecting anyone, and knowing no one but Dot (or Jack, but she tried not to hope for it) who would come to her room unannounced, Phryne merely propped herself up a bit, slid her peignoir back over her shoulder, and then called, "It's open, darling." Her voice sounded a bit strained to her own ears, but she imagined Dot would forgive her after yesterday, and she would daresay Jack ought to expect it.

The note of strain grated on Jack's trying-not-to-feel-guilty nerves, but it was completely understandable. And if Phryne had felt too strained to have company, she wouldn't have invited him in. (Only he or Miss Williams, after all, was likely to show up without calling ahead in some way.)

Without further dithering, he opened the door to let himself into her suite. Whereupon he stopped, briefly transfixed by Phryne in that silver robe. It was entirely possible that he'd seen it before, but not in context, as it were. And staring was allowed, now. Most probably. But since they needed to talk, he jerked his attention off the curve of a certainly-bare shoulder under silvery material.

A few steps brought him to a seat near her, where he could offer the flowers he'd brought. Not as an apology, because they both knew he'd had no choice in the matter, but an acknowledgement of strain that deserved some form of recognition.

"Hello, Jack," came the warm, if not precisely effusive greeting from Phryne. She was, after all, very pleased to see him, especially after she'd behaved so atrociously in front of River. To be sure, her feelings had been hurt and she'd been startled, but that was no excuse for being boorishly possessive. She would put that into words for him, but for now, she willed him to see in her eyes that there was no anger in her.

She took the flowers from his hand with a bemused look. "They're lovely. Thank you." Of course she didn't know quite what to do with them without Dot to hand, but she rose to get a glass to put them in. "Will you stay for a drink?"

The lack of anger was odd to him; certainly, he'd have been hard-pressed to see Phryne in the arms of one of her (currently hypothetical?) other lovers and not be angry later. But of course, that was him. Phryne, apparently, was different. "Of course. A little exercise of tradition, in a way."

Rather uncharacteristically, Phryne found herself uncertain of what to say, or, at very least, how to begin. Pouring wine into glasses at least gave her something to do for a moment, a means to compose herself.

"I'm hardly the bartender that Mr. B is," she offered lightly, but with a tension that kept it from lifting the mood. "So we'll have to make do with wine." Uncertainty aside, she had the presence of mind to return with the bottle as well as the two glasses, so neither of them would need make the trip again.

And, then, as she sat, words came to her. "Shall we toast first, to make talking easier, or talk first to have a reason to toast?" She had determined there was no reason not to be optimistic. He had come, and he'd certainly seemed pleased to see her from the door.

She was nervous? If he'd ever thought about it, he'd never have imagined Phryne being the nervous one when he'd been the one kissing another woman. However not his will that had been. "I think perhaps talk first."

"Very well." Although the conversation might well be smoother for a round or two of drinks, they had never shied from difficult conversation before, and she would not now. "I behaved appallingly yesterday. There was simply no excuse for me--of all people--to make a public display of what lies between us. I apologize."

There, that was a beginning. The whys and what to do about it would come later, but at least the words were spoken.

Jack paused to think, using a sip of wine to cover it. "I'm rarely unwilling to be kissed by you." These days, anyway, as there were fewer issues involved. Never none, of course, that would come only with time and practice on both their parts, given that what was between them had new aspects for both of them. "In your place, I'm certain I'd have behaved more apallingly." And had, at least to the extent of an extremely cold shoulder. "To be honest, I'd expected to be the one apologizing tonight."

In her turn, Phryne mirrored him, sipping from her wine to buy herself a moment to think. "I won't deny it hurt to see you reaching for River as you do me." When she lifted her gaze from her glass to his face, her eyes reflected that pain, dimmer than the day before, but no less real. "But you were no more to blame for it than the young man who attempted to kiss me."

Phryne lifted a shoulder and returned her attention to the glass, where her fingers rubbed against the crystal. "It meant nothing. Even had I taken him to bed, it would have meant nothing more than that I enjoyed his company for a time. You have nothing to apologize for, Jack."

"For you, that's true." He knew it and accepted it, because she wouldn't be the Miss Fisher he loved without that freedom. But Jack Robinsons were different than Phryne Fishers. "But I think you know me well enough to know that for me, that wouldn't be true. If I ever did take another woman to bed, I'd have a great deal to apologize for." It would, after all, be a betrayal in a way that her activities weren't.

"If you took another woman to bed, you would only have one thing to apologize for, and that would be for the hurt it would cause me to lose you to someone else." Because she did know him, and if he took a woman to bed, it would be because he loved her, and no other reason. "But you didn't take River to bed, and you were as stricken as I by the realization of what you'd done. I'll accept your regrets for a moment of pain inadvertently caused, but I'm afraid I can't accept an apology." She did wish that had come out lighter than it had, but she supposed, under the circumstances, it couldn't be expected, not even from her.

"Shall we agree, then, that we need not apologize to each other?" Regret, yes, step up attempts to stay out of compromising positions, yes, but no apologies. "For this, at any rate."

Phryne glanced up from her glass to meet his gaze and then dropped it again to stare at her fingers where they moved over the glass she drank from. "After Rene, I promised myself I'd never let a man have that sort of power over me again. What I did...it was something Rene would have done. You may not require an apology, but I'm not sure I can forgive myself."

Jack's first thought was that he should have guessed something along these lines; Phryne's last experience with anything more than casual had been that... there were too many words to describe him, and Jack declined to use 'man'. "Phryne. You kissed me and walked away. You didn't try to threaten or intimidate me, nor drag me anywhere, nor harm me in any way.I venture to say you're being somewhat harsh."

"But I wanted to, Jack. I wanted to drag you away from her and make sure you never kissed her or anyone else again." The violence of the emotion twisted in her stomach, made her sick with guilt. She couldn't look at him now, for fear he'd see she still wanted it.

Jack moved to sit with her and set his wineglass to one side. Distance wasn't going to do any good; unless he was misreading, this was one of the rare occasions when his Miss Fisher needed more tangible comfort. "You were jealous. That's all. When your action matches your desire, you might have cause to worry. But I doubt it." Phryne cared far too deeply and genuinely to be as selfish as that.

The word jealous hit like a lightning bolt, startling her eyes wide. The impulse to deny it rose like choking bile--but he was right. She had been. Terribly, bitterly, viciously jealous. She set her glass aside with a sigh that carried as much relief as anything else.

"Add hypocrisy to my list of sins," she said, bitterly wry, but then another though struck her and she sickened. "Is this how you feel when I..." She couldn't even say it, not now.

"You've been, for the most part, very careful not to force me to see." Lin, for certain; he'd been jealous. Any number of her other paramours had stung though he'd known he had no ground to stand on. And then there was Compton - that had hurt, almost more than anything.

And it had been hurt and shock in Phryne's voice. "I expect Compton is the example here."

They meant very little to her. Not nothing, but by comparison all of them together meant less to her now than Jack. But Compton was an instructive example. How well she recalled the hurt in Jack's eyes, the coldness in his voice, and how she'd hastened to go with him. Part of her wondered whether that hint of anger hadn't worked on her like Rene's, but that was an unworthy thought. She'd gone with Jack because she cared for him, not because she feared him.

Although her nod made it somewhat unnecessary, it felt important to observe softly, "I left with you." And she didn't doubt Jack would have, if she hadn't made it plain she didn't want him to follow her just then.

She lifted her gaze to his finally, and let him see the pain in it and the yearning. "I've grown accustomed to being the only woman that rouses your passion, and even now, you're so restrained...it hurt unbearably to see you wanting someone else."

"So you did." He'd been surprised at that, a little, at the time. She'd been under no obligation, and still wasn't... but the gesture meant more for being her choice, as her gestures generally did.

The only answer to that pain and yearning was to reach out and pull her into a kiss, putting as much depth of feeling into it as he could. Anything to chase away that expression in her eyes.

Restrained, but not lacking passion, as his kiss made immediately evident. And really, she had much rather enjoy him than be hurt, so threading her fingers into his hair and leaning into his embrace was both natural and pragmatic.

There was very little pragmatic about continuing to kiss him, dressed as she was, but she couldn't possibly have cared less, once they'd begun. She did pause to between kisses to murmur, "My dear Inspector Robinson," stroke the back of his neck, and to tell him, "How I've wanted you," in a tone that made it clear she didn't mean (or exclusively mean) sexually. She'd missed him.

Dressed as she was, it would have been very nearly impossible to stop, and it became even less possible at her words. Phryne had to know how it felt for him to hear someone he cared for as deeply as he did her actually say that she wanted him, wanted his company. Not for convenience, just because.

Despite his restraint. Or possibly because of it in some strange way.

It didn't really matter either way, but just in case she had more to say Jack dragged his mouth along her jaw, down the line of her throat.

The boldness of it drew a soft gasp from her lips and her finger-grip tightened against his neck and shoulder. Her darling Jack might be restrained, but it took nothing more than the heat of his mouth on her skin to set her alight.

"You forgive my unseemly display of jealousy, then?" she teased, voice low and throaty with desire, as her fingers stole around to loosen his tie.

"Most definitely." Another man, at another time, might have returned a joke in kind, possibly something along the lines of 'this time' or 'don't let it happen again', but Jack didn't even consider it, and not only because Phryne's pulse under his mouth was enough to drain most thoughts out of his head. She'd been serious truly serious, and genuinely upset: any joke would remind her of her past or her fear.

But mostly, it was soft, warm skin that occupied him.

Of the many things Phryne appreciated about her dear Inspector was his perspicacity. He, more than anyone she'd ever known, understood her occasional need for careful handling. Oh, she would deny it, if anyone spoke the words aloud, but she had no illusions concerning how high-strung she could be.

She said nothing of the sort, as his mouth on her skin promptly demanded her attention to far more pleasant matters--including the silk of his tie slipping through her fingers as she pulled it off, the warmth of his skin behind the buttons and cotton of his shirt, the strength of his body separated from her by only two layers of silk. Between her efforts to rid him of his shirt and his to rid her of her sanity, her head swam deliciously. "Darling man..." she breathed out on a decadently sensual sigh.

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[For Jack] A post-Valentine's nightcap

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