“Excellent. Good work.”
And under that?
Black skirt gray top.
Under that?
She ended her call with Gipson and contemplated whether to text Channing about her plum-colored bra and matching undies. Within seconds came a knock at the door…Niya, holding a plate covered with aluminum foil.
“What’s this?”
“Nan khatai…tea biscuits. I made them.” She peeled back the foil to show a mound of shortbread cookies with pistachio chips in the center. “Because olive branches are difficult to chew.”
“Oh, Niya.” Lark was flooded with relief that Niya had reconsidered her threatening message. They shared a brief hug. “Thank you. I know this has been stressful, but you know how for-cause reviews are. We have to turn over every little rock. I think the worst is over. Without data saying otherwise, this all gets chalked up to coincidence.”
Her phone chimed with another message, which she ignored for the moment. Peace offering or not, she felt disinclined to share the personal details of her weekend. The anger in Niya’s note had startled her. It would take more than a plate of cookies to restore her confidence in their friendship.
“And Shane? I hope he’s not still under scrutiny. He’s a fine young man.”
“It’s not official, but it doesn’t look like we’ll be pursuing that. There’s no evidence of contamination.” Or sabotage, a word she couldn’t bring herself to use with Niya, since it would throw shade on her staff.
“I’m so glad to hear that.”
Remembering the cookies, Lark asked, “Would you like tea? I bet we could make quick work of these.”
“Sorry, I’m sitting in on a call with Johnson & Johnson in”—she checked her watch—“twelve minutes. Lark, I can’t tell you how much I’ve worried these last two days. I would be devastated to lose our friendship. If I ever behave that way again, I insist you call me on it. No excuses.”
“It’s a deal.”
It was too late in the day to try to reschedule another subject interview for this afternoon. Besides, what was the hurry? Rushing through the remaining interviews would get her recalled to Boston before she had a chance to work out where things were headed with Channing. She returned to her desk and flipped through her inbox in search of paperwork she could knock off in a couple of hours before calling it a day. Her phone chimed again to remind her of the unseen message.
How soon can we have sex again?
* * *
“Thanks, Ruth.” Channing handed her favorite driver fifteen quid for a fare that would have been ten had she booked through Uber. After learning from Ruth last summer how little the company’s drivers earned, she scheduled her rides off-book whenever possible.
“I can do a pickup later if you like. Hugo’s home to watch the kids. Just tell me what time.”
“With any luck at all, I won’t need a pickup until tomorrow.”
In addition to toiletries and a change of clothes, her overnight bag held a vintage bottle of cabernet from Poppa’s small collection. For later…lying around in bed naked later.
My place 30 minutes.
Lark’s reply had caught her unexpected. She’d meant only to taunt, thinking Lark would be chained to her desk for several more hours. Instead it set off a scramble for both of them to get here.
Resisting a casual encounter during the ferry crossing had paid off with lovemaking that was both exciting and meaningful. Just as Lark had voiced reservations about “makeup sex,” Channing had never been all that keen on sex for sex’s sake, certainly not when she felt a hint of promise for more. After Penderworth, she was convinced their attraction was more than physical. Lark stirred her thoroughly. She had an intriguing balance of strength and vulnerability that let Channing feel it was safe to unveil those same parts of herself.
The sex itself—brilliant. Lark’s assertiveness made her realize how weary she’d grown of the stale dynamic with Payton, who responded to seduction but rarely initiated sex. It felt good to be desired.
As she scanned the park for the familiar white company car, a horn tooted behind her. Lark waved her aside and pulled into the space. As advertised, she unfolded from the car dressed in a tight black skirt and summery gray sweater with three-quarter-length sleeves. The biggest surprise were the black heels, not exactly towering but easily the highest Channing had seen her wear. It was quite the sexy combo.
Arms folded, foot tapping, Channing said, “Excuse me, miss…I’m supposed to be meeting someone. I was told she’s rather ord-nry looking. Have you seen anyone like that?”
“I can be ord-nry if that’s what you’re looking for.” Lark kissed her full on the lips before leading the way upstairs to her flat.
“This is a nice surprise. I hardly expected you to say yes.”
“I bet you say that to all the girls.” Inside the flat, Lark’s first move was to draw the curtains in the sitting area. “There was no point in trying to work after I saw your text. I must have read the same page nine times before I finally gave up.”
Channing tugged her into an embrace and sensed at once how the slimming skirt firmed Lark’s hips and bottom. “Imagine how I felt. I’ve been sending out texts all day asking women for sex. Three of them said yes and now I’m bloody knackered.”
“Oh, thank God. For a minute there I thought I was going to have to go through with it.” Lark blinked coquettishly. “Tea?”
Staying ahead of Lark in the snappy comeback department was proving a delightful challenge, one she relished. “You’re getting to be quite the Brit, with this dry wit of yours and offering tea to everyone who comes through your door. Next you’ll be apologizing to someone who runs you down with their car.”
“Sorry. So…tea?”
“I think not. I’d have to let go of you and I don’t want to do that.” As their eyes froze in a mutual gaze, the playfulness subsided and Lark’s body went languid in her arms. “I like the way you smell. Leathery…is it men’s?”
“No, it’s called White Suede. Florals make me sneeze.”
“And why have I never noticed it on you before?”
“Because I only wear it to cover hospital smells. Another reason not to do a residency. But I’ll wear it more often if you like it.”
If Channing had her way, it was all she’d be wearing soon. Her fingertips separated soft strands of hair as she closed in for a kiss, marveling at the perfect fit of her mouth on Lark’s. With deliberate command over every touch and sound, every swipe of her tongue, she alternately inflamed and quelled their excitement.
Lark seemed to grasp her willful pace, answering every incursion and retreat until it was clear she was struggling to stand. “Come with me?”
“Anywhere.”
They fell across the bed, where Lark’s tight skirt bound her movements. “This definitely needs to go,” Channing said, working the hook and zipper.
Lark slithered out and cast it carelessly on the floor. Plum-colored hi-cut briefs bared the sinewy muscles of her upper thigh, where the skin was silky smooth.
Channing’s desire to savor the moment was no match for the urge to feel her swollen center against Lark’s hip. She let herself be pulled down into another kiss, this one hungry and breathless. All the while her hand worked underneath the sweater—kneading, tickling, raking gently with her nails—until she cupped a satin-covered breast.
Somehow her trousers were open and Lark had slid beneath the elastic band of her bikini pants to grip her bottom. It made her want to tear away their clothes and touch every inch one to the other. Their first time had mattered…so would their second. The voice that had urged her to slow down and savor the moment now taunted her withering self-control.
“Do you have any idea how much I want you?”
“I think I do.” Lark took her hand and placed it between her legs, where the cloth of her briefs was damp with arousal. She hurriedly loosened the buttons on Channing’s shirt and pushed it off her shoulders.
Channing
tossed it behind her along with her trousers, and helped Lark out of her sweater. Sweet torture that it was, she lay atop Lark, relishing the sleekness in all the places their skin slid together. Women were so divine. Kissing, caressing. After circling Lark’s breast a tantalizing fourth time, she slipped beneath the satin and touched a hardening nipple.
Lark gasped and arched upward, allowing Channing the space to slither one hand beneath her and release the clasp. “Get naked with me. I want to feel you everywhere.”
As the last flimsy barriers between them were tossed aside, she briefly cast her gaze upon Lark’s nude form. Her upper chest was garnished with a faint cluster of freckles Channing had noticed yesterday. They required investigation, but later. What compelled her now was the feminine form, the soft swell of her breasts and tapered waist. And the beguiling triangle of hair the color of caramel.
“You are so bloody gorgeous.”
There was no hope now of pacing herself, no reining in her passions to prolong their pleasure. She followed the musky scent of excitement and parted the luscious folds with her tongue. Salty, tangy. She drank the essence, reading every sound and twitch as a command, the language of sensuality.
With one hand tightly in Lark’s grasp, Channing used the other to tease the opening. A finger barely inside, pulsing downward while her lips worked the taut bundle of nerves.
Lark’s brow furrowed with concentration, lifted in surprise and furrowed again, though her lids never opened. Murmuring, whimpering. Her breath came in rapid, shallow puffs as her hips rose. Then a deep gasp that she held for several seconds before bursting with release.
Channing slid all the way inside to feel the walls clench her fingers. How she adored making love with this woman!
Chapter Fifteen
Lark hadn’t slept with a lot of women, but she knew the difference between having sex and making love. One was performance, the other expression. Making love meant dropping the walls that let emotions through.
She and Channing had made love. Not the promise of eternal soulmates—they’d known each other less than three weeks. Yet they both seemed to recognize that what they had was special.
Special was enough for now.
Channing’s stomach howled with hunger. “About that tea…”
A shake of laughter spoiled Lark’s pretense of being asleep. “Does this mean I have to get up?” Her head rested in the valley between Channing’s lovely breasts, which called to mind the nasty trio of men in the airport lounge. She felt delightfully, unapologetically smug.
“I could get it myself, but I’m not sure my legs will hold me.”
“How many times did you come?”
“Hmm…five, I think,” Channing replied. “A personal best, if you must know.”
“Ta-da!”
“It helps to get an early start.”
“And it’s not even seven o’clock. We’re going to shatter that record before the night’s over.” Lark whirled her legs over the side of the bed and sat up, searching briefly for something to cover herself before remembering she’d drawn the curtains in the other room. “We shall have naked tea.”
“Four and a half minutes.”
“I know, and milk first.” As the water boiled in her electric kettle, Lark examined the contents of her refrigerator and shouted, “Will you eat tomatoes and leftover quiche Lorraine?”
“Off the floor if I have to.” Channing, wearing only her bikini panties, darted into the living room to retrieve her bag. First she wriggled into a thigh-length cotton nightshirt, light blue with white piping. Then she produced a bottle of wine. “I raided this from Poppa’s collection. L’Orval, 2001.”
“I have no idea what that means but it sounds impressive.” She put the quiche in the oven with focaccia and set up two plates with sliced tomatoes that she drizzled with olive oil and balsamic vinegar. Then she filled their mugs with boiling water and pushed them toward Channing. “I’m putting you in charge of these for the next four and a half minutes. Now if you’ll excuse me…I’m feeling a tad underdressed.”
“Don’t overdo it.”
Lark laughed to herself at the state of the bedroom before picking up and folding the pieces of clothing they’d strewn haphazardly about. Next she straightened the sheets and stole a peek at her phone. No voicemails, no emails. Now that it was after hours in the Cambridge office, she wasn’t obligated to check again until morning.
Returning to the kitchen in paisley boxers and a tank top, she found Channing at the bar scrolling through her phone. “Anything interesting?”
“I keep thinking I’ll hear from Mitch, the CEO at Albright. He promised to ring me after speaking with HR about the new position. I got the impression it would be only a few days but now it’s ten and counting. Seeing as how Payton clearly doesn’t want me to return, I suspect she’s been trying to botch it. She could gut my chances like that.” She snapped her fingers. “I can just hear her. ‘Channing’s not a team player. Channing’s prone to overvalue depreciated assets.’ Her word carries weight with Mitch.”
“Surely the rest of them know you better than that. And I assume your work speaks for itself.” It would be especially cruel for Payton to blackball her at work on top of breaking up with her. “There are other jobs in Boston, you know. Maybe something even better.”
“I’ve a noncompete agreement, remember? Even if I could get Mitch to waive it, Payton still could tank my whole bloody career if she wanted to. Mark that as Exhibit A for why one should never have an affair with the boss, married or not. It does irreparable harm to the business relationship.”
“What she’s doing isn’t just an ethical violation, you know. It’s illegal. Think about it, she’s actually punishing you for having an affair with her. Stand up to her and she’ll be the one looking for a job, not you.”
“Except that’s not who I am, Lark. And Payton knows that. I could destroy her whole life if I wanted to but I don’t. I couldn’t live with myself even if she deserves it.”
“Meanwhile she’s exploiting that by dictating terms that mean you get screwed.”
“Unfortunately that’s true. But feelings for someone don’t just go away. I still care enough not to wish her harm, though I’m not sure the feeling is mutual. Granted, it wasn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done, but I went into it with my eyes wide open. It was pure fantasy on my part to think she’d ever leave her husband. Like she was going to give up the big family holidays or the cottage on the Cape? Please.”
Lark sat on the stool beside her, not touching but close enough to feel her warmth. She couldn’t deny Channing’s impetuous streak. Nor could she criticize it, since it was partly the reason she was here. Channing lived by impulse. Her feelings came easily and they set like concrete.
“I’m not still in love with her though, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
“I wasn’t…not exactly.” Her face must have given her away. While she’d admit to a vein of jealousy, she wondered if Channing might be a collector of women, a serial monogamist who never quite let go of her ex-lovers. “I think you might be too decent for your own good. To be honest, I have trouble seeing how you could feel any warmth at all for somebody who’d dump on you and then run you out of your job. Payton’s a real piece of work.”
“It’s my fault you have that impression. Kenny’s the one who made me see that. Everyone I’ve told, which is basically just Kenny, Oliver and you, detests her because of the things I’ve said about her. But you’ve probably noticed that when any of you criticize her, I turn right around and stick up for her.” She chided herself with an incredulous laugh. “If that doesn’t already have a name in the psychology manuals, I suggest we call it Hughes Syndrome.”
“Loyalty’s not a syndrome, Channing.” Though it was a weakness in this case, since it meant letting Payton push her around.
“It’s not just loyalty. It’s self-preservation as well. If I were to make a fuss at Albright, Payton and I both would end up in the shitter. She�
��d probably be fired, but they’d have to take me back on so it wouldn’t look like they were condoning sexual harassment. But I’d likely never advance because they’d all be whispering behind my back that I’d bloody slept my way to the top.”
“I get that, but it still isn’t fair that you’re the one who got screwed—figuratively, I mean. Payton’s the one who crossed the major lines. Cheating on her husband was nothing compared to having an affair with somebody she supervised. In this day and age, that’s just not done. She had to know she was putting your career at risk—and hers too. I know better than anyone that you’re irresistible, but why on earth would a woman in her position do something so reckless?”
The oven timer dinged.
“Saved by the bell,” Channing quipped. She poured the wine while Lark divided the quiche and focaccia. “You’re quite right about one thing though. I am irresistible.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.” Lark served her plate with one hand while the other casually groped Channing’s backside. “So you seduced her and she fell for your charms. Been there, done that.”
“Actually no. There was no flirting, no seduction by either of us. It simply happened of its own accord. It was a moment, an impulse. We could have stopped it right there, written it off as a misadventure, emotions getting out of hand, all that. Instead we took a couple of weeks to think it over and ended up deciding it was what we both wanted.”
Lark thought back to the time during medical school when she and Bess had taken a break from each other, even going so far as to grant permission to see other people. Drowning in her studies, she’d barely had time to look in the mirror, let alone at someone else. Bess however became involved with another woman, a semi-serious relationship that had lasted several months. What brought that to mind now was Bess’s insistence on telling her why she’d been drawn to someone else, revealing intimate details Lark had no desire to hear.
A Proper Cuppa Tea Page 16