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Phryne pulled the Hispano to a stop in the lane beside Jack’s cottage and killed the engine, but didn’t get out right away. She couldn’t; her body seemed to be frozen in place. She’d been gone a long time this trip—five months—and she’d told Jack that she would understand if he felt the need to move on.
She’d lied.
If he had found someone else, someone more traditional, someone easier than she was… well, she’d be heartbroken, though she’d never tell him so. He was a good man, and he deserved happiness; she had no illusions about what it took to love a woman like her, whose feet itched to wander and who wouldn’t be tied down.
A sudden twinge of pain in her knuckles made her realize that she was gripping the steering wheel with all of her strength. Deliberately, she flexed her hands, flattening first one, then the other, before letting both drop into her lap. Turning to look at his house, it felt as if her neck creaked with tension.
Jack’s cosy house was small, but its extensive garden wore its full summer regalia, with happily blooming flowers dotting every possible shade of green. Light shone, warm and welcoming, from the front windows—kitchen and parlor, she knew—and although it seemed to beckon her inside, she hesitated. She hadn’t been able to call ahead. What if he had someone else in there with him? She’d sent off her last telegram before the flight home and hadn’t waited for a response. What if he’d moved on?
Her mind filled with images of Jack, moving pictures she’d been reviewing in her mind over and over during the time she’d been away. Jack at his desk at the station, face serious but eyes smiling as he said her name. Jack sitting in his favorite armchair, beneath his reading lamp, the small, metal-framed reading glasses that he didn’t like to admit he needed resting on his nose. Jack at her dining room table, candlelight gleaming in his eyes as he told her about a case. Jack in his cycling gear, sweaty and glorious, a rare grin stretching his wide mouth. Jack naked beneath her, his cheeks flushed and his mouth open as she rose and fell above him. Jack, and Jack, and Jack.
Drawing in a breath, Phryne closed her eyes, concentrating on the expansion of her chest, then the motion of the air through her nose as she breathed out. Sitting here was not going to get her any answers, and it wouldn’t help to put off whatever reckoning there might be. She was who she was, and if he could no longer love her… she swallowed. Well, it would be better to know, either way.
Lifting her small satchel from the passenger seat, she opened the door and stepped out of the car. Without allowing herself to pause, she turned and marched up to his garden gate, quickly letting herself in. The scent of flowers surrounded her, hanging thickly in the heat of the night air, and though she breathed in deeply in an attempt to fortify herself, she didn’t stop. In a few quick steps, she was at the door, her hand raised to knock. For a heartbeat, she stood there, hand high and still, before she rapped three times in quick succession and stepped back.
It was ten long seconds before the door opened—ten seconds that felt like hours in which she fought not to turn and leave, fought to silence the little voice that said she should go away before he could send her away. She stood frozen, her mind racing, until the door opened and there he was. He had removed his jacket and tie, but still wore his pinstriped suit trousers and waistcoat, his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows and his collar unbuttoned. His feet were bare against the hall rug, and his hair was neatly pomaded, though the one curl that so often betrayed his emotions lay soft and dark against his forehead.
“Hello, Jack.” She tried for insouciant, for breezy, and thought perhaps she’d only achieved breathless. It was possible that her face betrayed her uncertainty; she hoped that he couldn’t see just how frightened she was.
“Miss Fisher,” he said, in that voice that had whispered through her daydreams, deeper now than she’d remembered. How could it be deeper than she remembered?
As he said her name, she drank in the sight of him—his serious mouth with its decadently curved top lip was slightly open, its corners turned down in what might become a smile or might turn into a frown. His jawline was as sharply defined as she’d remembered, and the strong column of his neck was exposed, its golden tone set off beautifully by the white of his shirt. Gazing at the vulnerable hollow of his throat, Phryne felt lust pulse between her legs, and she licked her lips before dragging her eyes back up to his.
She was so mesmerized by the sight of him that she almost didn’t hear his next words—“At last.”—but when he reached for her, pulling her inside, she went willingly. And time that had been moving at a snail’s pace accelerated to lightning speed.
Even as the door clicked shut behind her, he had wrapped her in his arms and—there—his mouth was on hers. The sensation of relief was almost more than Phryne could bear. With a small sob, she dropped her bag and stretched against him to twine her arms around his neck and throw herself into the kiss. He tasted of sunshine and whiskey and Jack, and all that she could think was Thank god, I’m home.
Suddenly, he was pulling back, his hands coming up to cup her cheeks.
“Phryne? What is it, love?”
She hadn’t realized that she was crying, but he was wiping her tears with the pads of his thumbs, his beautiful blue eyes worried.
“I’m all right, Jack,” she said, one hand sliding down to lightly grasp his wrist, the other stroking the short hairs at the base of his skull. “I just… I wish that you would travel with me so that I don’t have to miss you so much.”
Jack tilted his head, studying her. “That is a delightful sentiment,” he said quietly, “but perhaps not the entire story.” Brushing his thumb across her lips, he leaned forward to press his forehead to hers. “We agreed to honesty, remember? Tell me what’s wrong.”
Phryne felt the tears prickling at the back of her eyes this time, and she fought them back. Stroking her thumb across his cheekbone, she let out a small huff of a laugh.
“It’s ridiculous,” she whispered.
“Tell me anyway.” He wrapped his arms around her and held her close.
Phryne slid her arms around his neck and squeezed; he returned the pressure without further comment, tilting his head to rest on her shoulder. Phryne tucked her nose into his neck, breathing in the scents of starch, shave cream, and Jack.
“Could we sit down? Or even lie down?”
Her words were muffled against his skin, but he obviously heard. He lifted his head to look at her; when she raised her face to his, he pressed a quick kiss to her lips, then stepped back. Sliding one hand down her arm to link his fingers with hers, he ducked to pick up her bag and led her down the hall toward his bedroom.
Phryne felt a rush of relief. If he still wanted her in his bed, that meant his feelings were still deep—Jack was not a man for intimacy without love.
Jack tugged her gently through the door of his bedroom and set her bag on the chair. When he turned back to her, his mouth curled in a tender smile. Wordlessly, he unwound her scarf from around her neck, his fingers lingering over the swallow pin she wore. Phryne set her hands to his buttons, working on his waistcoat as he pushed her flying coat off her shoulders. She dropped one hand, then swapped it with the other, needing to keep touching him even as she paused in her unbuttoning. He stopped to shrug out of his waistcoat, and she slid her hands under his braces to shove them off his shoulders as well.
“I worry,” she whispered, beginning on his shirt buttons, “that one day, I’ll be gone too long.”
He made a soft sound, tilting his head as he began to undo her blouse. “And I’ll have moved on?”
She couldn’t meet his eyes, and a lump grew in her throat as she nodded, a tiny, sharp movement that she felt all the way down her spine. Slipping her hands inside his shirt, she paused to rest her head against his sternum, covered only by the thin cotton of his undershirt.
Jack’s hand came to rest on her head, and she felt him press a kiss to her hair.
“Phryne Fisher, do you love me?”
The words were quiet, unthreatening, and sure, as if he already knew the answer to this question. He should, of course—she’d told him so, many times.
She nodded, her forehead brushing against the warm cotton that covered his chest. The words, which had come more easily as time went on, were trapped in her throat, the fear of losing him blocking their release. His breath gusted hot over the vulnerable nape of her neck, and he rubbed her arms with his wide palms.
“Did your time away make you love me less?”
Phryne shook her head, her hands clenching against his waist, grasping the fabric of his undershirt as if she would keep him close.
“Well, there’s your answer.”
With those matter-of-fact words, his hands began their journey again, divesting her of layer after layer; Phryne’s breath shuddered in her chest as she followed his lead. He was quiet for long moments, his hands sure and warm as they brushed her skin, his calm presence soothing her jumbled emotions. When he finally spoke, his words were softly matter-of-fact.
“When I was young, I wanted nothing more than to make a traditional home, with a wife who’d hand me a martini as I walked in the door after a long day at work, who’d give me children to make me laugh and exasperate me, and who’d make love with me in my bed every night. A woman who’d be fun and maybe a little interesting, but whose focus was on me.”
As he spoke, he crouched to unbuckle her boots, and she steadied herself with a hand on his now-bare shoulder as he cupped her calf in one wide palm and tugged the leather away from her foot. Shifting, he did the same on the other side, leaving her in only her flying trousers and camiknickers. Remaining low before her, he looked up her body to meet her eyes.
“I’ve come to understand that I can make my own martini—though I much prefer whiskey—and Jane does plenty to make me laugh and exasperate me.” The crinkles beside his eyes deepened. “She’s learned it from you.”
Phryne huffed out a small laugh, one hand moving to cup his cheek. He moved to unfasten her trousers, then stood, his body close enough that she could feel his heat.
“And what about making love?” The words whispered from her, aching and small.
He shrugged, leaning in to kiss her softly. Her hands slipped around his waist, pushing his trousers off his hips without following them down, her hands wide against the warm planes of his back.
“For me, a warm body isn’t enough,” he whispered against her lips as his hands nudged the straps of her camiknickers off her shoulders. “I want the right person in my bed. A woman who’s smart and fun and interesting. Who challenges me and infuriates me.”
Phryne felt his cock, long and hard, against her belly, and when the silk of her undergarments fell away, his skin was like a brand against hers. She hugged him closer, loving the way his angles fit her curves; dipping her head, she laid her open mouth against his chest.
“I love you, Phryne Fisher. I want you.”
“Even when I’m gone for so long?”
“You know I enjoy foreplay,” he whispered, his mouth against her ear.
She turned her face to his, a laugh—surprising and real—bubbling up from the well of happiness that had been bottled up inside her. His smile carved deep creases in his cheeks, and she couldn’t help herself—she leaned in to press her mouth to his. The kiss was deep and long, their tongues slipping together in an intimate hello; when he finally lifted his head, he was breathing heavily and every nerve in Phryne’s body was singing.
With a breathless laugh, Phryne jumped to wrap her legs around his waist, and he caught her, his own laugh low and warm. Setting her hands on his shoulders, Phryne positioned herself over him; his cock slid into her body as if that was where it was meant to be, and she watched his face as he entered her. His nostrils flared and he blinked, long and slow, adjusting his stance so that they stood, joined, in the middle of his bedroom.
“Someday you may decide that I’m rooted too deeply,” Jack’s words were breathless, his hands on her bottom clenching and releasing as she flexed her thighs to move herself along his length.
“I love that you have those roots,” Phryne admitted, the sensation of fullness, of completion, that she felt when he was inside her body washing over her. “I love knowing that you’re here, that you don’t need me to be anything but who I am, that you will let me go and trust that I’ll come back.”
“I would never want to cage you,” he said, taking a step toward the bed, his head dipping to brush his lips over her nipple as he spoke.
“Jack,” she whispered, love permeating the single syllable of his name until it seemed to fill every empty space inside her.
He looked up at her, his lips against her breast. “When you come back to me,” he admitted, sincerity shining in his eyes, “it feels miraculous, every time. While you’re gone, one half of me is with you; when you return, I give you the half I kept behind.”
Overcome, Phryne leaned in to kiss him again, a promise and a vow; she felt him take that promise and return it to her tenfold. Staggering a little, he stepped to the bed and laid her down upon it, pinning her in the only way he ever would. He raised his head as he caught her hands in his and pressed them to the pillow beside her head, their fingers twining together as he adjusted his position above her. His chest moved against hers with every breath, and she arched to push him deeper inside.
“Journeys end in lovers’ meeting,” Phryne whispered, tenderness curling inside her along with the arousal.
Jack laughed even as he took over the rhythm of their lovemaking, long, deep strokes ending with his groin pushed tight against hers. “O stay and hear! your true-love’s coming,” he murmured, leaning in to press his mouth to the underside of her jaw. Her chuckle ended in a whimper as he suckled gently at her skin.
“I’ve waited five long months for my true love’s coming,” she gasped, hitching her knees higher against his sides. “Hurry, please!”
“I suppose five months of foreplay is sufficient,” Jack admitted.
“More than,” she said, and circled her hips in a way that made his eyes cross.
“Fuck, yes.”
As was so often the case, the sound of that word in Jack’s voice triggered Phryne’s orgasm—she wailed as pleasure rippled through her. Jack’s shout of fulfillment was delivered through gritted teeth, his neck arching backward—his flushed cheeks and eyes gone blurry with climax were among Phryne’s favorite sights in all the world; when he collapsed, his weight on her chest was welcome, grounding her in the here and now. His hands loosened on hers, and she wrapped her arms around his chest, holding him close as she buried her face in his neck.
“Phryne?” Jack lifted his head, his muscles tensing as his eyes searched her face. Whatever he saw there eased his worries; he leaned in and kissed her as he rolled to the side, one hand on her thigh keeping her body connected to his.
Phryne studied his face, feeling the weightlessness that comes after a burden has been lifted. She smiled, the words that had been caught in her throat earlier spilling free as if a dam had broken.
“I love you, my Jack,” she whispered, one hand sliding around to cover his heart, and her thigh hitching up over his hip. He lifted a hand to tuck her hair behind her ear, his fingers gentle as they stroked her cheekbone, his thumb brushing her lower lip, a soft smile tilting the corners of his mouth.
“You’ll love me even more when I tell you that I’m particularly glad you’re back now—I have a case where I could use the assistance of a lady detective.”
“Do you? Something too difficult for the Victorian Constabulary, I take it?”
“It does seem that way.” Jack’s hand on her face stroked downward, his eyes following its passage as it shaped the round of her shoulder and the curve of her ribs before moving to her breast. His thumb brushed her nipple the same way it had just brushed her lip, and Phryne drew in a soft breath.
“I’m happy to be of assistance, inspector.” Phryne pressed her pelvis into his, loving the way that she could feel him hardening inside her body.
“Good. I’ll tell you all about it,” his eyes came back to hers as he gently pinched her nipple between thumb and forefinger.
Phryne’s head tipped back as the sensation sent a pulse of arousal echoing between her legs. Her hand slid up the back of his neck as he dipped his head.
“But perhaps,” he murmured, his breath against her neck, “that can wait till morning.”
“First things first, Jack,” she agreed, breathless, as his tongue circled her nipple. He knew just where to touch her to send her flying, and she never wanted to do without him. “You know, if you’d moved on, I would have pursued you again.” The words were an aching whisper.
“No need, Miss Fisher. I’m well and truly caught,” he replied, his breath cooling the damp of his tongue against her flesh. His hands were hot against her skin, and she could hear the smile in his voice. “Whatever will you do with me?”
Her smile turned wicked as she pushed gently at his shoulders, rising over him, the moonlight shining through the window above his bed turning the shadows on his face and body into art.
“Don’t you worry, inspector,” she murmured as she began to move. “I have plenty of ideas.”
Jack’s moan and his hands on her skin told her that he approved, and she set herself to the task of taking him apart with pleasure, simply because she loved to watch her beautiful man lose control.
It might seem paradoxical, but his loving her enough to let her go gave her the freedom to stay; his roots grounded her when she felt the need to fly. It was a powerful thing to find a person who saw all of your faults and loved you anyway.
With a happy sigh, Phryne kept her eyes open as she worked to bring her handsome detective—and herself—to another peak. She’d been gone a long time, but she was here now, and she didn’t want to miss a thing.