By Edith Crowe
Catherine was getting very tired--it seemed she had been diggingforever--but even through her exhaustion a flicker of doubt wasbeginning to make its way through to her numbed brain. Not muchprogress was being made, despite all their work. Things would movefaster if Vincent were here, surely, but he wasn't. Catherine frownedat that, but kept digging; people were depending on her. She wasn'tdoing a very good job, though...the dirt was very sandy, and itseemed that every time she lifted a shovelful outside the hole,almost as much slid down the sides to fill the bottom again.
Despite the agonizing slowness of her progress, she had managed toget the hole deep enough that lifting the dirt out was beginning toget harder and harder--and she was afraid she was reaching the limitof her strength. It was beginning to get scary. She was in deeperthan her head, and the soil was so unstable--if it gave way, she'd beburied; she'd never have the strength to dig her way out. But shecouldn't stop, it was too important. She tried to remember why it wasso important, but couldn't seem to think over the noise. What wasthat, anyway? It hadn't been there a minute ago. Was it the pipes?Could they really sound that loud, no matter how urgent the message?It was so strident, but no one could possibly hear a siren downhere...perhaps it was a...
"Telephone," Catherine groaned as she rolled toward thenightstand, trying not to entangle herself further in the bedclothes."What in the name of God..." She opened leaden eyelids to look at theclock as she groped for the phone, then shut them again quickly aslight stabbed into them. She'd been certain it was the middle of thenight.
" 'Lo?" she mumbled, mentally cursing the fact that she'dforgotten to turn on the answering machine last night.
"Radcliffe? Is that you?"
"Joe? Why in God's name are you calling me on a Saturday atdawn?"
"Whaddya mean, dawn? It's almost eight o'clock. I thought youbecame an early riser when you renounced that frivolous socialitelifestyle you used to have."
"You have about two seconds to convince me I shouldn't hang up inyour face," Catherine replied, as well as she could through clenchedteeth. "I was up late working on those three new cases you justdumped on me. When I finally got to sleep, the cat decided to throwup mouse parts on my great-grandmother's quilt, and I had to do someemergency cleaning. I have gotten almost no sleep, I have had a veryhard week, and if you're going to ask what I think you're going toask, no jury in this city will convict me when I kill you."
"Aw, c'mon, Cathy, I wouldn't ask you to come in today if I wasn'tdesperate. I'm here myself--new evidence on the Wilson case and it'ssupposed to go to trial Monday."
Catherine rolled over on her back and plopped the phone on herchest, hoping to eke out just a few more horizontal moments. "So youwant me to help with the Wilson case? I thought Bob Chen was workingon that."
Something in Joe's voice alerted Catherine. It was the tone heused when he was about to ask her to do a major favor--somethingshe'd hate. She sat up in bed and glared at the phone. "Just what doyou want me to do, Counselor?" It was the tone of voice she used tosignal that he'd owe her big time for this one and she'd findimaginative ways to demand payback.
"Well..." She could almost hear Joe loosening his shirt collarover the phone. "I need you to supervise ECAB today. Judy came downwith appendicitis last night and had emergency surgery. You're thetenth person I've tried, Cathy, honest. Everyone else seems to be outof town."
I wish I were, Catherine thought. Or preferably underit. "You want me to supervise ECAB? Spend my Saturday lookingover rookies' shoulders while they interview people on misdemeanors?Interview the most disgusting ones myself? What did I ever do toyou?"
Catherine's spirits sank even lower, but how could she refuseunder the circumstances? "How's Judy?" she asked.
"She'll be OK," Joe replied brightly. "They got her to surgery inplenty of time. So you'll do it?"
Catherine sighed. "Yes, I'll do it. But the next time a majordictionary of psychology comes out, you'll see my picture right underthe definition for masochist."
Dragging herself out of bed with Joe's effusive thanks stillissuing from the phone receiver, Cathering mumbled a goodbye andforced herself to get ready in record time. She remembered to feedthe cat, hoping against hope that would discourage him from samplingmore rodent delicacies in the basement. No time to make coffee; she'dhave to pick up something industrial-strength on the way. Her lasttask before launching herself into the cold, cruel world was to godown to where the mice lived and tap out a message on the basementpipes. She'd half-promised Rebecca some help with candle-makingtoday, and hoped there'd be enough other volunteers. If Vincenthadn't been away she probably would have escaped down there lastnight, and Joe would've had to try number eleven on his list. Atleast she'd gotten him trained not to call her first anymore.
The Early Case Assessment Bureau was even less attractive than herusual workspace. Some half-asleep police officers from the nightshift still leaned on walls or sat on the grubby floors waiting togive their reports. The supervisor's cubicle was distinguished fromthe others only by the fact that it faced into the hallway. Ableary-eyed ADA who looked vaguely familiar almost leaped up when hesaw Catherine. "Please tell me you're the cavalry!"
"Tim...Tim McMillan, right?" Catherine shook his hand briefly."Thanks for holding the fort until I got here. It must have been along night for you."
"Interminable. The citizens were pretty active for the middle ofwinter. In addition to the usual farebeats and drunks there was adrug sweep near the Village, a major neighborhood brawl on upperBroadway, and a lady whose elevator perhaps does not go all the waythe to the penthouse. She got into fisticuffs with a neighbor becauseshe keeps finding dog doo on her steps--which she insisted onbringing in as evidence, in an old plastic margarine tub, thank God.She wants to swear out a complaint against the guy upstairs, whom sheknows for a fact is really an alien possessed by Satan and sent totest her." Tim scooped up his briefcase and almost ran out the door."Have a nice day."
Catherine set her second cup of spoon-dissolving coffee next tothe phone, which was bolted onto the battered metal desk, which wasbolted to the floor. She took a deep breath, hoping the crumblingcorkboard glued to her partition didn't produce particles smallenough to be sucked into her lungs. There was an irritating buzzingnoise but she was almost sure it came from the expiring ballast inone of the fluorescent lights, not from inside her head. Yet. As shepicked up the first folder from the very large pile on her desk, shetried very hard to remember why leaving corporate law had seemed likea good idea at the time.
Later that day, strange noises in the outer office caused JoeMaxwell to open his office door, very cautiously. "I take it thingshaven't been going too well," Joe remarked tentatively, as Catherineslammed a file drawer shut with a force that almost took a chunk outof the wall behind the cabinet. Joe briefly considered mentioningthat the anemic city budget didn't have much in it for replacementfurniture, not to mention walls, but decided it might be more thanhis life was worth. "What brings you up here?"
"I brought the results of all that work I did last night," sheanswered pointedly, "so I won't have to lug it in Monday." Havingleft the file cabinet hovering on the edge of reincarnation as scrapmetal, Catherine stomped to her desk and began abusing smaller itemsof office equipment. She kicked her work shoes under her desk andbegan to pull on her boots. "This isn't a city. It's one big asylumfor the insane, criminally and otherwise...or just the hopelesslyweird."
Joe tried to think of some encouraging response, but couldn't comeup with anything. Cathy's description was all too apt. He decided tochange the subject. "Going out for lunch?"
Catherine fixed him with a belligerent glare as she struggled withher coat. "Yes. Any objection? I need the fresh air."
Joe began edging back toward his office. "No, not at all. I thinkit's a great idea." His eyes flicked briefly toward the nearestwindow, noting that the air was fresh enough to rattle it every fewseconds and plaster snowflakes to its panes. "Enjoy yourself." Withgreat relief, he reached the sanctuary of his office and duckedinside. He knew enough to quit while he was ahead.
Catherine plunged into the wretched weather, head down against thebiting wind. It was cold, windy, cloudy, and snowy. It fit her moodperfectly. At intersections, deceptively deep slush puddles lay inwait for the unwary, ready to fill too-short boots with ice water.Catherine sloshed through them deliberately. I love New York inJune, she grumbled to herself, but it sure stinks inFebruary. She hoped the physical activity would calm her down,but after many blocks of battling the elements, she was stillbrooding over the injustice of having to work on a Saturday, andmissing both Vincent and the rejuvenating effect of a weekend escapeBelow.
As she lifted her head to see where her wanderings had taken her,Catherine's attention was suddenly caught by a colorful display in anearby window, its bright colors luring customers even through theswirling snow. Realizing how close it was to Valentine's Day, sheapproached. Looking over the dazzling array of temptations, Catherinesaw something that caused her to break into a delighted grin,dissipating the last vestige of her bad mood. Her smile became almostwicked as she considered the possibilities of the ideal Valentinepresent for Vincent that beckoned her from the window. Chuckling inanticipation, she entered the store. She could get that present forVincent, and something unhealthy for lunch all at once. Perfect.Maybe this day was survivable after all.
Catherine's own front door had never looked so welcome. She was alittle surprised that Bulwer didn't run to greet her as he usuallydid, demanding food and attention in that order. A note on the halltable soon explained that. Eric had spent a good portion of the dayhere using the computer. Bulwer had probably been fed and petted morethan was good for him, and gotten completely blissed out napping ontop of a nice warm monitor. Sure enough, a brief reconnaissance ofthe library showed one very contented feline sprawled on the sofa,dead to the world.
"Ingrate," Catherine grumbled as she climbed the stairs to thesecond floor. Eager as she was to divest herself of the miasma of 100Centre Street, she didn't go to the master bedroom immediately, butquietly opened the door of the room opposite her home office. It hadbeen used most recently for storage by the previous owner, but inyears past it had been a nursery. Someday, Catherine hoped, it wouldbe a again. Some superstitious fear of seeming presumptuous to thegods had kept her from doing anything to this room until she was sureshe was pregnant. It had stayed unheated and largely empty, andCatherine seldom entered it now. But she needed a cool place to storeVincent's present. Quickly Catherine removed the gift and tucked itinto the corner of a closet. Depositing the briefcase in her office,she hurried to the bedroom, and quickly began changing herclothes.
Today's work clothes went directly into the hamper. Amazing howECAB could still smell like smoke when smoking hadn't been allowedthere in years. The other smells didn't bear thinking about. A verylong and very hot shower restored Catherine somewhat. As she wastowelling her hair dry, the phone rang. Damn. She still hadn'tturned on the answering machine. She thought briefly about notanswering it, but as usual, conscientiousness won out. It could beimportant.
"Cathy! You're home at last. I was going to call the police afterthis time."
Catherine lay down on the bed, damp hair and all. "Hi, Jenny.Believe or not I got stuck working all day. I'm about ready tocollapse."
"So I guess dinner tonight is out?"
Catherine groaned. "I forgot all about it! I'm sorry, Jenny. Ireally wanted to get together today--it's been too long. But I don'tknow..."
"Well, I do. I know you sound wiped out and in no shape to go out.What if I just come over? We can always scramble some eggs and toastsome bagels. Or are you too tired for company?"
"I'm too tired to move, but I'd love company. About the onlyperson I've had to talk to all week is Bulwer, and his vocabulary ismore limited than I'm used to."
"Is Vincent still off repairing things and whatever?"
"He and a hefty percentage of adult Tunnel dwellers. It's amazinghow everything seems to break down at once. I've had a lot of work todo myself this week and no one to distract me from it, unfortunately.I got Below once to visit Father on Wednesday but that's it. Iplanned to go down for part of today but Joe had other plans forme."
"The rotten slave driver. If he doesn't treat you better tell himI'll cut off his discount bagel supply. You just relax and I'll comeby in a little while. I'll just let myself in."
"Sounds lovely..."
That was the last thing Catherine remembered until she woke to thesound of quiet activity on the first floor and the smell of ...chicken soup? She launched herself groggily out of bed and down thestairs. The smell got stronger as she approached the kitchen,reminding her how little she'd had for lunch. "Jenny, what have you..."
Jenny turned from slicing bagels at the counter to smile atCatherine and then to stare. "Uh ... what have I what?"
"Something smells terrific--how long have you been here? What timeis it? I forgot to look at the clock when I got up. Why do you havethat funny look on your face?"
"Well, let's see if I can answer these in order. Not long. Ihaven't been slaving over a hot stove, I just came to your house byway of Zabar's. Don't tell my parents I've been patronizing thecompetition. It's less than an hour since I talked to you. And haveyou looked in the mirror since you got up? You fell asleep with damphair, didn't you?"
Catherine's hand flew to her hair as she rushed to the downstairsbathroom. Jenny heard a stangled squawk from that direction, followedby feet running upstairs and soon the distant hum of a blow dryer.Some time later, Cathering returned dressed in slacks and sweater,with a coiffure more appropriate to her species.
A selection of goodies from one of the best delis in Manhattanwent a long way toward restoring Catherine's will to live. They movedto the living room afterwards and caught up on their activities ofthe last few weeks. Catherine's account of her recent activitiessounded both dull and excessive, even to herself.Nose-to-the-grindstone legal drudgery alternated with vegetablepeeling, clothes washing, nursing children with the sniffles, andcleaning storerooms. By the end of her recitation, Catherine wassounding a little guilty and Jenny was fixing her with thatsee-into-your-soul look that always made her friends squirm.
"Catherine Chandler-Wells, you have been backsliding."
Backsliding? That wasn't what Catherine expected to hear. DidJenny mean ... "I know, we promised to spend more time together sinceyou became a Helper and I don't have to hide things from you. It'sjust that--"
"Good grief, Cathy," Jenny exclaimed. "Here you are describing aschedule that makes Mother Teresa sound like a slacker, and youapologize for not spending more time with me! What the heck are youstill trying to prove?"
"Trying to--what do you mean?" Catherine tried to meet Jenny'seyes but suddenly found it necessary to study the wallpaperinstead.
Jenny leaned toward Catherine and began to speak in a serioustone. "OK, you had this frivolous reputation before you met Vincentbut I know better. You've spent most of your life feeling faintlyguilty because you had the good luck to be pretty and smart andwell-off. You spent a lot of time hiding how smart you were, althoughyou had enough sense not to do that at Radcliffe or Columbia. Musthave been difficult--trying to get good grades to please your Dad,without making Steven resent you because you were always smarter thanhe is. In college you were always befriending the ones that didn'tfit in, like Jewish scholarship students whose parents owned a delior--"
"I didn't make friends with you because I felt guilty aboutsomething," Catherine interrupted indignantly.
"No," Jenny agreed. "But it's why you went out of your way to talkto me the first time. And it certainly was behind some of yourdubious choices in men, like that pompous pseudo-radical activist,whatsisname. And..."
"If you start getting into my history of bad taste in menpre-Vincent, we'll be here all night. Can't I just concede that...and get points for getting it right at last?"
"Well, I'll certainly grant you big points for him. He's terrific.But in a lot of ways he's made an old problem worse."
"What do you mean? Vincent's been nothing but good for me ..."
"Once you two got over the noble sacrifice and unrequitedeverything routine," Jenny agreed drily. "But getting involved withhim turned your old guilt trip into a round-the-world tour. Provingto Vincent you were worthy of him by taking a dangerous job thatalmost got you killed several times over--proving to Joe you weren'ta flighty rich brat by letting him exploit your willingness to dietrying. Proving to Father that you weren't Margaret, by topping off amore than full-time ADA job with being Helper of the Decade. Eventhrowing in a few other Good Works for the heck of it, like thatsuicide hot line. I'm glad I didn't know about all this when it wasgoing on or I would have been tempted to bop you one, and Vincenttoo. For two years the two of you must have been running on nothingbut adrenaline and sublimated libido. It's a miracle you didn't bothend up in the loony bin or the morgue. Sheesh!"
Catherine winced. In retrospect, those years sometimes seemed ascrazy as Jenny's summary made them sound. "Well, we don't act likethat any more. We're just a couple of old married folks. We haven'tbeen assaulted with intent to do bodily harm for... oh, yearsnow."
"But you're still both trying to be all things to all people. Youneed to learn to say no once in a while. There are other people thatcan do what you do for the County of New York and the Tunnels and theworld at large. But there's nobody else that can give Vincent whatyou can, and vice versa. Don't get so self-sacrificing you forgetthat. Don't try to be something you're not."
"Like what?"
"Like a born and bred Tunnel woman, for one thing. Did it everoccur to you that one of the reasons Vincent was attracted toyou--besides your Noble Soul, of course--was that you're differentfrom any woman he'd known? He grew up with girls that were allflannel and braids, and here you were, all velvet and satin anddesigner haircuts and expensive perfume. Don't you think that justmaybe he found that intriguing and exotic? And sexy?"
Catherine was quiet for a long moment, staring at her feet.Finally she said, "You know, I think you may have something there.I've been having a lot of dreams lately where I'm feeling kind oftrapped and overwhelmed. And as for that exotic business--well, Ican't deny that Vincent is pretty exotic, and about as far as you canget from the boys I grew up with. And I sure think he's the sexiestthing on two feet. I often find myself thinking about him at work..."
"Hmm...yes, I heard about that famous Council meeting. Let's see,I believe your husband was forced to sit through the entire thingwith a book on his lap. Speculation was you were bored waiting incourt for your case to come up and amused youself fantasizing..."
""That's not true," Catherine replied. "I wasn't fantasizing, Iwas..."
"Yes?"
Catherine gulped. "I was remembering," she admitted weakly. "AndVincent assured me no one noticed."
"Well, perhaps he was less aware of his surroundings than usual,"Jenny grinned wickedly.
Catherine decided a change of subject was definitely in order. "Idid buy Vincent a Valentine's day present today." As she describedher find to Jenny, the germ of an idea began to form in her mind. Themore she thought about it, the more she was convinced that Jenny wasright. Suddenly, that spur-of-the-moment gift began to have the mostintriguing possibilities ...
Vincent led the weary crew that returned to the Hub after twoweeks of almost nonstop repair, rebuilding and maintenance. Only thethought of seeing Catherine again at last kept him putting one footin front of the other. His only regret was that it was still earlyFriday afternoon, and his conscientious wife would still be at work.Probably just as well, since a trip to the baths was definitely inorder for all his crew before they could inflict themselves on politesociety.
Reaching his chamber--his and Catherine's for over two yearsnow--Vincent smiled to see a note on the bedside table in herunmistakable hand. It was decorated with the print of her nowjust-as-familiar lips. He opened it quickly, with hands that showedonly the slightest tremor. Reading it, a frown of puzzlement crossedhis features, and stayed there until he heard a tentative voice callhis name. "Come in, Mary."
As she entered the inner chamber, Mary smiled to see the note inVincent's hand. "Oh good, you found it. Catherine asked me to makesure you saw it as soon as you returned."
"Do you know anything about this?" Vincent asked her. "I don'tunderstand why she wants me to have dinner Below and come up to thehouse later. We haven't seen each other for two weeks, I would havethought..."
"Vincent, dear," Mary chided, "Hasn't it occured to you she mighthave something special planned and need time to prepare? Do yourealize what day this is? I know you've been out of touch for a whilebut..."
"Valentine's Day!" Vincent exclaimed.
"Yes..." Mary smiled slowly. "Don't you think it's possible thaton Valentine's Day after she hasn't seen her husband in two weeks,Catherine might want to make the evening something a little out ofthe ordinary? Perhaps she wants you there just for dessert."
The realization of what possibilities the evening might offersuddenly burst into Vincent's tired brain. He felt himself blushfuriously, and greatly regretted the fact that there was no largebook immediately at hand. He moved quickly (if somewhat stiffly) tosit behind his writing table.
"Oh, Vincent!" Mary shook her head, chuckling. "I've been a wife,and a nurse. You needn't look so mortified." Mercifully, she left thechamber at that point, sparing Vincent the necessity of attempting toexplain there were certain things a man felt uncomfortablerevealing--verbally or otherwise--to a woman who was, to all intentsand purposes, his mother.
Two weeks eating trail food instead of home cooking had made therepair crew ravenous, so William had made extra in anticipation. OnlyVincent seemed unable to do justice to the generous meal. William'sand Father's expressions of concern were eventually squelched byMary's remark about saving room for dessert, after which theirattention was pre-empted by Vincent's sudden choking fit. Excusinghimself as early as possible without being rude, Vincent escaped tohis chamber to pace until the appointed hour came at last.
He steeled himself to walk, not run, along a familiar route,coming at last to the unobtrusive entrance to a stairway that led tothe basement of a certain house in the West 70s. He even managed totake those stairs only one at a time, and open the concealed doorcarefully. He stood in the wine cellar a moment, taking several deepbreaths, then entered the basement and climbed the stairs to thekitchen. He began to hear the sounds of music playing softly in thebackground. He opened the door into the dimly lit kitchen, andfollowed his unerring sense of Catherine's location.
The library was dim as well, lit only by a modest fire, and smalllamps here and there. Catherine was seated behind the table they usedfor chess, and Vincent's heart began to race as he saw her. Her hairwas piled softly on her head and caught with antiquesilver-and-garnet combs that had belonged to her grandmother. Littlewisps and tendrils escaped with carefully orchestrated casualness. Adark red cut-velvet shawl covered her shoulders. Vincent became awarethat the room was much cooler than usual. Perhaps his exquisitelytuned senses told him that. Perhaps he deduced it because his eyeswere glued to Catherine's breasts, where her erect nipples werecovered by a satiny fabric the color of pewter and apparently not agreat deal thicker than tissue paper. Long on the bottom but verybrief on the top, the dress clung like light on water.
"Hello, dear heart." Catherine's voice pulled him out of ahormone-induced coma. "It's nice to have you back. Why don't you sitdown?" She motioned to the chair opposite her. "I thought we'd have anice game of chess."
Vincent stared, unable to speak. She wanted to play chess?When he was ready to explode? When he wanted to do nothing more thanremove their respective garments in record time, in pieces ifnecessary, and make up for two weeks of deprivation? She was usuallyjust as eager as he after a separation--why this sudden interest inchess? What was going on?
"Mary," he managed to choke out, "thought you wanted me here fordessert."
"What a perceptive woman," Catherine said brightly. "I do indeed.I've just managed to discover a way to kill two birds with one stone,as it were." Catherine leaned forward. "Look closely at the chessset."
That was easier said than done, since as Catherine leaned, the topof her dress slipped even further downward. If she leaned any more,the top of the rook would touch the creamy skin of her breast, andhe'd have to lick it off...Vincent's furry nose twitched as theimport of that intriguing image finally reached his brain (havingtaken a circuitous route through his groin). "It--it's chocolate!" Hetore his eyes away from Catherine's bosom to focus on the board. Theunmistakable scent of dark and white chocolate wafted up to him; hecouldn't imagine how he'd missed it before. "That's why it's so coolin here."
"Right." Catherine beamed at her star pupil. "Woudn't want thepieces to melt before the game is finished." She stroked the darkqueen with a slender finger, brought the finger to her lusciouslypainted lips, and licked it delicately with the tip of her tongue."In this game you don't just capture your opponent's pieces..." Shesmiled wickedly at her husband. "You eat them."
Vincent swallowed hard, willing his hands to unclench. Hewas still hungry. And he did like the taste of chocolate.Almost as much as--
"That's why I'm playing the black, dear." The sound of Catherine'svoice wrenched him away from contemplation of a mental image thatcertainly would have brought a blush to Mary's cheeks. Or maybe not."I know white chocolate's a bit too sweet for your taste. This wayyou get to eat the finest Belgian dark every time you take a pieceaway from me. Aren't I a thoughtful wife?"
Clearly Catherine had put a great deal of thought into thisevening, Vincent mused, although he still wasn't too clear about hermotivation. She hardly needed to seduce him, after all. She was wellaware that his hunger for her was as constant as hers for him. Ifanything, he worried about needing more than she was comfortably ableto give--although, come to think of it, that hadn't happened inalmost two years of marriage. Hmm...maybe women weren't quite asdelicate in that area as Father had implied.
"Your move," Catherine said.
Vincent marshalled his wandering thoughts and determined toconcentrate on the game--or games. Whatever Catherine was playinghere, it was certain he'd enjoy it. He looked at the board andstudied Catherine's move. Years of chess training took over and hihis higher cortical functions began to awaken. This was going to beinteresting. His mouth watered in anticipation.
Catherine played recklessly. One might suspect she didn't intendfor the game to be a long one. Nevertheless, her strategy led her tobe the first to capture a piece, if only a pawn. She pounced on itwith delight. Vincent watched, mesmerised, as she licked it up anddown. Slowly the whole tip disappeared into her mouth and a littlesound of pleasure escaped her. Eventually the whole thing wasdevoured, and Catherine licked her fingers in between little sighs ofsatisfaction. "Delicious," she purred, "But rather small. I hope thenext one is bigger."
Vincent nearly fell off his chair as every part of his body butone went limp. Holding on to the table for dear life, he determinedto win this game quickly. Between his skill and Catherine'srecklessness, the game continued at a breakneck pace. He didn't evenpause to eat the pieces he captured, until at last he was in aposition to take Catherine's Queen and....
"Check." As he was about to add the Queen to her pile of subjects,Vincent had second thoughts. Raising his eyes to Catherine's face henoted the flush on her cheeks, her parted lips, and way that silverysatin moved over her breasts as she breathed more quickly. He leanedback in his chair and raised the Queen to his lips. Catherine's eyesnever left his mouth as he slowly devoured it, piece by creamy piece,and then licked each finger clean with his rougher-than-human tongue.After he was finished, Vincent looked at Catherine. "Your move."
Catherine looked at the chessboard, then at Vincent, then back atthe board. She could only delay the inevitable. Or...she made hermove. Then Vincent's hand reached out to take her King.
"Mate."
"I thought you'd never ask," Catherine breathed as she rose andmoved toward him. Vincent rose at the same time and crushed heragainst him as he sought her mouth with his. The shawl fell to thefloor unnoticed as Catherine raised her arms to entwine them aroundhis neck and buried her hands in his golden hair.
The taste of Catherine and chocolate mingled on Vincent's tongueas she opened her mouth to his. He could feel her pleasure as sheexplored the unique shape of his mouth and flicked her tongue alonghis canines. Finally Vincent released her mouth and began to kiss hisway down the side of Catherine's neck as her hands slid down hisback, frantically pulling his shirt out of his pants. She gasped asVincent suddenly swept her into his arms and carried her over to thesofa. Laying her down gently, he pulled the shirt over his head andknelt on the floor beside her.
"Oh, God, I've missed you!" Catherine cried softly as her handreached out to stroke the silken fur of his chest. Vincent bent hishead to continue his line of kisses to her shoulder, where he tookthe thin strap of her gown in his teeth and pulled it down as far ashe could. At the same time his hand slid the strap down on the otherside. He kissed his way along the line where the shimmering fabricstill barely covered her breasts. Catherine moaned and arched towardVincent's mouth as he slowly traced that line of demarcation with histongue. she rolled toward him, burying her face in his chest as sheexposed her back. As her tongue found the skin beneath the fur,Vincent's shaking fingers managed to guide the zipper down herback.
Vincent sat back as Catherine stood. A small movement of hershoulders caused the gown to fall in a liquid puddle around her feet.Vincent was not surprised to discover there had been very littleunder it. Her legs were covered to the thighs by shimmery stockingsthe same silvery color as her gown, with no visible means of support.Around her hips there was a nothing but the smallest silken trianglesupported by a few lacy strings. Fascinated, Vincent stroked it withhis hand, then rubbed with his nose. It seemed so delicate he wasafraid his rough cheek would tear it.
Coming out of his daze, Vincent realized the effect his actionswere having on Catherine and smiled. "Would you like to goupstairs?"
Catherine shook her head. "I don't think my legs would support methat far." They gathered a coverlet and pillows from the sofa andkneeled to spread them on the floor in front of the fireplace. Stillkneeling, Catherine pulled Vincent against her and wrapped her armsaround his back.
"I think I would die if I couldn't have this." Catherine raisedliquid eyes to Vincent's face. "Do you have any idea how good youfeel--all that silky fur against my skin?"
"If what I can feel through our bond is accurate, it must feelvery good indeed." He pulled off his boots and lay back to letCatherine remove the rest of his clothes, which she did withalacrity. He countered by sliding that intriguing little wisp overCatherine's hips. When his fingers reached for the top of a stocking,Catherine placed her hand over his.
"Why don't you leave them?"
"Leave them?"
"Don't you think that might be interesting?" Catherine slidVincent's hand along the fabric as she moved to lie on top of him.She moved her lips close to his ear. "Think of how they'll feelagainst your back when I wrap my legs around you."
After he stopped shivering from the delicate agony of Catherine'sbreath against his ear Vincent thought about it. Between that thoughtand the magic that Catherine's hands and mouth were working as theymoved down his torso, the universe seemed to coalesce to the spacebetween his legs. When Catherine's exploring hand finally reachedthat spot, he jerked spasmodically. "Catherine, I can't..."
Without a word, Catherine rolled onto her back. Taking Vincent'shand, she placed it on her breast and pulled him toward her."Concentrate on something else for awhile."
Vincent proceeded to explore Catherine's body as thoroughly as shehad explored his. Familiar as this had become to him, he never tiredof it. He marveled at the softness of her skin against hiswork-roughened hands, at the pleasure she felt at the touch of thosehands. The feel of her perfumed skin against his sensitive mouth wasno less a pleasure for him than for her. Lost in a maelstrom ofsensation, he was almost startled when Catherine clutched at himsuddenly.
"Now!"
He raised his head to look into her eyes, a strange smoky greennow, filled with a need as great as his. Their eyes held; her handguided him as he plunged slowly into her depths. He held still for amoment, the overwhelming sensation of being one with his beloved inboth flesh and spirit almost too acute to bear. As Catherine clutchedat him in urgency he began to move, and she met him in a rythmn thathad become as familiar and necessary to them as breathing. As hethrust faster and deeper, he felt Catherine's legs wrap around him.Surrounded by the scent and sound and feel of Catherine, theunexpected touch of sensuous fabric against his back and thrustinghips sent him over the edge. It was the last distinct sensation heremembered, as consciousness almost dissolved in the flood ofoverwhelming pleasure.
The first thing he noticed as awareness returned was Catherine,watching him with her chin propped on her hand. The last time he hadseen that look, it had been on Bulwer's furry face after he'd knockedover a cream pitcher and gorged himself on the spoils. "Well," shesaid, "I guess you liked my Valentine's Day present a lot. I wasmentally reviewing what Mary taught me about CPR."
"It was certainly the most interesting holiday I've had since theWinterfest we became lovers." Vincent stroked Catherine's cheek withthe back of his hand. "I'm not complaining, mind you, but I'mcurious--what brought all this on?"
Catherine sighed happily. "I just wanted to make sure life didn'tget too predictable now that we've settled down. I wanted to add alittle excitement to our lives that didn't involve life-threateningsituations. I don't want to go back to our early days--I love thehappily-ever-after part--but I don't want things to get tooroutine."
Vincent lay back, amazed. "You work as a prosecutor, dealing withpeople from every stratum of society. You're married to me--hardlythe typical spouse--and lead a double life that you have to hide frommost of the people you know Topside. You have a lovely old brownstonethat happens to sit on top of a whole world that lies beneathManhattan, and that's your second home. And you're worried that lifeis becoming routine."
Catherine pouted. "I don't want you to get bored. I don't want tobecome boring, just because I'm not getting shot at regularlynow."
Vincent pulled Catherine down to rest in the curve of his arm. "IfI did nothing for the rest of my life but sit and watch you donothing every day, I would not be bored. You aren't really concernedabout that, are you?"
Catherine snuggled against him and smiled. "Well, not really. ButI had great fun planning all this, and buying the outfit. And it wasnice to find out I could still be seductive. I was afraid I'dforgotten how. Let's face it, with you my wiles are about asnecessary as lighter fluid in Kilauea. All I usually have to do toget you in the mood is be awake."
"Good grief, Catherine, you make me sound sex-crazed. If you'dprefer that I restrain myself..."
Catherine thumped him on the chest. "I'd prefer that you not evensuggest such a thing. You know perfectly well that you can tellthrough the bond when I'm not in the mood."
"Which is only under the influence of complete exhaustion,"Vincent pointed out.
"Sometimes not even then," Catherine confessed, "but I don't wantto give you a taste for necrophilia."
Vincent laughed. "You come out with the most astonishing remarksat times. I can't imagine ever finding you predictable."
Well, good," Catherine responded happily. "I guess this littleplan was a success. I was afraid for a moment there I was letting youget so frustrated you'd hurt yourself. It's hard to remember you wereonce afraid you didn't have enough self-control to m make love tome."
"I certainly will never worry about that again after tonight. Iadmit things were a bit strained at times, but that much anticipationmade the eventual release extremely...rewarding."
Catherine gave a ladylike snort. "All the same, I'd better not trythis too often. If things get any more 'rewarding' for you I may needto lay in a supply of smelling salts."
Vincent merely smiled in somewhat dazed reminiscence, as Catherinesettled against him contentedly. It had been spectacular. What morecould a man ask? They lay quietly for some time, basking in a lengthyafterglow and renewing their energy. Vincent could still taste thechocolate. He hadn't had it often as a child--life in the Tunnelsprovided little in the way of indulgences. Catherine indulged himshamelessly, however, and he had developed quite a fondness for it.Actually, he had developed a taste for quite a few other thingsCatherine provided that he had been deprived of for too many years.And chocolate was not the most appetizing... As if reading his mind,Catherine began to stroke his chest and run a stocking-clad footalong his lower leg.
"Catherine, do you know what Theobroma is?"
"Actually, I do," Catherine replied smugly. "It's the Latin namefor chocolate. It means 'food of the gods.' Not a bad description, Ialways thought."
"Perhaps," Vincent said huskily. "But it's not what I think of asfood of the gods."
Catherine's hand began to travel lower as her breathing quickened."Would you like to tell me what you do think of?"
"I'd rather show you."
"Well--you've had a long day. Are you sure you'll be able toconcentrate on your task?"
Vincent nodded solemnly. "Quite sure. It won't be hard."
Catherine grinned as her hand found its goal. "Oh, yes it will.Just watch." As the ever-conscientious Catherine bent to her task,she congratulated herself on the success of her plan. This wasshaping up to be a very happy Valentine's Day indeed. And the therewas still chocolate to eat.
"My Furry Valentine" © 1996 byEdith L. Crowe
Comments & questions to ecrowe1228@aol.com
First published in A Kingdom by the Seaconzine (July, 1996)
About the Author: Edith Crowe is anacademic librarian who has been involved in various fandoms (startingwith Star Trek) since 1972. Beauty and the Beast,however, is the one she's most emotional about and the first (and sofar only) one to inspire her to write fiction. She had seven"continuing classic" stories published in the late 80s and early 90s,in zines now out of print. Newer stories have been published inseveral in issues of Sanctuary.