Where the Light Plays

by C. Fonseca

  Andi carefully pulled back the sheet to admire the sensuous curves of Caitlin’s body, the gentle hollow of her neck. Andi longed to reach out, to caress her perfect breasts. Her heart raced, as she remembered their hours of shared passion. Andi inched closer, her fingers trembling as she skimmed along the subtle wave from Caitlin’s shoulder to her thigh. Body surfing.

  There was nothing more beautiful than a woman’s body. This woman’s body. The way the light flowed over her, accentuating her details and dipping into the shadows…

  A hand closed around Andi’s wrist. Startled, she blinked as Caitlin met her gaze with sleepy blue eyes.

  Andi laughed guiltily. Caught.

  Caitlin whispered in a husky voice, “And a good morning to you.” She tightened her grip on Andi’s wrist and moved sensuously. Andi bit on her bottom lip as Caitlin lengthened her body in a long, languid stretch, like a panther stirring from sleep. Lost for words, she could only grin.

  Caitlin released Andi and stifled a yawn. “How long have you been awake? What are you up to?” she asked, as she threaded her fingers through Andi’s hair and pressed her lips tenderly against Andi’s forehead.

  “Would you believe body surfing?” she asked and nuzzled Caitlin’s neck.

  “Oh?” One eyebrow arched enquiringly. “Tell me more.”

  Caitlin stared at her with such intensity that Andi, suddenly shy, lowered her gaze.

  In one swift movement, Caitlin rolled onto her back and pulled Andi on top of her.

  Caitlin’s nails lightly grazed her shoulder; her eyes sparkled playfully. “Better still…why don’t you just show me?”

  * * *

  The enticing, mellow scents of vanilla and star anise combined with the pulsating steam to calm Andi’s senses. She luxuriated under the cascading water from the rain showerhead. The heat soothed her aching muscles. It was like standing under a waterfall in a tropical jungle.

  Andi recalled the overwhelming sensations. Caitlin everywhere. All at once. It was more than just the heart-pounding way her body responded to Caitlin’s touch. It wasn’t just the sexual energy between them—and there was plenty of that. When Caitlin had let down her guard, they had shared an emotional connection, a mutual tenderness and affection.

  Andi wrapped herself in a soft, amazingly absorbent bath sheet. She stepped out of the bathroom and into the walk-in wardrobe to browse the rows of colour-organised garments on coat hangers and neatly folded on shelves. She stepped around a small overnight bag, searched for last night’s discarded clothes, and realised they were in Caitlin’s bedroom. Maybe she could borrow something of Caitlin’s to wear? She didn’t feel like putting on last night’s clothes. Not yet.

  Andi ran her hand along the first rack of elegant, classic pieces. Tailored linen, hemp, and light wool trousers, shirts, and jackets. She grinned at the couple of knee-length pencil skirts and a very sexy little black dress. Andi would definitely like to see Caitlin wearing that. The rack on the opposite wall held a range of more edgy clothes, from faded Levi’s, plaid trousers, an emerald-green peacoat, and a cropped vintage biker jacket in the softest leather. She moved to the neat shelves of T-shirts, cardigans, and jumpers. There, something caught her eye. Draped over a stylish Japanese valet was a long, sage-green cashmere jumper. Andi held it against her face and inhaled, taking in the fragrance that had haunted her since meeting Caitlin. She’d found the small bottle of Tallulah Jane Aiyana perfume on a glass shelf in the chic, grey and white tiled bathroom. Rose, vanilla, and a hint of lemon. Warm, sexy, decisively feminine, earthy, and so Caitlin.

  She shed the towel and pulled the feather-light, soft as down cashmere over her head. Caitlin was a few centimetres taller, so the V-neck jumper rested halfway between Andi’s thighs and knees. Snug and comfortable, she caught sight of her reflection in the full-length mirror and ran her hand through her tousled hair. She sighed contentedly. It would do for now.

  Andi was starving. It was time to explore and find something to eat.

  In the kitchen, Andi opened the blind above the sink, and sunlight flooded the room. She scratched her head and stared at the cone-shaped Bugatti kettle until she found the switch. The handle had a clock and self-timer, and it flashed, asking her to set the temperature. What the hell?

  Andi decided Caitlin was not the type to use teabags. She hunted through the rollout drawers for leaf tea and a teapot.

  She placed her teacup and saucer carefully on a placemat at one end of the ash refectory table in the dining area and looked through a timber casement window at what looked like the formal entrance garden.

  Inside a bluestone and wrought iron fence, the garden was lush and green, with neatly clipped box hedges forming geometric patterns parallel to a tessellated tiled path. On either side of the path were rows of coral maples, under planted with hydrangea and pinkish-white, oriental hellebores.

  Bouncing bunyips…what is this place? Andi asked herself.

  She grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl on the stone island bench and sat at the table to eat it and finish her tea. She gazed around the apartment. It was spacious, eclectically decorated, and stylishly furnished with a classic sectional sofa, two green Featherston contour chairs, and large, stainless steel arch floor lamps. The accompanying coffee table, sideboard, and media stand were sleek and contemporary. The vaulted ceiling had a combination of recessed and industrial pendant lamps. Elegant and chic—just like Caitlin.

  Andi took her empty cup to the sink and poured a fresh cup of tea for Caitlin. She remembered Caitlin liked hers strong and black.

  She placed the steaming teacup on Caitlin’s bedside table, next to a small carriage clock. It was eight in the morning. Andi felt pretty good, considering she’d only had three hours sleep.

  “Okay Caitlin Quinn, you gorgeous sleepyhead, I’ll let you rest a little longer,” Andi whispered as she made her way back to the living area.

  She noticed a set of four framed photographs displayed in a row on the wall next to a flat-screen TV. While each picture shared the same viewpoint, they were clearly taken during different seasons. The first three showed a sapphire-blue sweeping ocean, majestic cliffs, and pastures of the deepest, most vivid green imaginable. The last was a winter scene, the green fields now snow-covered and the sea a stormy grey with billowing, dark clouds. These must be Caitlin’s photographs. Caitlin certainly knew how to use that top-of-the-range Leica. The rugged cliffs looked a little like the Great Ocean Road, near the Port Campbell National Park. However, the green pastures and high peaks were unmistakably Ireland.

  Andi paused briefly in the foyer. The bookcases that lined the walls were filled with art and history books, along with shelves dedicated to English literature—works by Shakespeare, Jane Austen, Homer, Virginia Woolf, and Browning. There were also Irish writers and poets—Edna O’Brien, Oscar Wilde, and George Bernard Shaw. From the look of Caitlin’s book collection, she certainly was well read.

  She wandered down the steps to the door that led into the first-floor rooms. Last night, she had walked with Caitlin on polished wooden floors, the chandeliers glistening above. She wanted to explore further.

  Andi pressed the large, green knob on the wall, and the door slid open in a smooth motion. She stepped through, and the door slammed shut.

  “Oh no! That was a smart move. How will I get back into the apartment?” she muttered.

  She spied a bell beside the door with the word Private written below and breathed a sigh of relief. She wouldn’t have to scale the outside of the building, wearing only the green jumper. But she would have to wake Caitlin.

  Andi couldn’t find a light switch. She walked carefully down the hallway, and her eyes adjusted to the semidarkness. She reached a left turn, finding herself on a wide landing facing the front of the house. Rays of coloured light danced through impressive stained glass windows. Andi peered over the ornate, curved-iron balustrade and saw a broad, sweeping staircase that descended elegantly into a spacious entrance foyer. She was gobsmacked. W
as this where Caitlin’s Aunt Isabella lived?

  The walls on the landing were decorated with ornately framed oil paintings. A large portrait caught her eye, and she moved to stand in front of it. Painted in the late modernist style, it depicted a seated woman, perhaps in her sixties, wearing a mauve, flowing shirt and tailored, grey trousers. The use of bold brush strokes and exaggerated lines gave the woman a confident and larger-than-life disposition. She was striking and vaguely androgynous.

  “That’s my Maggie you’re admiring.” A woman’s voice startled Andi. It was soft, with a hint of an Irish accent.

  “Now would be a good time for the floor to open up and swallow me,” Andi muttered. She turned and pulled nervously at the hem of the borrowed jumper.

  A fine-boned, elegant woman stood just a few metres away, and before Andi could say a word, she held out her hand and said gently, “Hello, I’m Isabella, and you must be Andréa. I’m so happy to meet you, at last.”

  Andi accepted Isabella’s hand and took a deep breath. “I’m happy to meet you too, Ms…”

  Isabella looked directly at Andi with a bemused smile. “Isabella. Please, call me Isabella.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Isabella.” Andi couldn’t help but stare; Caitlin and her grandaunt shared the same deep blue eyes. Although Isabella’s eyes were less intense, they were no less dynamic.

  “I’m so sorry to be wandering around your home. I hope I’m not trespassing?”

  Isabella shook her head. “No Andréa, you’re not trespassing.” She patted Andi’s hand comfortingly. “This is Caitlin’s home too, and you are welcome here.” Isabella looked up at the life-size portrait of Maggie. “This was our home, when my Maggie was alive—but I now live in a cottage out the back. Near the rose garden. Speaking of Caitlin, where is my lovely grandniece?”

  Andi shifted from one foot to the other. She was not dressed appropriately to be talking to anyone, especially not Caitlin’s grandaunt. What was she thinking? Roaming around the mansion, half-dressed.

  “She is sleeping,” Andi said and remembered her embarrassing predicament. “I seem to have locked myself out of the apartment by mistake. I don’t know the passcode…”

  Isabella’s face crinkled with laughter, and her eyes filled with mischief. “Oh, you did, did you? Lock yourself out? Well, let us see if we can remedy that situation.”

  “Remedy what situation?” asked Caitlin. They both turned towards her. Andi felt a rush of tenderness. Caitlin’s hair was dishevelled, her skin flushed from sleep. She was the most beautiful sight, standing there in a lavender sleepshirt.

  “Hi,” Andi whispered. She looked down at her own attire. Her entire body felt flushed and overheated.

  “Good morning.” Caitlin smiled. She glanced at Andi’s bare legs. Her voice was a slow caress, and Andi almost dissolved into a puddle.

  Isabella coughed softly.

  “Isabella, a very good morning to you. I see you two have met.” Caitlin grinned.

  Unlike Andi, Caitlin appeared at ease and totally composed.

  It was surreal, the three of them standing there together. Andi and Caitlin were hardly dressed for the occasion. Andi rocked on the balls of her feet and glanced around the landing. It was safer to look anywhere other than at Caitlin.

  Behind where Isabella stood was a vast room with parquetry floors, decorative high ceilings, and pendant lighting. So much space—large enough to be a ballroom.

  “Andi?” At the sound of her name, Andi refocused. She felt light-headed and her stomach rumbled loudly.

  Isabella chuckled. “Caitlin, I think you need to feed our guest. I do believe Andi is in need of nourishment.” As she turned away, her low-heeled, black pumps clapped on the shiny floorboards. “Enjoy your day, girls. I may see you both later. I’m off to my Saturday game of mahjong.”

  Caitlin put her arm around her grandaunt. “I’ll walk you down…”

  “You’ll do no such thing,” Isabella protested. “I’ll use the lift. Thank you, dear. The car will be here soon to collect me. I just came up to put some mail on your desk.” Isabella turned to face Andi. “Hopefully, we will have more time to talk next time I see you, Andréa. Now, I think you should persuade Caitlin to prepare you one of her special cheese omelettes. Simply delicious.” She gave them a friendly wave. “Bye-bye.”

  Andi bid Isabella good morning as the small elevator door at the end of the hallway closed.

  “Well, what do you think?” asked Caitlin. Her arms snaked around Andi’s waist—which caused the jumper to rise dangerously up Andi’s thighs.

  “Oh, she is lovely. She has your eyes. I mean, you have her eyes,” Andi rambled. “She is very sweet.”

  Caitlin tugged Andi’s sleeve. “I mean are you ready for breakfast? But yes, she is very sweet.” She grinned and smoothly moved her palm down the soft wool that Andi was acutely aware barely covered her bottom. “Thank you for the tea. That was very thoughtful.”

  Andi snuggled into the warmth of Caitlin’s shoulder. “You’re welcome.”

  Caitlin trailed her hand down Andi’s arm and entwined their fingers together. “How did you sleep? Did you get any sleep?” Caitlin asked.

  Andi nodded. “Enough.” She looked at their joined hands.

  “I had the best night I’ve had in ages.” Caitlin squeezed her hand.

  They walked back to the spiral staircase. Caitlin gave a graceful bow. “After you, Andréa. By the way, my cashmere looks so much better on you. Exceptional, in fact.”

  She swallowed. The look on Caitlin’s face was shameless. Andi shook her head. “I don’t think so.” She pushed Caitlin gently forward. “Beauty first, you lead. I might get lost on the way…”

  Caitlin took Andi’s hand in hers. “I think we’ll do this together…shall we?”

  * * *

  Caitlin sautéd thinly sliced onions in butter, along with chopped vine tomatoes. Andi swivelled on the bar stool at the kitchen island bench and watched her crack eggs with one hand. She separated the whites into a ceramic bowl and vigorously whisked until they were light and fluffy. She combined it with the yolks and poured the mixture over the tomatoes and onions.

  Andi looked ravenous—and ravishing.

  “Can I help?” she asked.

  Caitlin pointed to the loaf on the breadboard. “Could you slice the sourdough and do the toast in five minutes? The grill is already on. She looked around and grinned at Andi. “The coffee machine is ready. Breakfast won’t be long.”

  Andi read the label on the shiny, red coffee maker. “Francis Francis X1. I’m glad it’s ready, because I wouldn’t know what to do with it. I had enough trouble with the kettle.”

  “It’s actually very simple. Insert the capsule, press the button…voila, a full-bodied espresso with spectacular créma.”

  “If that’s all it takes, I think I can manage to press a few buttons,” Andi said. She moved to stand behind Caitlin.

  “Cheeky brat.” Caitlin snapped the tea towel at Andi’s thigh. “The chef is not on the menu…yet.”

  “Hey, that’s not fair.” Andi held Caitlin’s wrist and grabbed the tea towel.

  “Unhand the cook, or breakfast will burn.” Caitlin sprinkled fresh herbs and grated cheese onto the egg mixture and placed the half-cooked omelette under the grill.

  “Yum, I’m starving.” Andi went to the other side of the bench and prepared the toast. “Who are you really?” she asked.

  Caitlin grabbed the plates, cutlery, and serviettes and placed them on the bench. “What do you mean?”

  Andi looked around and shrugged her shoulders. “I mean… Are you some kind of Irish royalty or something? This place is incredible. The art on the walls downstairs. I have a million questions.”

  Caitlin divided the omelette onto two plates, slid the toast into a rack, and went around the bench. She kissed Andi leisurely, taking time to enjoy the feel of Andi’s body against hers. “How about we take all this to the table and start our breakfast before you faint away wi
th hunger? Then you can ask me anything you like,” Caitlin said.

  “Sounds like a plan.” Andi took a step back. “I might just go find my trousers.”

  Caitlin had pulled on a pair of loose-fitting yoga pants before she’d started cooking, but Andi was still dressed only in the soft jumper she’d borrowed from Caitlin’s closet.

  “You don’t need them. No one else will join us for breakfast, I promise. My clothes look good on you. I’m sure we can find you something else later.” She pulled out a chair.

  Andi took her seat. She looked adorably sheepish, and Caitlin kissed the top of her head. “Now, eat. You need to keep your strength up,” Caitlin said.

  Andi slipped a forkful of omelette into her mouth. “Hmm…” She moaned.

  Caitlin sipped her espresso and looked on while Andi took a bite of toast. When the melted butter slid off, she licked her lips.

  “I’m sorry. I was so hungry.” Andi dabbed at her mouth with a napkin.

  “Don’t apologise. I love that you enjoy my cooking.” Caitlin lifted her fork. “Eating should be sensual and mindful, engaging all the senses.” She reached for Andi’s hand. “When I travelled in India, I saw people eat with their fingers. They delight in the sensual pleasures of eating. Sight, smell, sound, taste, and touch—they believe that using your hands gives you a tactile connection with your food.” Caitlin dragged her hand across Andi’s thigh, making her gasp. She pressed her palm into Andi’s flesh just to hear her make that sound again. “And it’s a sensuous experience watching you eat.” Caitlin cleared her throat. “You had some questions for me?”

  “Yes, if it’s still okay?” Andi patted her stomach. She’d all but licked the plate clean. “Thank you, that was scrummy. I think my blood sugar level is back to normal.”

  “Well, I am delighted to hear that. Can’t have you light-headed, can we?” Caitlin asked.

  Andi fidgeted and twisted about on her chair. “I knew from Kinsale that your grandaunt was unique, but this place is mind-boggling. Tell me about Maggie.”