A Vision of Green (Florence Vaine #2) (22 page)

“
Because she likes you,” I tell him. “More than likes actually, she's a little bit infatuated with you. I'm an Empath remember, I can s-see these things.”

“
I remember,” Sam says warmly. “And to answer your question, we're work colleagues, it wouldn't be appropriate.”

“
It's about as appropriate as talking to one of your students over the phone at half past eleven at night,” I reply, with a small burst of bravery.

Sam laughs yet again. “That's different and you know it. I might be your Guidance Counsellor, but we're part of a hidden world Flo, and you're but a child in it. That means I'll do my best to lead and protect you, whether it means saving you from a coven of witches or having a heart to heart with you at,” he pauses, seemingly to check his watch, “eleven twenty-three on a Saturday night.”

“
Fine. You win. I still think you should invite Miss W-waterfield out for dinner though. It would be nice, romantic even..”

“
I'll think about it, good enough for you?” Sam accedes.

I smile to myself and tell him it is. We talk for at least another hour. He somehow manages to turn the conversation back onto my dad, and I tell him things about my life before Chesterport. Things that I've never told anyone before, all providing a larger picture of my dad and the way he is. When we finally say our goodbyes I'm both emotionally and physically exhausted. I fall asleep as soon as my head hits the pillow.

I spend my Sunday trying to put the house back to rights after Dad's party. Sal is asleep on the couch when I go downstairs in the morning. I have to wake up several stragglers and ask them to leave. Lunch time comes and goes, but Dad still hasn't emerged from his cave. I take a quick peek into his room to make sure the woman he was with last night isn't still there. I can just imagine the drama that would ensue if Sal happened upon her. Dad's alone, snoring loudly, and I sigh in relief, ticking that would-be emergency off my list.

I scrub the kitchen floor until it sparkles, with a whimsical idea in my head of being a modern day Cinderella. There have certainly been a lot of cinders in my life. Despite there being a prince, it's a tragic story, because right now I can't have him. I probably could if I was brave,
really
brave like one of those heroines in action movies. Heroines who look and act like Layla, tall, beautiful, smart mouthed and clever.

Or maybe I could be a heroine in a romantic comedy, someone like Caroline, who has everything going for her, not to mention a wicked sense of humour. In a romantic comedy starring Caroline she'd finally get her prince in the end. Perhaps Alex would be her prince. He'd be a modern day Mr Darcy; rude, cocky and a little dismissive, but at long last his eyes would open and he'd see the perfect girl who'd been standing right in front of him all along. He just couldn't see her until it was almost too late.

I might not have the ideal set up, what with Dad and everything, but I'm lucky to have so many amazing people in my life. Girls whose strength I can aspire to, a boy who makes my heart flutter, a half angel who'll be my sounding board whenever I need guidance. Yeah, it's not a perfect world, but it's not a bad one either.

Later that day I leave the house for a couple of hours and go walking with my headphones on. The alone time is good for clearing my head. Taking Sam's advice, I steer clear of the forest. I do a lot of thinking. When I finally drag myself back to the house I'm all ready to face another raging party, or Dad and Sal drunk and dancing wildly around the living room. Only that's not what I find. The house is empty, it's as clean as I left it before I went out. And God, it's quiet, beautifully, wonderfully silent. I find a note stuck to the fridge with one of Gran's old magnets that has a picture of carnations on it. I immediately recognise Dad's scrawled handwriting. It reads:

Gone out for the night. Be back in the morning. Don't wait up.

Ah, so heartfelt.
Not
. One of the few times I ever got peace back in the city was when Dad went out on a bender. My head floats with the knowledge that I have the place to myself for the whole night. I grab my keys and make sure that the front and back doors are locked, because I'm sort of paranoid like that. Remember I said Dad's friends would sometimes stumble into my room at night, looking for the toilet? Well there was no lock for that door, but to make sure I had some way of defending myself I'd keep a small kitchen knife under my pillow. I never had to use it, which was lucky. But years of being on guard is hard to shake off. I shut all of the windows too.

Then I go upstairs and take my time running the perfect bath. I avoid using the rose water Gran gave me. The scent reminds me of her too much, and I don't want to spend this free time crying in confusion over whether I should feel love or hate for her. Her ashes might be sitting on the window sill downstairs, but she's gone. That's all that matters.

After a long soak I wrap up in fresh pyjamas and make myself some hot chocolate from the jar that I hid in the top cupboard the other day. I sit in the living room, the grey light outside fading ever darker. I haven't turned on the lampshade yet, and I watch as people pass by out on the street. My nerves give a quick jolt when I hear a sudden knock at the front door.

I quietly shuffle to the hallway in my slippers, and peer out through the carved glass to the side of the porch. Behind it stands a tall male shape. It's only when the mystery knocker runs his fingers through his hair in a familiar gesture that I know it's Frank. What's he doing here? If Dad had been home there would have been hell to pay.

I rush to answer it and pull Frank inside quickly. “What's wrong?” I ask him anxiously, flicking the lock back over.

He laughs. “Nothing. Does there have to be something wrong for me to come and see you? I wanted to check how you were feeling after your ordeal yesterday.” He pauses and glances about. “You alone?”

“
Yes. You could have just called me.”

Frank sucks in an amused breath. “I could have, it wouldn't have been quite as pleasant as seeing your pretty self in the flesh though.”

“
You're lucky Dad's out,” I say, ushering him into the living room and ignoring his compliment. “He's not so...keen on me having boys come to v-v-visit m-me.”

I sit back down on the couch and reclaim my mug of hot chocolate. Frank sits close, too close, and cocks his head to the side, grinning. “You get lots of
boys
visiting, eh?”

I give him a gentle shove. “You know that's not what I mean.”

“
Who cares about what your dad thinks. I could take him,” says Frank, joking but confident.

I sigh a little. “I don't doubt that. And I shouldn't care, but for some s-sick reason I do. Messed up, isn't it?”

Frank trails a finger through my wet hair. “Nah. Nice PJ's by the way. Never saw you in those when you stayed over at our house.”

I'm wearing my comfortable purple fleece pyjamas. They have little kittens printed on them, and aren't supposed to be seen by anyone other than me. My cheeks go slightly red. I don't breathe a word, because I'm kind of unable to.

Frank leans a fraction closer. “Did you deliberately wear ones that would show more skin when you stayed because you knew there was a chance I'd see you in them?”

I'm still stunned to silence, but I shake my head emphatically.

“
I think that's a lie, Pinocchio,” Frank goes on with an intense laugh. “Let me see, has your nose gotten longer?”

He takes his finger and runs it slowly down my nose, lingering just above my lips. His touch is electric, as always. I try to push back a tremble, but it happens anyway.

“
See the way you react to me, so instantaneous,” he whispers, and I melt at the look in his eyes. Then he seems to make an effort to sober himself. “You haven't combed out your hair yet, get a brush and I'll do it.”

Without thinking I run upstairs to grab my hairbrush and hurry back down to Frank. He slips off his boots and sits back on the couch, positioning me between his open legs. He brings the brush to my hairline and begins softly untangling the long strands. When it's all brushed out he places both of his thumbs at the nape of my neck and begins massaging. My head sinks back into him at the delicious touch. Just this. I'm letting myself have just this. Every minute that passes I tell myself that I have to stop him before he takes it too far, but then he bends down, slides my hair over to one shoulder and kisses the bared side of my neck. I can't think. Can't move. I only feel, and it's wonderful.

His hand slips beneath the fleece of my pyjama top, possibly the most unsexy garment ever created. He holds on to the soft flesh of my hip, breathing heavily against my skin.

“
You'll be the death of me,” he says and I whimper. I actually whimper. Is it possible to reverse time, please?

“
I hope not,” I reply, thinking that talking will prevent him from venturing further. It doesn't.

“
I don't ever want to be away from you, Florence,” he continues, using my full name. His free hand grips my other hip and he pulls me into him. He traces a finger down the side of my neck, across my collarbone, softly over my breast. I breathe heavily. He does too.

I stay quiet, revelling in his touch. His words. I don't want to be away from him either, everything feels right when he's around. But if I tell him that it could cause problems. He won't give me distance if he thinks I'm trying to deny myself, when really I want him. He has to go on thinking I need space. Although saying that, he's supposed to be giving me space right now, and quite frankly he's giving me anything but.

Flames encircle his hand where it rests on my stomach. I pinch one and send it some love. It's the least I can do, since I'm being so hot and cold. “Do you f-feel that?” I ask him.

“
Yes,” he says, awe in his voice. “Do it again.”

I do and he shivers behind me. “God, imagine what it could be like if we had sex,” he whispers, moving his tongue across my rapidly beating pulse.

“
Frank...”

“
I know,” he interrupts. “I'm not trying to push you, it's just, I kind of think about it all the time. Well, maybe not
all
the time, but at least 99% per cent of it,” he teases.

“
You're s-such a typical b-b-boy s-s-sometimes,” I reply quietly, my stammer getting the better of me.

“
Definitely, and you're all girl,” he answers, hands roaming again to my chest and staying there this time. “You've got nothing on under this, have you?”

I shake my head.

He closes his eyes, as though in pain. “I was afraid of that, can I take it off you?”

“
Um..”

“
Ssh,” his hands move to the hem of my pyjama top, slowly pulling it up, revealing my bare skin beneath. “Just let me,” his voice is husky now. I let him.

He flips me around so that I'm facing him, and his eyes take in all of me. I've been like this with him before, but this time it feels even more intimate. He's not as nervous as he had been then, now there's a confidence about him. It puts me on edge, exhilarates me. He touches my skin and I tremble again, I don't even bother trying to hold it back. He pulls off his t-shirt and kisses me, and I can almost feel his emotions pouring into my mouth. All of the hurt and frustration he's been feeling at my attempt to distance myself from him. It's right there, flowing from his body into mine.

His fingers flick over the elastic at the waist of my bottoms. Something about the movement halts me, and I pull away from his mouth enough to start babbling, “F-f-food, um, have you eaten dinner yet? I missed dinner, let's go make something in the kitchen.”

Abruptly I grab my top and shove it back on over my head. Frank sits up and stares at me with heat and confusion.

“
I'm not hungry honey,” he says, his voice low. A slow smile forms on his lips, a knowing smile.

I look back and forth, from him to the door. “I am. C-come eat with me? P-please.” The desperation in my voice does something to him, and he nods, putting his own top back on.

We go into the kitchen and Frank watches as I make sandwiches by the counter. He's sitting at the table. I'm trying my best to ignore the blatant red in his aura. He's still fired up, so to speak. When I'm finished I sit across from him and figure it's as good a time as any to tell him all about my encounter with the N
ø
kken and Green George. He scolds and frowns at me for not telling him sooner, but listens to me as I end my tale.