Touching Phryne
Like many of you, I am just now getting to watch any of Series 3. When I finished Episode 4, I had to write this missing scene. I couldn't sleep until I did. Phryne and Jack each react to touching Phryne. There isn't a lot of conversation…
Jack
Jack Robinson is trying to talk with Miss Fisher about their case, but he becomes distracted by her scarf. It doesn't reflect her usual perfection in dress, but what is the problem? Ah, it is torn he realizes. He moves forward questioning and moves it to the side slightly to examine it as Phryne tells him of the bayonet attack. He feels compelled to reach the very short distance between where his fingers hold the scarf to the slight bruising just visible on her neck. Her skin feels soft like silk and so very smooth; better than silk. He trails his fingers down lightly her neck, his slightly questioning glance met by a flare in her eyes that encourages him to continue as she quips, "Archie isn't the only man who's wanted to wring my neck." Pausing to agree with her, but not removing his fingers from her soft skin, drawn as he so often accuses Miss Fisher, like a moth to the flame to feel more of her skin beneath his fingers. He longs to touch her more intimately and his long fingers trail slightly lower where he receives a slightly enigmatic smile from Phryne that he takes as permission to continue.
At first he doesn't hear Dot approaching his fascination with the heat beneath his fingertips blocking out everything else. He is actually touching her, not her elbow or her waist – the touches of gentlemen in society polite yet reserved - but her pearlescent neck. He wonders if she is this soft all over and fights the urge to move his exploring fingers still lower. Dot speaks, and the Inspector drops his hand as if shot and takes a pace back to hold his hands together in front of him, immediately trying to gather the thread of the conversation. He babbles about Hugh working an extra shift and notes Miss Williams' disappointment at missing the Pictures, but also in not hearing this news from Hugh. The Inspector babbles a bit more, he really can't think beyond getting rid of Dot so he can touch Phryne again. To make sure he isn't dreaming.
Once Dot turns to leave them, Jack moves to the parlor doors as if to leave as well, but when he gets to the doors, he closes them firmly shut instead and turns to find Phryne just a step away, her luminous blue eyes questioning, uncertain. Her chest is just the slightest bit rosy he notes. Feeling bold with Concetta's observation of his heart being taken, he steps to Phryne and places his fingers on her neck again allowing them to trail down to caress the valley between her breasts, and then with just the merest whisper of a touch he allows his fingers to trail across her breast feeling rather than hearing the hitch in Phryne's breathing.
Moving his fingers back up her neck, he brushes he jaw and then rubs his thumb feather soft across her cheekbone, all the while staring into her eyes. He doesn't see panic or mere lust there. He sees, well it is best he not name it for fear it will dispel the magic of the moment. He leans in and places a barely there kiss on the mark the bayonet left on her skin. Then he kisses her neck again and again following the path his fingers took just moments before. When he kisses her breast he feels her body respond and he groans and allows his teeth to graze lightly across the peak before kissing lips softer than rose petals.
He wants to taste her so he gently asks for entrance swiping her bottom lip delicately with his tongue. She grants permission, and he drinks her in his eyes fluttering shut. How long he has waited. His kisses speak of passion restrained; his low growls of deep need. His heart beats a staccato rhythm reminding him again of Concetta's words; reminding him of love and respect, a love that has grown from their first meeting, through the ups and downs of getting to know her better, her lovers, his fears, and respect for her quick mind, soft heart and being true to who she is. Now, finally he seems to be keeping in step because Phryne is here with him. She hasn't pushed him away. In fact, his brain registers that she is whimpering and her hands have come up to his lapels in a familiar gesture, but this time she pulls him closer.
He opens his passion clouded eyes to see passion clouding hers as well, a remembered word, "Your greatest passion is quite near, pursue it," echoes in his mind. He grins against her mouth his fingers once more caressing her neck, "Good night Phryne," he rasps and with that he is gone.
Phryne
Phryne hardly dares breathe when Jack's fingers lightly touch her neck lest she scare him away. This moment has been long in coming. His touch is electric and she babbles about men wanting to wring her neck just before his touch drifts lower, the light of promise in his eyes. The sincerity she s sees reassures her, the other emotions flickering before he shutters them, and then the moment is broken by Dot. Jack drops his hand away like he has been burned, which perhaps he has. She feels keenly the loss of his fingers against her, and her skin burns in all the places he touched.
"Where are you off to Dot," Phryne asks with a smile.
"The Pictures, with Hugh," Dot replies with a grin at Phryne.
Phryne hears Dot's response through a fog, Jack's explanation that Hugh is working barely penetrating.
As Dot turns to leave, Phryne breathes a sigh of relief wanting to return to Jack's exploratory touch, but Jack is following Dot. Phryne's heart sinks slightly and her body throbs with loss. He is leaving. He finally took initiative, and now he is leaving. She absentmindedly turns to follow him, her intent to bid him a pleasant good night with grace and humor jolted when she hears the parlor doors close. She halts a question on her lips that dies at the look of bold determination on Jack's face when he turns toward her.
Jack comes closer trailing his magnificent fingers over her skin, their slight roughness a delightful sensation. As his hand dips lower Phryne is powerless to move, hungry, so hungry for his touch. When his fingers ghost across her breast she can't help the hitch in her breathing. The man affects her like no other. She dares not break eye contact, but she allows all she is feeling to flicker through her, her eyes telling a story she isn't fully aware of.
To her surprise and delight, Jack moves his fingers again, bringing them up to trace her jaw and cheek as if she might break. Such a careful man she thinks, but she can feel the slight trembling in his hands as he restrains himself. The sensations his touch elicit are exquisite and she longs for his kiss; has longed for it since Café Replique if she is totally honest, perhaps she wanted it before, but after she dreamed of it.
Suddenly she feels Jack's lips on her neck as his lips travel a journey of their own yet following the trail of heat left by his fingers. When he grazes her breast with his teeth she believes she might pass out the feeling is so electrifying. Then he is kissing her, his kisses chaste and sweet; she wants more, oh how hard it is not to ravish him; to allow him to set the pace.
Finally just as she begins to fear it won't happen, she feels his tongue ask entrance and then they are kissing, wildly passionate kisses that feed her soul. She hears Jack's growls and someone whimpering. "Oh that's me whimpering," she thinks as awareness of her body's reaction can't be denied. Hungry, so hungry his kisses make her – she wants more; she can't get close enough to him. She grasps the lapels of his jacket to pull him closer until there is no space between their bodies.
She can feel his desire hard against her. Oh how she wants this man. None of the others kept her interest this long, certainly not with so little progression. She meets his eyes and wonders if hers contain the same look, the same glaze of passion. Phryne feels him grin against her mouth and his fingers come up to stroke her neck again, their touch so gentle maybe she is imagining his touch, and yet she feels branded, desired beyond anything she has known before and like they are on the edge of a precipice. As her mind tries to grasp the thoughts running around her head and the depth of emotion she sees in his eyes; the coiled tension of his body, she hears a quiet, "Good Night, Phryne." And he is gone.